jmclarke
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Chapter 631: The Stone Prison
🕑 Added 2023-07-15 22:00:59 +0000 UTCThe iron golem strode through flame, light dancing across his reflective form. His fire-gems glowed like embers while his metallic fingers flexed and relaxed, metal groaning each time he tensed them. All damage to his body was gone; the massive hole in his torso dealt by the First Apostle was a bad memory. Claygon was whole, the surface of his body smooth, and his iron teeth flashed in the firelight.
He raised his hands, fire-gems gathering power.
Energy built slowly—as it had before he’d transformed to stone—but Alex felt something different, a change, it felt new, yet the magic still felt familiar.
It felt momentous, like chaos essence combining with dungeon core remains.
The air shimmered with heat; Claygon’s fire-gems flared, significantly brighter than before, and he aimed all three at groups of statues, and the nearest group of holy warriors.
Beams burned—far thicker now—lancing out, striking the centre of his targets.
Night turned to day.
Explosions, feeling like the one that had broken Uldar’s Rise, ripped through the valley, shaking it to its foundations.
Holy protections were obliterated.
Blessed stone crumbled to dust.
Death came to the once secreted priests of Uldar.
Confusion reigned.
Panic spread through the holy warriors of Uldar; in heartbeats, their home was shattered, the Saint of Uldar had turned against them and now their enemies were striking them with the fury of vengeful gods.
“Muster!” Izas commanded, pressing a glowing hand to his stump. “Hold fast!”
The priests responded, sending divine bolts of light at the intruders.
“Hannah has you,” Carey’s soul whispered gently, still cradling Alex in that warm embrace. “The Traveller will protect you…while she can. The barrier the First Apostle used was broken.”
Her spirit flared.
All at once, every bolt of divine power, every arrow, and every weapon that had been seeking to devastate the strike force—vanished, teleporting behind Uldar’s holy warriors, striking the very priests who had sent them, letting them taste their own fury.
“What is this?” Izas cried out, jumping away.
Alex groaned, and using his meditation techniques, he began gently guiding his consciousness through the Mark’s interference. The onslaught wracking his body began fading.
“We’ve been praying to Hannah,” Alex whispered, taking the aeld staff off of his back. “And you…you prayed to her before you died, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Carey said softly. “My sacrifice left her awash with power for now. Enough to let her act through my soul because I just departed this world, but she won’t be able to for long, so you have to finish this, Alex.”
“I intend to,” he exhaled, then took a steadying breath and raised his staff.
The aeld tree gathered its energies.
And the young wizard began casting Planar Doorway.
He teleported priests, throwing their numbers into chaos, scattering them over the battlefield. Already in disarray, it didn’t take long for their fragile formation to completely fall apart.
They cried out, begging for Uldar’s mercy.
And as usual, he didn’t answer.
Perhaps he wasn’t listening.
But the Traveller was.
And she answered.
Every attack the priests tried was turned against them, punishing their own ranks.
Their numbers were withering.
Their morale, fading.
Doom was coming.
###
“Holy Uldar, guide us,” the First Apostle whispered, desperately defending himself from the vengeful Heroes.
“Let ‘im guide y’ t’yer grave, y’bastard!” Cedric spit at him.
His weapon shifted in his hand, as he slashed the First Apostle’s forehead; it might have cleaved his skull in two if it wasn’t for the holy protections around him.
“There’s a wee scar fer ya too, y’bastard!” the Chosen roared. “Now we bloody well match!”
“I want his other arm,” Hart growled, his sword dancing in dizzying patterns as he closed on the Apostle.
The holy priest dodged in desperation, but still got caught by a gout of flame and force from Drestra and that infernal minotaur perched on her back.
He grit his teeth against the pain.
…but it was fading.
Blood flowed freely from his shoulder even as his divinely enhanced body was failing from blood loss. His strength ebbed. His movements slowed.
There was no time to heal or stem the flow of blood; the corrupt Heroes and the faithless with them were on him like persistent gnats.
He knew it was just a matter of time before they took him.
Beyond the Heroes, he glimpsed Izas; the Third Apostle had healed himself, but the loss of blood had weakened him.
All around, their forces were breaking.
Their nerve hung by a thread.
The First Apostle swallowed.
His heart and his intentions told him that this battle could still be won.
But facts and evidence told him otherwise.
If they fell now, Uldar would lose everyone who had done his will in secret for so long. His duty was clear, and as much as it pained him, he must leave his important work in this sanctum and save the poor wretches who served him.
The First Apostle took a final look at Uldar’s Rise.
He gathered his will, reaching deep into the well of his divinity.
Homes could be rebuilt. Relics remade. Books rewritten. But the faithful here could not be replaced.
And so he turned his will to the heavens.
“Holy Uldar! Recall us to safety! Save us! Bring us away from destruction!” he cried.
The clouds shook with his power, lightning flashed, thunder rolled…then every drop of rain that had been held back, poured from the clouds in a tidal wave.
“No!” The young spirit of Carey London and the Fool of Thameland raised their hands, channelling the power of that treacherous dead Saint, teleporting the flood of rain around the strike force.
All looked to the sky, buying the servants of Uldar several precious heartbeats.
Divine power flowed through the First Apostle’s soul—threatening to crack it—and washed out around him in a wave.
Above, the skies rumbled.
Curtains of lightning fell as a mass of bolts flowed from the heavens, finding each remaining servant of Uldar’s hidden church, touching them, transforming them from flesh to crackling bolts of electricity.
The First Apostle, Izas, all of Uldar’s followers who still breathed, transformed as one, coiling into a vast sphere of crackling light.
From within it, the First Apostle looked down on the spirit of Carey London, and the form of the Fool of Thameland.
All of this loss was because of them.
He would not forget them.
And his vengeance would be divine.
As that thought comforted him, the crackling sphere sailed into the sky, hurtling across Thameland like a shooting star.
Hundreds of miles passed in an instant as Uldar’s faithful soared through the night sky as a stream of lightning. They travelled over mountain, forest and glen, until at last, they passed above the ocean, continuing north, finally coming to rest in the centre of a small island in the seas north of Thameland.
There came a flash of all-consuming light.
When it faded, those few hundred members of Uldar’s secret church, were on bended knees atop the bare stone and long wild grasses on the island.
As the First Apostle regained his physical form, he tried to stand, and with a growl of pain, pressed his hand to the oozing shoulder, calling on Uldar’s divine power.
Agony plunged through his body as healing energies suffused his flesh; the limb would regrow, but it would take time.
“First Apostle…” Izas stumbled toward him, his beard still damp with rain. “Our home…it’s gone. It’s gone!”
“Peace…child…” the ancient Chosen rasped. “And strength. It is always darkest before dawn. Our people need us to be leaders. They need all the leadership we can muster.”
He paused. “Tell me, Izas…where is Eldin?”
###
“No! Don’t leave me!” Eldin screamed.
Or he would have if he could.
If he had a mouth.
In the brief moments before Carey London had blown herself to nothingness, the holy leader had leapt into surrounding stone to preserve his life, and was gliding away to safety when the rock had exploded.
He had felt no pain…only mounting horror as he’d felt his body break apart within the rock. Now, his form was in particles, scattered everywhere, still within the stone of Uldar’s Rise.
Bits were in the rubble.
Some had been ground to fine grit.
Much had been vaporised.
His consciousness remained within a small mass of stones that had been propelled away from the escarpment, landing in wet grass near the forest.
He was barely aware of his surroundings, but he had felt the First Apostle’s lightning spread over the valley, carrying all of Uldar’s faithful away.
But he’d been left behind.
What did that mean?
Could it not touch him because he was in the stone?
Did it not notice him?
Was he even alive?
He couldn’t move.
He feared leaving the stone; what would happen if he was to take his true form; a great deal of the stone his body was in was shattered, scattered, or had been turned to dust.
Would he simply die?
Would he live for a few painful instants as a mewling pile of flesh before passing?
He didn’t know; despite all of the lives that ended at his hands, including those he’d left to die within the darkness of stone, he had no idea what would happen to him.
“Uldar…please save me!” he pleaded, though the rock had no voice. “I have served you, haven’t I? I’ve repented for past sins, haven’t I? Please, Uldar! Save me!”
But, there was no answer.
Uldar did not reach out to him.
His servants did not come to carry him to safety.
Only cold silence answered his pleas.
“Come now, Eldin,” he said to himself. “You…you are a dead man. Let go. Join Uldar. Let go. Join him.”
And he tried.
He tried willing himself to leave every bit of rock and debris he was in and let his natural fate carry him to Uldar’s side in the after-world.
But he could not.
He would not.
“Come on, Eldin!” he screamed at himself. “You served Uldar in life! You will serve him death! Let go!”
And yet, each time he tried to draw on the divinity to leave the rock and let death take him…he could not. Fear gripped him.
It held him tight.
Despite himself, he had no desire to die, to leave this world and all it held.
He thought of the young woman he’d stabbed, narrowly missing her heart—perhaps that was an omen—she’d taken her own life to save all she loved. It was the ultimate sacrifice, an act committed by someone who was likely less than a third his age.
The highest price paid by a soft-willed, comfortable student.
Surely, he could do the same? He had spent years walking this earth and had known death would come for him in time. He was a warrior, ready to die in Uldar’s service. He was a killer, used to dispatching Uldar’s foes.
His will was iron…
…so then why could he not let go?
Again and again, he tried to convince himself to leave the stone.
To let himself leave this world and meet the god he’d prayed to for so many years of his life.
But fear held him in place. Despite all he believed of Uldar’s blessings, he could not summon the will to let go.
And so Eldin screamed.
Within the stone, he screamed and begged and he cried for life.
How long he screamed, no one would know, for no one could hear him.
And so the rock lay, forgotten, on the outskirts of the forest.
No one would ever know whether or not his consciousness still ‘lived’ within it.
And, in the end—to most—it would not matter, anyway.
The old killer would never trouble anyone again.
And if he still screamed long after the battle for Uldar’s Rise had ended?
Well, he would be the only one who would hear it.
For even his god would not answer him.
###
As dust cleared and night fell fully on the valley of Uldar’s Rise, the strike force gathered beside the dying embers of what was once a thriving village.
They had achieved victory over the hidden church of Uldar.
But the cost had been high.
Countless bodies lay in a row on the grass, each covered with cloaks, shawls, and shrouds; anything they could find to cover them. The rain slowed over the land, and had already washed away much of the blood and ash.
Together, the survivors huddled around a glowing figure.
A familiar figure.
The spiritual figure of Carey London.
In death, her radiance was bright….but it was already beginning to fade.
Around her, her friends wept.
Tyris sobbed, burying her face in the side of her familiar’s warm neck.
Merzhin, prostrate with grief, lay before her spirit. “Forgive me…forgive me…forgive me…” he whispered repeatedly.
The other Heroes—Alex, the Fool; Cedric, the Chosen; Hart, the Champion; and Drestra, the Sage—all gathered around him, their eyes lowered.
In her human form, Drestra trembled, though not because of the rain.
At last, all five Heroes were together.
Under circumstances that pierced their hearts.
“I’m sorry,” Alex muttered. “If I hadn’t…found that first dungeon core…then maybe you wouldn’t…”
“Oh, pshah,” Carey’s spirit said. “I am rather cross with you for not telling me that you are the Fool…but such things seem ever so unimportant now.”
“I apologise,” Watcher Hill stepped forward, eyeing the spirit with sadness and confusion. The woman looked like she didn’t quite know what she was looking at. “I should have protected you.” Then she looked down at the draped bodies lying nearby. “All of you.”
“I—” Carey started to say, but her form wavered.
She was beginning to fade.
“Blast it, we don’t have time for this!” She looked at her friends. “Listen to me, the Traveller is sharing her power with me so I can protect you while I’m still in this world…there’s a purpose for me…for us…but it will take time. I can’t stay long, at least for now.”
Carey looked at Alex. “I have limits…but you know her power well, don’t you? Alex, while I can still protect and help you, look for it.”
“Look for what?” he said.
“The entrance,” Carey whispered.
And he knew exactly what she meant.
As the others looked on, he took a deep breath and reached out with the Traveller’s power.
He searched. And he searched.
And searched.
And found it.
A weakness between worlds.
Slowly, his eyes drifted to the top of Uldar’s Rise.
“I think the entrance is up there,” he said. “I believe that’s where Uldar ascended…I think that’s the only place in this world where you can access his sanctum.”
He looked at Carey. “Will you help me?”
“Yes,” she said.
He squared his shoulders.
Grief and anger burned in him, and in that moment, he just wanted answers.
“Everyone, step back,” he said. “Carey and I are going to open the door to Uldar’s realm.”
###
Author's Note
Hello twenty-three cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
Writing Eldin's fate was very very satisfying for me. :)
Next week's gonna be WILD. I'm pumped! Alright, I'm off to remove chapters. Book 4 release on amazon will be Wednesday! The audio book is still being worked on, and I will tell you when it's finished.
Comments
Logrus
I dunno about the Eldin bit. Seems like a weird slice of revenge fantasy shoehorned into an otherwise epic conclusion to a fight. Otherwise, loved this chapter!
lenkite
Walking in now in their current shape would be [Ultimate Stupidity] and would prove that Alex is a [True Fool]. Whether or not Uldar is there, there could possibly be [Divine Guardians], wards/traps or other protections. I hope Watcher Hill cools down Alex here. Nudge the door open so it can be opened even without Carey. Then Heal, Recover Mana and send a [Wizards Eye] or [Summon] inside for scouting.
