Chapter 18

Ruins

“Relicers, huh? And you trust them?” Heathgrim asked as he rode alongside Arethor. The two Relicers walked lazily behind, their pace much slower on foot.

“More than I’d trust most in the Oak. They are loyal, if not a bit clumsy.” Arethor vouched, looking back to see Myis waving at him with a big dumb smile.

“The tall one seems put together.” Heathgrim noted T’var, who seemed much more aware of his surroundings than the other human. He was hesitant to let the two strangers come along, but he trusted Arethors judgement almost above anyone else’s. If Arethor said jump, he’d jump.

“They're both a bit rough around the edges, but they are good men. Honest men. Plus, they’ve been to the camp. You two, catch up will you?” Arethor called back to them. The two perked up and then ran up beside their horses.

“Something the matter?" T'var wondered.

"What can we expect when we reach the bowl?" Arethor asked again, this time for Heathgrim to hear.

"Nothing on the outside. That being said their tents are packed in pretty tight, if you guys really are going to rain down fire they are going to light up quick." T'var was no novice when it came to violence. He'd been a War Medic with Myis at one point, taking and saving lives. Eventually the two had decided it didn't quite pay well enough, so they took to being Relicers. Something just as dangerous, but with different goals. Plus, killing and saving was often still involved, just not required.

"Lovely. Did you have eyes on their leader? The one with the elk skull?" Heathgrim asked, looking down at the mylian who walked next to him.

"He seemed like a busy man, never really standing still for too long. He's got his own tent, bigger than the rest at the far end of the camp by their bonfire pit." T'var recalled seeing the man several times. Each time giving him more of a chill than the last. Something about the man felt woefully wrong. Like a statue you could've sworn shifted its eyes in the corner of your vision.

"That will keep the fires isolated from his tent. It'll give me a clearing to slip down from the opposite side and get to him first. If I'm lucky, I can catch him in his sleep." Arethor planned it out in his head. He was interrupted by a snicker from Myis.

"I recall you being a bit more honorable, spymaster."

"Honor means nothing right now. Killing an innocent woman and nearly another is far from honorable. He has lost his chance for a prideful death." Arethor said between clenched teeth. This made heads swing in his direction.

"What's this? Who died?" T'var had assumed they were marching to the camp because of the initial attack, but clearly something else had happened they were unaware of. Only Arethor just rolled his neck around his shoulders, the cracks audible to them all.

"It doesn't matter who. He dies all the same." Arethors response came as a surprise to Heathgrim, but he said nothing. But his worry for his friend still grew.

They had waited until nearly noon to begin their march, so by the time they reached the camp it was dark. And indeed, it had gotten dark. As the army began to fan out around the curves of the bowl, Arethor readied himself just behind what looked to be the tent that T'var had mentioned.

Still, they were a good quarter of a mile back, as they didn't want to reveal themselves until they were completely ready. And Scarv had agreed to allow Arethor to get a head start climbing down the bowl. Heathgrim was crouched down beside him, looking over the camp. The two Relicers also close by.

"It looks like they have all gone into their tents. This might be perfect." Heathgrim whispered. "My gut tells me it's all sorts of wrong, though." He added bitterly. It was only natural to feel that way, especially considering how easy they seemed to be making things for the Oak. Surely they expected them to attack. What were they planning? Either way, they couldn't just wait around and do nothing. There was no telling when the Ruiners might up and leave their camp behind.

Just as Arethor began to step forward, Heathgrim slapped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

"Arethor, just listen." He started, a look of genuine concern on his face. "I have been alive longer than you, and yet, I don't think I can say I've experienced a fraction of the pain you've endured. But I have endured it before. The pain I can recall, it runs deep. It cuts like a hot blade through cloth. I found my strength in my wife, in Fina. That has been your only weakness, Arethor. No where to put that pain, nowhere to let it fizzle out without it burning the earth around it to smoulder. You let your blade be your release. But it is never enough. I can feel it in you. So I'm asking you now, to feel it. Feel her." Heathgrim inched closer, pushing his forehead to Arethors, who closed his eyes.

"Leave this place with her in your heart, not your sword." He added at a whisper so low he almost missed it. But he hadn't. Arethor had heard all of what he'd said. And he felt it. Like a bag of rocks pulling down on his heart, dragging it into his stomach. He knew what he was saying was right. But his deep seeded habits wanted so desperately to cut the strings, to let his heart drift back into its cold, lonely place. No. He needed to let himself feel her influence. This wasn't for revenge, it was for forgiveness. To himself.

"For Tavernkeep." Arethor muttered.

"For Tavernkeep." Heathgrim said, releasing the elf with a pat on the shoulder.

Turning toward the tent, he watched as the Oak slowly began to surround the bowl, bows raised. Arethor was to give the cue for them to light the ends of their arrows, and fire the volley. Crawling on his back, the elf quickly descended the depression until he flattened out against the ground.

It was silent. Eerily silent. The light of the bonfire casted a massive shadow of Kimers tent over Arethor as he carefully rounded it. For a brief moment, Arethor wondered if the camp was actually empty. The worry arose in his chest, and Arethor stepped past Kimers tent and deeper into the camp.

The Ruiners tents sat in rows along the ground, leading from one end to another, with only a few trees sprinkled between them. Luckily there were few enough of them that it wouldn't obstruct the archers too much. Still, Arethor approached the first tent closest to the fire. Using his sword, he slowly pushed aside the flap of the tent. Nobody was inside. Fear struck him like white heat. It might just be this one tent. Arethor thought, and quickly strode over to the next. Pushing it aside, one more there was no one inside.

Frantically, he began flipping open all the tents, each one empty. Had they really just abandoned everything within the last half a day? A half thought appeared in his mind that possibly the two Relicers had deceived him, but he quickly smothered the notion.

A sound came from across the camp. Whipping his head, Arethor pinned the noise to be coming from Kimers tent. He figured it would be empty too, given the state of the rest of the camp. Notably the bonfire was no longer lit. But blowing gently in the wind was the tent's door flap, which revealed a blacked silhouette.

Taking slow steps forward, he wondered how the bonfire had suddenly gone out. Was it the wind, perhaps? Either way, it had become much harder to see now. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his hold on his sword began to slip. He was fearing for his life, again. Like the weakling he had been those many years ago on the battlefield.

He attempted to numb his mind, bring peace to himself in a position of pure chaos. All the while a flickering white-hot hatred flared in his chest. Every part of him wanted to scream out and charge the tent, stab the first thing that came into view. But dying from his own ignorance would get him nowhere.

“Kimer! Reveal yourself!” Arethor shouted. There was a long moment of silence before a voice echoed out across the bowl, and into the minds of everyone.

“I can’t give up this opportunity, not now. Not when the silence is so close.” He said, his voice low and trembling. Arethor was tempted to put a hand to his head, try to fight the shaking it brought upon him, but he resisted. His grip now firm on the handle of his blade. “I can’t blame you for trying, I suppose. But like a deer backed into a corner. I know how to kick.” Kimer said with a sinister chuckle. And just like that, the tent exploded outward as dozens of elk began to pour out across the camp. For a moment, Arethor was stunned, unsure if what he was seeing was even real. But as the elk tore through the camp, destroying tents and bouncing off one another, it became blindingly clear what was standing before him. He was not a Deadspeaker. He wasn’t even a Solar Conduit.

“FIRE!” Arethor commanded. One by one, arrows began to catch fire around the lip of the bowl. Arms were pulled back, muscles flexing, and then let loose in a massive flaming volley. The arrows rained down and began to light the very earth surrounding it on fire.

Stepping forth from the now destroyed tent, was Kiner. His elk mask staring straight at Arethor. The bonfire had been knocked down by the loose elk, who were now starting to stampede up the sides of the bowl. Suddenly, they began to shift into men and women wielding swords, resembling the Ruiners that had been at the first attack. And though Arethor hadn’t been there to witness it, Heathgrim recognized the same faces he had slain.

“Naive little Arethor. The poor bastard boy, motherless too.” Kimer seemed to slowly grow in height. Arrows fell down around him, along with striking the Ruiners as they tried to escape the flames. They seemed as mindless as deer, simply scrambling to safety from instinct. “There is so much truth unknown to you. A whole universe of secrets in need of unraveling.” He continued, growing higher with each second. Only then did bones start to extend from his back, and like the legs of some great spider they arched over his back and stabbed into the ground.

It was all starting to make sense now. There were no Ruiners. Just him. Just his influence over their minds. Kimer was a Matter Conduit. A rare, and unfathomably strong form of Conductivity. Only, what Kimer had achieved was on an impossible level unless he was…

“Conductus. You actually make them real.” Arethor muttered, frozen in fear. In all of his years in the Oak, he’d never encountered a Conductus. Someone embedded directly with Solar or Lunar Energy from an eclipse. Meaning, if he was touched even once, by a living soul, the power would be stripped away from him as it would any other Conductor. But it seemed Kimer had avoided contact for years, and had time to build his illusions to unprecedented scales.

“Very good. But you’re still confused, aren’t you?” Kimer shifted forward, his massive legs dragging through the dirt.

“Why?” Arethor growled.

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“Because this is nothing but a speck in a much larger pile of dust. And around the dust, is a mountain of ash.” Kimer started, swaying back and forth gently. “I want to show you something. All of you.”

“I’m not here to talk, Kimer.”

“You will WITNESS!” Kimer shouted, spreading out his hands and enveloping the world in light. Arethor, the Relicers, Heathgrim, and the entirety of the Oak all were admitted at once to a lucid vision.

Uttral hung between the balance. His mind fizzled like burning coals. He had witnessed it all, finally. But like a doctor plucking at random nerves, watching for what twitches, Uttral lacked the foresight to understand his influence.

“I feel something.” He told himself, swimming backward. “Oh, I feel something! Not just the Tether, but something else! It’s Ethereal…” He paused as he ran his hands over it in the darkness. The Tether had provided some light at first, but the more he fed it, the less he seemed to understand where it went. He could only hope he was leading it to help. That some being in the Endless was drinking it up, following the breadcrumbs back to him. So far it has only left him feeling drained. This, though, was a new feeling. And like turning a knob, he felt something shift out of place.

He tried to wiggle it, like a loose tooth, plucking it free from gummy flesh. But it didn’t budge. It was either all the way forward, in the middle, or all the way back. He could feel it had started in the center, balanced and leveled. So Uttral could only hope pulling it back was the right choice, that the disturbance would be enough to awaken something to come find him. Whatever, or whoever that may be.

And indeed it had. Only Hyvale, who watched over her planet in dismay, could only witness as the Stream of Death was suddenly broken. She could not correct it herself, as no such concept had ever been within her control. She watched as every soul on her planet, good or bad, was directed toward the Orange Sands of Coreterra. It was a cataclysm of cosmic proportions. And one she was utterly helpless to prevent.

When everyone returned to their minds, there was a deeply startling moment of uncertainty. Every man turned to those beside them to see the same shared expression of disbelief. It became clear that they had all witnessed the vision in unison. They had just seen that death had been broken, that the end of their lives meant eternal damnation without judgment.

"The Great Silence is upon us, mighty Arethor." Kimers words slithered out like a snake. "Everything will be corrected, as it should be. Your precious Tolo should be in the New World soon enough. But not until we get back what we lost." A festering anger spilled from his lips. The elk skull he wore seemed to furrow in resentment, his bony appendages flexing.

"You've lost your mind!" Arethor hollered, pointing his sword up at the Ruiner. "You must undo whatever has been done! You must guide Uttral, for he is clearly lost!" This seemed to only frustrated Kimer, who swayed forward so close he almost touched Arethor. He could've reached out and grabbed him, and absorbed his power, but his mind was frozen. He wouldn't think about it until later, but he was being a cowardice fool.

"Hyvale herself can't unknot this cataclysm. The Endless is crying out to us, telling us to fix the injustice we endured during the Purge. Since Hyvale, our blessed God, did not have the strength to do it herself! Because of her we will not see the flowers of the New World, feel the cool water from its enchanting lakes, not until we destroy the imbalance." Kimer clenched his fist, then swayed back into his position. "You are a product of a failed apology. But you are strong in ways no one can be. You can not fall under its influence, it's greed."

Arethor stomped forward, getting into his stance. "Enough! Your words are meaningless. Draw your sword and fight!" His mind raced. The questions he'd been asking himself had been answered, but it also created dozens of new ones. Uttral was alive, but not on Jorrik as he had thought. Not in the flesh, anyways. He was somewhere in the Endless, a place where he had influence over aspects of the Endless itself.

"My words are my daggers, and my knowledge is your execution. You can choose to ignore me, but the world will suffer all the same. If I can not show you the redemption I offer, then I can not allow you to take it away from everyone else!" Kimer lashed out with one of his legs, its massive gleaming white surface hurtling toward him at alarming speeds. The elf swiftly pivoted to the left, the bone missing his face by only a few inches. Finally kicking forward, he made it only a few steps before another leg came from the side and struck him. It bounced off his rib, peeling away skin and sending Arethor tumbling.

He growled, gripping the now bleeding wound as Kimer twisted toward Arethor with horrifying vigor.

Heathgrim watched in utter disbelief as the scene unfolded. Ignoring the vision he had just seen, a monstrous creature that was once Kimer was now fiercely attacking Arethor down below. His attention was also drawn to the Ruiners, who had just been elk for reasons unknown, barreled their way up the hillsides. Flaming arrows battered them, sending some tumbling back down while others tanked them with nothing but grunts.

"Oaknights, forward!" He heard Scarv shout from across the bowl. Oaknights began to come forward from the back ends and ready themselves between the arches, halberds pointed downward. As a wave of Ruiners crashed against the frontlines, they were met with halberds to the necks and faces, along with arrows. For a moment it seemed they were well in control of the battle, with very few managing to break through. To which they were immediately dispatched by short sword wielding Oaknights.

Heathgrim himself cut down several of them. From what he could tell, there were probably only a hundred and fifty of them, all spread out across the bowl. But most of them were still marching up the sides when they started to finally fight back. Splinters began to tear upward along the hills. Beams of light flashing in the night as they cut through the air with a crackle. Heathgrim stepped back just in time as one tore past his head, lighting the top of a tree on fire behind him.

The frontlines were noticeably shaken, but didn't fall back. Only a few of Heathgrims most trusted men had been with him during the assault on the Jorax Library to had witnessed the use of Splinters. Most of these men hadn't actually seen any real offensive Conductivity in their life. But he was proud to see his men fight back, and even harder. There was another shout from Scarv, but it was drowned out by the sounds of the Splinters. But judging by the Oaknights that began to run down the bowl, he figured it was a command to push forward. And like a wave the Oaknights all began to pour in around the bowl. They moved slowly, though, not wanting to spread themselves too thin and allow themselves to be plucked off. But still stayed far enough apart that Splinters would tear through multiple men at once. They had been trained to fight against them, but never had they imagined truly doing so.

Heathgrim decided it was best he follow them.

"Wait! What about us?" Myis shouted, running up behind the captain with an oddly calm composure.

"Do you know any first aid?" Heathgrim shouted back, a Splinter coming unsettlingly close. Myis seemed disappointed but nodded.

"The both of us, yes. We were War Medics, in another time."

"Then get to work saving my men! I'm going for Arethor!" Heathgrim said, pointing to the abomination unfolding down below. After a glance, Myis decided he'd drawn the right stick in that situation, and nodded. The captain watched as the two Relicers helped drag an injured Oaknight up out of the bowl, and begin wrapping his wound. Turning back to Arethor, he swallowed the fear trying to take over.

Arethor narrowly avoided a devastating blow, the point of the leg just barely scraping by his face as he lunged backward. His balance was off, and his side was hurting badly. A dreariness began to take over him, and sluggishly he rolled away from one more attack.

"Your wick's burning out. I can feel you draining. Leave, and the moonking will grant you peace." Kimer bartered. Why even bother at that point? Why not just kill him already?

"You took away my peace! You tore it from me!" A rage bubbled up inside. The calming clarity he had before was not going to suffice. The furnace inside needed fuel. Too much wind, and too little kindle. He needed to feed it, and then fan it.

"I woke you up. I made you realize that this world, and everything in it, is finite as long as they continue to exist in whatever corner they hide in." Kimer argued.

"The Purgers are gone! And all those who directly aided them, are dead! You swing your sword at nothing, and call it a precaution? Meanwhile, it cuts down everything that happens in its path, good or evil!" He couldn't muster the strength to try and swing at Kimer, so he figured he could at least indulge in his battle of words. The Ruiner was clearly utterly insane. Either he was so full of himself he didn't think he could lose, or everything felt like a game to him, a fantasy that he could risk losing as there were no real consequences.

"But when will they return? The Endless trapped Uttral in his realm, confusing him into corrupting the Stream of Death, as a punishment to ours and Hyvales ignorance. You truly don't think they will return?"

"Your argument is moot. Uttral died during the Purge. Did the Endless somehow know that Hyvale would leave whoever caused it unpunished?" Arethor was sure he had him now. His attention was briefly dragged away as he saw the chaos unfolding around him. Fires began to chase the Ruiners up the bowl, while Oaknights pushed downward. They were by all means winning on that front, though they were suffering immense casualties from the Splinters alone. Meanwhile, he was trying to argue his way out of a battle.

"He died at the end of the Purge. It had been happening for weeks on end. Endless slaughter and destruction. At any point Hyvale could've decimated whoever caused the carnage, but she didn't. Instead, she made him give us gifts. Gifts of stone and blood. Leaving it into OUR hands to prepare for their return. She instead tests us rather than bring our assailants to justice! We are forced to play a game she never explained the rules to! But I see them now. And while Uttral was misguided…I hope to steer him to the path of redemption." The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to lock into place, and yet, Arethor still didn't fully understand. It was hard to think with the pain pulsating in his side anyways. But a thought came to him. He didn't care. Tolo was dead. And right now, if the vision served true, she was walking the Orange Sands of Coreterra, wondering why she was being punished. She was burning. Because of him, she was weeping alone on a desolate planet.

And that filled him with rage. Not a rage like he'd been called a name, or someone had bumped into him and made him spill his drink. No. This was a new kind of anger. Much more potent, and visceral. Almost like a tangible, physical smoke it filled his lungs with unease. His muscles spasmed and his heart began to beat. The heat of the fires around him only hardened his reserve, added to his discomfort.

And like a loose tire spinning, but motionless, eventually the friction pulls it forward at ungodly speeds. And Arethor did the same. Ignoring the pain, pushing past a physical barrier he at first he never knew could be broken, Arethor swung forward. His blade seared through the air, and with one swift motion cleaved straight through Kimers bony leg. The Ruiner stumbled forward, not having expected it.

But just as Kimer fell downward, Arethor bringing his sword close to his chest, ready to lunge upward, something interrupted them. A war cry, then the sounds of effort as someone pushed off the ground and leapt through the air. Flying off the side of the bowl, sword drawn, was Heathgrim. Airborne for a few seconds, the captain landed right onto the Ruiner, his sword slicing through his back just beneath his shoulder blade. Using his left arm, Heathgrim wrapped around Kimers neck, getting him into a choke hold and then yanking himself backward.

The human had no idea what he had just done. The Energy from Kimer instantly transferred into Heathgrim, and the massive bone legs, the Ruiners, and even the tents all disappeared with a flash. The two were left in mid air, now free falling at least a dozen feet. The captain spun around and pushed off of Kimer, sending him down to the ground with an even more violent crash as he landed next to him legs first.

Kimer groaned, the sword sticking out of him. Heathgrim reached for his blade, but Arethor quickly stepped forward, grabbing his wrist.

"Please." Arethor pleaded, his eyes frantic. Heathgrim was stunned, his body still buzzing from adrenaline, but backed away with a nod.

Reaching down, Arethor grabbed Kimer by the collar and dragged him to his knees. He was surprisingly light, even with the sword stuck through him. Grabbing the antlers of the mask, he tore the elk skull off and threw it behind him into the fire. It was now much closer than it had been before, and he needed to hurry unless he wanted to be submerged in it. But the hollow, almost unbothered look in Kimers pale grey eyes sparked his anger even more.

"You failed, Kimer. I will do what you couldn't do, but without needlessly spilling blood." Arethor spat. Heathgrim looked at him in confusion, unsure what he was referring to, but kept out of it. "If Uttral truly is just misguided, I am sure I can find a way to fix this. To restore the balance." He finished. But Kimer simply shook his head.

"You either fall or fly. The ground has been torn out from beneath us, Arethor. All that waits at the bottom now is damnation, and those twisted blades. Fly to the moon. Bring us our salvation." He muttered, before his glare grew distant. He felt his weight push into his hands, and Arethor stepped away, letting the body fall flat against the dirt. There was a brief moment of silence.

"I'm sorry, Arethor. I thought you were in trouble. I shouldn't have taken that from you," Heathgrim started, only for Arethor to put up a hand in protest, the captain stopping short.

"Letting the fires take him will be my contribution. Let us leave." Arethor finally tore his gaze away from the body of Kimer, and stepped forward. Slapping a hand onto Heathgrims shoulder he dragged them both away, leaving the mess behind them.