Verge of Darkness by Ollie Odebunmi
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Elphemina was still angry when she awoke. How dare the sorcerer invade her dreams! She often dreamt of that sunny afternoon with her twin sisters. A few months later, her parents had sent her to the temple in Kandros to serve as hand maiden to Kisandra, the High Priestess. She had taken one look at Elphemina’s unusual-coloured eyes and refused to accept her as hand-maiden, insisting she became an initiate.
Elphemina had been mortified. The post of hand-maiden necessitated only two years of service, then she would return home and wed Callan, the horse breeder's son she had loved since they had played together as children. Being an initiate meant dedicating her life to the service of Mithros and studying the Mysteries. She would never know the joys of motherhood and having her own family.
News reached her two years later that raiders had attacked her parents’ farm, and killed all present. A fearsome anger hit her. Anger at the murderous raiders, and anger at her inability to use her growing talents to save her family. That night, freeing her spirit from its physical binds, she travelled through the mists of the past to that terrible day at the farm. Forcing herself to watch the entire heart-rending scene, she imprinted every single detail of the six raiders on her mind.
Over the next six months, Elphemina entered the dreams of the murderers. Each was found dead in the morning, eyes staring and faces locked in a rictus of sheer terror.
She spared one. An older man who had joined the raiders, desperate to make enough coin to pay the physician caring for his sick wife and young daughter. They would die without the care. He had tried to dissuade his companions from attacking the lonely farm, arguing it was a small family farm likely with children present. Surely, they would find better booty attacking a merchant's caravan. They hadn't listened, and he had waited outside, sitting by a small stream, whilst they carried out their murderous deeds.
Elphemina rose from the chair, and splashed water on her face from a shallow bowl lying on a table next to her. She had sat down to compose her thoughts and ready herself, but had drifted into a short sleep. It briefly occurred to her that Castillan had somehow placed a sleep spell on her, but she dismissed the idea. She moved to the door. It was time to join the others.
Moon had exchanged his customary tankard of ale for a goblet of Amarian Pale, and was engaged in earnest conversation with Liang. There was no sign of Casca or Pagan. As Elphemina moved toward them, she caught the names: Sutr and Frigga.
“Ah, a discussion on the pantheon of Nordir gods,” Elphemina noted. “Frigga, the Queen of the gods, and Sutr, the horned flame-headed ruler of the six hells.” Both looked up as she approached, the Axeman's brow raised quizzically.
“Hardly,” Liang replied, laughing. “Moon was simply enlightening me on the various ways one can curse using the names of Nordir gods.”
“Ah yes,” Elphemina said disapprovingly. “Highly erudite terms such as Frigga's tits and Sutr's balls.” Liang's pealing laughter rang through the room, as Moon looked from one to another. “Frigga's tits,” he grumbled, “women are either cold as ice and refuse to talk to you, or use words that swirl about a man's brain like a mist!”
The women’s laughter rang out as Pagan and Casca moved into view from behind the bar. “What is our next step?” Pagan asked, as both men walked up. “I say it is time we brought this matter to an end.”
Elphemina met Pagan's gaze, the earlier laughter gone from her eyes. “Yes, it ends soon,” she said. “We take the fight to the Gualich and end their evil.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You are going to be tested as never before for we will be confronting the Gualich and their servants where they are strongest. You have done well against the Suanggi, but at Arnath, you will face the deadliest of them. Then come the Masters, the shape-shifting Gualich. They have some offensive sorcery, but their real strength lies in the power of their minds. They will slither into your heads, fill you with limb-trembling terror, and draw your greatest fears from the deepest recesses of your minds. This weakens the bonds securing your souls, making for easier prey. Such is the mind-numbing terror they can induce, the utter blackness and nothingness, which comes after you surrender your soul, may seem like blessed relief. I will shield you the best I can, and the enchanted weapons you carry will also aid you, but your best protection is the strength of your minds. The fates, the gods, or whatever whimsy, chose you for this task because of the strength of your wills; your refusal to give in before insurmountable odds. You will need strong minds and courage, for we also travel to the home-world of the Gualich to tear down the gateway, so these demons never threaten the world again. We may not return from this journey into the pit itself, but I say it’s a prize worth paying.”
Elphemina paused, meeting the gazes of the four. There was no give in them, their eyes steady and determined. “This time, unlike the previous occasion a thousand years ago, when the historian Elander Zucross was on hand to chronicle events, your bravery and sacrifice will be unrecorded and likely unknown to the world at large. Of course, it will be recorded in the secret archives of the temple in Kandros, but these are privy only to the eyes of the priestesses.”
“Sutr's balls,” Moon muttered. “So, there will be no songs or ballads about how I clove the mightiest of the Gualich from collar-bone to hip with Ausak demon bane.”
Laughter rang out, then Elphemina turned to Moon, leading him a few paces away from his companions. “I should have told you earlier, Axeman. As I was healing your arm from the corruption of the Bahktak bite, my spirit was drawn to a cancer...a growth in your head that would have killed you before... winter’s end. I removed it, and you should be free from any pain or headaches.”
Moon's mouth gaped in surprise. “Sweet heavens,” the now healthy giant whispered, “no one has ever done anything like that for me before. I can never repay you for this gift of... life, Lady.”
Elphemina smiled. Reaching across, she clasped the Axeman's shoulder. “You are a good man Moon, though you curse and drink too much, and your manners could be improved upon. Now let's go and destroy these pigging demons!”
Towers in the Clouds
Grey clouds scudded across the darkening sky as a flash of golden light lit the blasted landscape of Tor-Arnath, casting deep shadows around the huge stone blocks flung in abandon.
The Terrene winked out of existence, revealing five figures blinking in the fading light as they took stock of their surroundings. Behind them was a wide stone plinth on which stood two pillars about three times the height of a tall man. A wide stone lintel joined the pillars.
The blighted shadow-haunted ancient city of Tor-Arnath spread out before them, dominated by two towers rising in terrible majesty into the darkening sky. As the new arrivals gazed at the towers of the Gualich, a mass of dark figures disgorged from the low buildings set below.
The five stood in a line as the mass of demon-beasts bore down on them. Pagan, Moon and Liang drew their weapons and readied themselves. Mouth dry with fear, Casca licked his lips nervously as he glanced at Elphemina standing next to him.
The Priestess stood tall and regal, her gold-hued eyes ablaze; a beacon of light in the all-pervasive gloom of Tor-Arnath. Casca expected her to raise her arms and reduce the beasts into charred, smoking husks with a blast of coruscating magick. But she did no such thing.
The Bahktak grew closer. Casca glanced at the trio of warriors. Faces set and eyes determined, they awaited the hell-hounds. Moon's teeth were bared in a rictus grin, knuckles white on Ausak's haft. Standing with tree trunk-like legs braced, and towering over his companions, he looked indestructible.
Pagan and Liang stood side-by-side, eyes calm, their stances mirroring each other: sideways-on to the approaching beasts, feet roughly shoulder-width apart, knees bent slightly, and arms hanging loosely. Their enchanted blades blazed bluish-silver, points trailing close to the rocky ground.
Surely someone must move
Liang stepped forward, twin blades raised high. Thunder rumbled overhead, and lightning forked across the sky. A twin spear of jagged lightning lanced onto the Storm Blades, illuminating Liang like a lightning sprite. Blue light sparked and crackled around the swords and the slender dark-haired woman, making her companions step back in some alarm.
“Sutr's teeth,” Moon whispered in awe. Pagan felt his sword vibrate and a jolt run up his arm. His whole body tingled as a surge of energy suffused him. He felt no pain or discomfort, just an overwhelming sense of...power.
Instinctively knowing his place was beside Liang, Pagan stepped forward. She turned her head, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw her eyes. Mirroring the skies above, a lambent light shone behind them. He shivered as a frisson of excitement laced with trepidation trilled through him, firing his blood. He knew at that moment he and Liang were inextricably linked, the gut-wrenching intensity of his feelings surprising him.
A detached part of him wondered why such emotions should rise to the fore here, now, in this benighted demon-haunted place, as hundreds of giant demon-hounds bore down on them.
Pagan fair jumped out of his skin as Liang let out a piercing shriek. Eyes blazing, the Storm Maiden pointed her swords – arms outstretched, at the charging Bahktak. Blazing blue light lanced out from the blades, sweeping over the beasts. A sweet pungent smell that usually presages a lightning storm washed over the five.
A frightful yowling rent the air as the blue fire ripped through the beasts, consuming them utterly, the only indication they were ever there, being the stench of burnt fur and roasted flesh that wafted over the watchers.
Pagan glanced across at Liang. “I hate those foul, maggot-ridden beast.” she announced, her voice cold.
Moon stepped forward, placing a huge hand on her shoulder. “That was some display, lass. Those were flames to match even Sutr's fire!” He yanked his hand away in alarm as Liang looked at him, eyes smouldering with azure fire.
The flames banked, and the Storm Maiden retreated. Liang gave the Axeman a tight smile. Moon puffed out his cheeks in relief, then grinned.
The two green-hued towers – the citadels of the two Gualich, Jakut and Surgat, beckoned. The five moved forward, picking their way through the stone and rock strewn expanse.
A hum filled the air as a latticework of green and yellow light pulsed between the towers, and a dreadful fear, and feeling of hopelessness swamped the approaching humans.
Pagan's legs began to tremble uncontrollably as images and feelings of impending doom washed over him: How foolish he had been to believe he could face the might of the Gualich. He was nothing but a worm, and his weapons, useless. Better if he dropped his sword, and knelt before his masters.
He gritted his teeth and pushed on, each step akin to pushing through quicksand. The hilt of the Storm Blade was red-hot in his hand, and he could smell his burning flesh. Drop it, drop it! screamed his mind, but he grimly held on. He fell as his knees buckled, his head glancing off a rock. His head spun, and he slid toward unconsciousness.
With a great effort of will, he beat away the blackness, and pushed himself onto his knees. His head felt impossibly heavy as he tried to raise it, his vision swam, and his whole body began to shake with an intensity that caused his muscles to cramp. The drumbeat of his heart reverberated through his entire body, the organ threatening to burst through his chest.
Moon stood, legs braced, as if straining to push through an invisible wall barring his way. Legs shaking from the effort, his huge thigh and backside muscles threatened to rip through his leather trews. The muscles of his arms, chest and shoulders writhed like the coils of a python, the veins in his temple stood out – reddish-purple worms under his skin, and his bloodshot eye bulged, as tiny blood-vessels ruptured under the immense pressure. Lips drawn back in a rictus grin, a thin line of saliva drooled down his chin as he battled the unseen demons assailing his mind.
Liang stopped, head bowed, as a feeling of terror, and her own insignificance wormed into her soul. Foolish, deluded woman. You are going to die a horrible death, and there is nothing you can do. Better for all if you crawl on your belly and plead for your life. Perhaps the Masters will grant you eternal life and turn you into one of their servants, a Suanggi to obey their every whim.
Slowly, her head lifted, and the light of the Storm Maiden once again blazed from her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she lurched over to Pagan and knelt beside him, curling an arm around his shoulder. “Courage, my love,” she whispered.
Casca, swamped by his fears, curled into a ball, whimpering and gibbering, his eyes vacant. Elphemina's voice whispered in his mind – a soothing balm. “Breathe deeply and slowly, Casca. Picture Aeneas's face and focus on it.” Casca moaned, retreating within himself in protest at the twin diverging influences invading the privacy of his mind. Eventually, Elphemina's soft, yet insistent voice broke through the dread.
Thinking of Aeneas, he pictured his face as it was that day when they found the sorely wounded wolf-mastiff cross in front of the Philosopher's Folly. Aeneas had knelt by the dog, cradling its huge head in his arms, anguish, concern and hope on his face, as he pleaded they take the beast in and tend its wounds.
The fear and dreadful images faded, but he could sense them still lurking, gathering for another assault. Elphemina's voice came again. “Banish any fears from your mind and concentrate. Imagine an impenetrable shield of light around us all. Concentrate and make it happen. I will join with your mind and guide you.”
Casca felt a heat in his head, then it was as if a door opened, showing myriad paths ahead. Confused, he was uncertain which to take, then he felt the presence – warm and comforting, yet of immense power. At once, the right path became evident, and he stepped onto it without hesitation. He felt a force build within him, felt it grow stronger as it joined with another force of the same vibration.
The dual-shield of Mithros's envoy and the neophyte mage flowed out. It was invisible to the physical eyes, but Casca's ethereal eyes opened, showing a reddish-gold light envelop him and his companions.
Grasping Elphemina's outstretched hand, Casca got to his feet. His mouth was dry and he felt like he had just woken from a dark nightmare, the vestiges echoing in his mind.
Moon ceased his struggle against the invisible wall. Blinking, he shook his head as the fears that had almost unmanned him faded away. He felt a throbbing pain deep within his skull, and lifted a hand to wipe away the trickle of blood flowing from his nostrils. Angry now, he bent and picked up Ausak Demon Bane lying on the ground before him. Mouth working soundlessly under his beard he glared around seeking an enemy to cleave.
Liang helped Pagan to his feet. Reaching up, she wiped away a smear of blood from the cut on his head. Pagan’s mouth was dry, his limbs weak, and the muscles of his chest and legs throbbed with a deep pain. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to centre himself, then turned to look at Liang. Despite their parlous situation, his heart soared, and he leant forward to kiss her on the forehead. Their eyes locked, then both turned to fix their gazes on the blighted twin towers ahead.
Casca and Elphemina moved toward the other three. “I am afraid there is worse to come,” the High Priestess told them.
Moon grimaced. “You don't believe in honey-coating things, do you?”
“Casca and I have erected a shield to protect us from the horror and fear projected by the Gualich,” Elphemina told them, “but I can feel them pushing against it and am not sure how long it will hold, for we will feel the full force of their power once we enter their towers.”
“Casca?” Pagan queried, looking at his friend, who nodded with a thin smile.
“Yes,” Elphemina said “We di
“Sutr's teeth,” Moon muttered, distinctly unimpressed. “Another pigging sorceror.”
“I am not a sorceror,” Casca protested “I can simply see and do...”
“...things other men can't,” the Axeman interrupted, “if that's not a sorceror, I don't know what is.”
“Enough bickering and let’s get to it,” Pagan said, his voice sharp. “If Casca being a sorceror or mage, or whatever you want to call him, will help us defeat this evil, I am all for it.”
The hum of the light pulsing between the towers got louder, setting their teeth on edge as they approached. Bathed in the eerie flickering light, the blasted landscape appeared alive. The smaller rocks: scampering imps snapping at the ankles of the interlopers, and the huge blocks: gigantic rock trolls; stone fists raised to crush and smear them across the rocky ground.
“Sweet heavens,” Casca whispered, eyes wide as he looked around fearfully, “it’s just as Elander Zucross wrote...” A groaning, tearing sound interrupted his words, then the ground heaved and writhed, throwing him and the others off balance.
“An earthquake?” Liang asked
“Sutr's balls!” Moon exclaimed, pointing at something ahead of them “Earthquake, my backside! Did pigging Zucross write about that?”
A colossal figure loomed in the gloom. A greenish light, similar to that above them, glowed within its stone body, giving it a spectral transparent appearance. Looming high above them, its eyes shone coal-red, and its mouth, a black cavern as it roared. The sound blasted out like rolling thunder, accompanied by a foul gust of wind that swept over the interlopers, making them gag and retch.
Casca didn't answer the Axeman, but he knew exactly what the creature was, for Zucross had written about the Korbut – stone creatures given life by the Gualich.
Pagan looked up to see a massive stone fist sweep down at his head. Shoving Liang out of the way, he flung himself to his right, landing hard on his shoulder. The huge fist hammered into the rocky ground sending stone-splinters flying into his face.
Intent on Pagan, the Korbut brought an enormous foot down. Pagan rolled desperately – the animated stone foot scant missing him, and fetched up against a large block. A tearing groan sounded as the creature bent down, reaching for Pagan – shovel-sized fingers spread.
Moon sprang forward, swinging Ausak at the abomination's leg. The axe tore through its ankle, making it lurch drunkenly to one side. The Korbut's mouth opened wide in a tearing screech of pain that hurt the ears. Moon staggered back. Lifting a hand to his left ear he felt a trickle of blood run down his jawline.
The Korbut turned ponderously to face Moon, an arm swinging down. The Axeman flung himself to one side then rolled to his feet.
Off-balance and missing a foot, the Korbut lurched as it turned. The cavern of its mouth yawned open, and green fire spewed out.
Moon fell back in alarm, reflexively raising his axe before his face. The green flames splashed against Ausak's black blades. Moon, faced turned away from the flames, felt the haft grow hot in his hands, then the flames disappeared. The axe had absorbed the eldritch fire. The Axeman didn't understand how, but was thankful for the boon.
Snarling, Moon took three running steps and launched himself at the Korbut. As he leapt, he lifted Ausak high above his head in a double-grip, and brought it down with all his strength, black blade biting deep into the monstrosity's chest. Moon’s weight tore the blade clear, and landing lightly on the balls of his feet, he looked up at his animated-stone foe.
The rip in the Korbut's chest grew larger and spread downward. Green smoke gushed from the crevasse and cracks spread – a spider web criss-crossing its body.
The Korbut stopped stock-still, for further movement might cause it to break apart. Moon standing before it, had seen enough rock falls in the mountains to have no doubt what would happen next. Leaping back hastily, he watched as the creature collapsed with a grating sound of splintering stone amid a cloud of choking dust.
Pagan, Casca, Liang and Elphemina ran up to the Axeman as he cursed under his breath while rubbing sand and rock-grit from his eye. Turning his head, he coughed violently, hawked and spat. “Pigging thing tries to swat me like a fly, fry me with green fire, blind my one-good eye and then choke me!” he grumbled.
Moving warily, they split into two groups as they approached the towers. As Casca, Liang and Pagan neared the closer green-stoned monolith, a figure stepped from the doorway, ochre eyes glowing. It moved forward and stopped a few paces in front of them. A sepulchral voice echoed in Pagan's head. “Black man, you are a fool to come here. I am going to take your soul.”
Pagan glanced at Liang and Casca, motioned them to stay back, then stepped forward, his left hand reaching over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his sword. He paused as Liang grabbed his arm. “Is this wise? she asked. “Better we face this creature together.”
Pagan shook his head. “No, the demon challenged me. I’ll face it alone.”
Liang’s brow furrowed in confusion for she hadn’t heard any such challenge, but she stepped back
The Storm Blade slid clear of its scabbard with a metallic hiss and Pagan locked gazes with his unearthly foe. The Suanggi was tall, taller than Moon, and skeletal-thin. He shivered partly with dread and partly from the chill coming from the creature as he looked into its eyes.
Herald regarded his opponent, his eyes mocking, then his serrated blade swept from its scabbard arcing toward Pagan's throat. Unprepared for the speed of the Suanggi, Pagan barely swayed back in the nick of time, the blade opening a shallow cut across the top of his chest.
“You are no match for me human,” came the voice in his head. “Lay down your sword and offer me your neck. I will take your soul quickly, without pain.”
Pagan didn't respond to the taunt. Taking a two-handed grip on his sword, he breathed deeply seeking shenxin – relaxed focus, awareness, balance and control.
Herald leapt forward again, his sword cutting and slashing. Star-forged enchanted blade and dark sorcery-forged weapon sprang together time and time again, ringing and echoing like the toll of doom in the blasted wasteland of Tor-Arnath. The eerie light pulsing between the green monoliths that dared invade the sanctity of the clouds, bathed the combatants in a surreal dance-macabre.
The Suanggi's sinuous grace made it fiendishly difficult for Pagan to read its movements, and its height, reach and sheer speed presented a nightmare. Pagan blocked and parried, desperately trying to keep the red blade from his flesh. He didn't succeed.
Apart from the cut across his chest, blood was trickling from a wound on his stomach – he had thrown himself back desperately as Herald executed a lightning fast lunge. Blood also ran down his face from a crescent shaped cut under his right eye. Attempting a riposte to another lunge, the Suanggi's counter-riposte had barely missed his eye.
Realising staying on the back-foot gave all the advantages to his much taller, longer- limbed opponent, Pagan leapt at the Suanggi, his sword weaving a deadly pattern. Parrying a ferocious cut, he spun on his heel and hammered the hilt of the Storm Blade into the creature’s temple. Herald staggered back and Pagan followed through with a vicious diagonal cut.
He almost lost his head as Herald twisted out of the way and swept his sword at Pagan's neck. Almost of its own volition, the Storm Blade rose to block the cut, and arm shivering from the impact, Pagan reeled backward.
Teeth bared in a feral grin and eyes blazing, Pagan hurled himself forward again. The Storm Blade felt lighter in his hand – an extension of his arm – an extension of his body – an extension of his will. It licked out and caressed Herald's chest; yellow blood sprayed the air. The Suanggi countered with a swift disembowelling thrust, but the Storm Blade languidly swept down to deflect it.
Time and again their swords rang together. Breath rasped through Pagan's teeth, but he felt a thrilling power surge through his veins.
Herald's sword swept down, but the Sto
Their eyes locked, and Pagan's senses swam as the Suanggi's slitted yellow orbs seemed to grow larger, drawing him into the swirling vortex of their depths. He stopped straining against Herald, absorbed his momentum, and used it to propel himself into a backward somersault. Landing perfectly poised on the balls of his feet, he sprang forward, his sword lashing out in a whistling cut to the overbalanced Suanggi's sword arm.
Herald's mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the Storm Blade sliced through skin, muscle, sinew and bone, sending the severed arm – still gripping the red blade, soaring through the eerily lit air. Yellow gore geysered from the stump as Pagan moved in for the kill. He stopped, eyes widening in shock as a new arm sprouted from the stump.
“You are mine now, human,” the jubilant voice echoed in Pagan's head as Herald's elongated tongue darted out, wrapping itself around his neck.
Pagan struggled for breath as the thick, slimy, suckered member constricted, lifted him off the ground and dragged him forward. But much worse was the tearing indescribable agony as he felt his very soul being torn from him.
Pagan panicked, scrabbling at the tongue with his free hand, his sword dangling limply in his other hand.
Liang watching, gasped in horror, and tried to move to his aid, but an unseen barrier baulked her.
Pagan tried to scream, but couldn't, for he couldn't draw breath. Then he felt a presence in his mind. Sagayetha's – the old shaman – voice, was like a cooling breeze calming him. “Courage, Pagan,” it whispered, “Courage!”
He stopped struggling, allowing Herald to reel him in. Face to face with the demon, he stared defiantly into its gloating eyes, a mirthless grin on his lips.
Herald's anticipation grew, any moment now...then a sliver of doubt intruded, for he saw no fear in the human's eyes. Pagan saw the flicker of uncertainty in the Suanggi's eyes, his left arm rose and he flicked his wrist.
The Storm Blade sliced through Herald's tongue. The demon staggered back, yellow eyes wide in shock and agony as the truncated member sprayed yellow blood and ichor.
Pagan, landing lightly on his feet, reached up with his right hand and tore off the remnant of the Suanggi's tongue wrapped around his neck. Then springing forward with a fierce battle cry – one he had last uttered a lifetime ago in the village of the Crocodile People, he swung the Storm Blade in a slashing reverse cut. The enchanted blade met little resistance as it sheared through Herald's neck. The Suanggi's head lifted high in the air before hitting the rock-strewn ground with a wet thump.
“Grow that back, you lizard-eyed whoreson,” Pagan snarled, as Herald took a couple of faltering steps forward – blood jetting from the stump of his neck before realizing his head was missing. His body slumped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.