4.10 - Mainspring
The Vesh’Tal Remnants burst from the forest on the outskirts of Wolf in a swift but controlled rage. Gorudonda realized that what he had seen from them over the last few months was nothing but poking. What spun towards him in a blind fury was the true nature of the enemy. Hundreds upon hundreds of Remnants spilled forth from the treeline which was now broken apart like carrion. Dozens of chariots crawled forward over downed trees, each carrying at least ten more Remnants. Staggered throughout the force were beasts similar to Remnants, but easily three to four times their size. If put next to one of Iriyosh’s golems, they would stand as equals. Where the golems were made of earth and vines, these beasts seemed to be naught but a coagulated blue-white substance clinging to a loose framework of bones and tendons. With each lumbering step the beasts took, their blue-white flesh would shift heavily on their bones, like it was barely attached. The Remnants were organized, moving in mass, to bring death to the Barge of Souls. Iriyosh’s golems wasted no time, charging forward into the mass before they gained too much space in the field.
Iriyosh surged forward to join them. They pointed towards a mass of Remnants with one hand, then tightened it into a fist. As they did, the ground beneath them exploded upward into sharp pillars of clay, destroying the Remnants and sending a cloud of death smoke into the air above. With their other hand, they held it tight to their body as a contingent of Remnants on the western flank fired bonespears from the parasitic creature between their legs. A wall of stone erupted from the ground beneath Iriyosh and aligned into an impenetrable wall, against which the spears clattered harmlessly and fell to the ground. Tumo Karesk flickered back and forth furiously, claws spinning around him in a reckless storm of death, punctuated by deep booms from his tail hammering into chariot after chariot. One of the Remnant golems knocked him to the ground, but before it could capitalize, Karesk was back on his feet and cutting the beast in two. Its flesh, like curdled milk, sloughed off its bones in lumps before it all dissipated into smoke and vanished. Tumo Barugh, the most unassuming of the celestial beings, seemed to be the most effective. She was barely visible in the fray, shorter than all the other combatants. It was easier for Gorudonda to spot the cloud of death she caused. Along the eastern flank was a massive cloud of blue-gray smoke, expanding rapidly by the minute. Beneath it, he could see brief flashes of the curved swords that appeared and vanished in her hands, each swing cutting down three Remnants at a time. She avoided the golems, leaving them for Karesk and Iriyosh, but among the mass of deranged foot soldiers, she was an untouchable blaze of light and oblivion.
Gorudonda suddenly felt overcome by a feeling of disconnectedness. Like he was fully aware, but deep in a nightmare. The fields before Wolf were a flood of violence, and yet, by the very nature of the combatants, it was nothing like war. The battlefield was bloodless, as each Remnant’s body vanished to smoke as it died, and the celestial beings had yet to be struck enough to bleed. Two of Iriyosh’s golems had been destroyed, but their bodies were indistinguishable from the battlefield they fought upon. The Remnants and the celestial beings alike made no battle cries, no screams of pain, no calls to retreat or push forward. The only sounds were that of flesh being ripped, weapons and fists slamming into the ground, and deep echoes of frantic movement. Gorudonda scraped his fingernails hard into his palm, nearly hard enough to draw blood, just to know that this was all real. He felt his aegis spiral through his chest and along the veins of his arm, curling down to his hand ready to repair any damage. It was a relief to feel the creature so quickly. All irilocs were born with an aegis inside of them, a tiny creature responsible for healing infections and wounds until, inevitably, the energy that fueled its body burned out and it died. Until that time, the iriloc would be immortal, outside of truly irreparable wounds. It was impossible to know how much longer an aegis would live, but the speed with which it moved throughout the body was a good indicator of its life force.
“Gorudonda!” Tanith’s voice broke him from his petrified state. The messenger from Elk never returned to the town she came from. After learning of their disinterest and passive betrayal of their sister town, she proudly pronounced herself a new resident of Wolf, even as it was under siege from a force clawing its way from the age-old depths of darkness.
“The northwest!” she said, catching her breath. “They’re coming from the northwest as well.”
Rivkah, the hauler and now refugee from Osterhold spoke up.
“I’m sorry we have brought this upon you,” she said. “If only we had known what the tunnels held.”
“That is not your burden to bear,” Gorudonda said. “We don’t ask for your apology, only your help. The mass of the enemy is engaged, thanks to Iriyosh and the other beings. What emerges from the northwest is left to us.”
Rivkah nodded and then grimaced at the chipped butcher’s knife on her belt.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a bow and quiver of arrows around would you?”
Gorudonda and the irilocs of Wolf stormed forward to meet the horde just as they had for months before, only a great fire burned in them this time. They were not alone. To the south, great beings unlike anything they had seen fought to protect them. Alongside them, the last residents of Osterhold took up arms. Positioned on the rooftop of the woodwind collective building were Rivkah and a handful of other archers, already unleashing a barrage upon the enemy. Even Gomesonda, the chef of Osterhold who had sustained a brutal injury on their retreat, fought alongside them. Her aegis had worked faster than any Gorudonda had ever seen. Remnants careened forward, alongside three chariots and a golem, but the order with which the main force attacked the southern front was lost to this contingent. They moved with the chaotic shifts that Gorudonda and the irilocs knew so well. Gorudonda slammed the hilt of his short sword into the front of his buckler and roared as the forces clashed.
The irilocs of Wolf were not meant to be warriors, they were musicians, storytellers, poets, and chefs. But after months of fighting for their lives, dying, being brought back by their aegis, and fighting again, they knew the Remnants better than anyone on The Barge of Souls. Like gods themselves, they cut a swath through the detachment of beasts that stumbled forward. Bursts of gray-blue smoke filled the air around Gorudonda as he took Remnant after Remnant down around him, fighting with the fury of a man with so very much to lose. His aegis swirled frantically inside of him, a gentle reminder that even death wouldn’t stop him. He didn’t plan on dying today, however. A gust of wind cleared the air in time for him to see a chariot rear back on its hind legs, ready to crush him. Just as it did, arrows riddled its body from Rivkah and her archers, stunning it. Darusonda, Gorudonda’s second in command, sprinted into view and thrust his longsword into the exposed belly of the creature, then turned around and pulled both hands up and over his shoulder, cutting a chasm through the center of the creature. It bent backward and curled up briefly before evaporating into nothingness. Darusonda smiled and nodded to Gorudonda. As soon as he did, the golem Remnant slammed a fist into him, sending him flying across the battlefield until he crumpled into an unconscious pile nearly twenty feet from Gorudonda. Arrows from Rivkah sunk into the shifting flesh of the golem, finding purchase but to little avail. It shifted forward towards Gorudonda, its amorphous body ejecting arrows as it went. Gorudonda threw up his buckler to block a fist coming down on him. A decision he quickly regretted. The buckler exploded into splinters and he saw the bone in his arm snap in half, part of it nearly breaking the skin. The force of the blow knocked him to the ground, and the golem brought down its other fist with frightening speed. Gorudonda rolled to the side, just barely dodging the blow. In the process, he rolled on top of his broken arm and screamed out in pain as the broken bones scraped against each other and pressed into his skin. He rolled back and looked up at the golem, who slammed its fists together. Its flesh, like rotten porridge, merged into one large shape, and it hefted it straight up above its head, ready to bring it down on the prone iriloc.
“For Archturos!”
Gorudonda heard the voice from behind the golem and simultaneously saw a greataxe cleave through the leg of the beast. It clumsily sank down to the stump, only for its second leg to be severed, knocking it down on that side.
“And for Heveil!”
The voice yelled out again. The face of the golem, much like the rest of the Remnants, was a mishmash of human features that shifted and morphed into each other. Gorudonda thought he saw an expression of confusion, as the beast watched its arms separate from its body next.
“For Osterhold!”
The voice cried out once more and the greataxe swung through the neck of the golem, each individual piece of its body coalescing into a cloud and revealing Gomesonda, breathing heavy, greataxe gripped in both hands. She smiled at Gorudonda and hefted the greataxe up.
“This thing ain’t half bad,” she said. “Now let’s get you outta here. That arm could use some work.”
Redoubt had failed. No one else would see it that way. They couldn’t be expected to protect everyone. But at that moment, looking down on the slain body of Marietta, still as graceful as in life, Redoubt felt overcome with failure. What good is a shield when one of the bodies it is meant to protect lays dead on the hillside? Acrieta and Polos, Marietta’s faithful companions, whined in anguish beside their owner. No, not their owner. Their mother. In all things other than birth, Marietta had mothered them through life. She belonged to them as much as they did to her, but now she faced the afterlife without them. And they were left orphaned, in a field of blood and death as the very depths of the oldest hatred on The Barge of Souls stormed out upon the fields outside of Tumo Krasis like the cold breath of an icebound god. Marietta had survived the initial contact, thanks to the fully-fledged militia that the council of Tumo Krasis had begrudgingly volunteered forward. Lazar, the curious mage Irfan had met in the Fulcrum Tavern followed through with his promises, pinching each and every council member enough to force their hand. The first wave of Remnants from the Central Kingdom had been dispatched with relative ease. No, Marietta had fallen to the second wave, a merciless bounty of godless beings offered up by the Cup of Benediction, the abandoned abbey turned headquarters of the wicked legion that lay beyond it in the Central Kingdom. The militia of Tumo Krasis took a heavy blow beneath the second wave of Remnants but held strong alongside Lazar, and the rest of the Moirapsida. All but Marietta. Redoubt felt their stomach turn and tears well up anew as Domonkos approached. He fell to his knees next to Marietta and removed his hat and veil, despite the sun beating down upon him. Redoubt couldn’t recall if this was the first time they had seen him cry, but they certainly couldn’t remember another. Polos nudged his head under Domonkos’ arm and whimpered.
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Domonkos said to the siege wolf. “I’m sorry.”
Redoubt heard a thundering in the distance, a rage-filled drumming of the earth beneath them. They looked towards the abbey and saw a third wave pour forth into the field, coating the horizon in a pale white maelstrom of movement. There would be no rest today, and today may never end.
“Domonkos…” Redoubt said, quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He nodded but said nothing. A contingent of Tumo Krasis militia arrived and took up guard around the two, preparing for a fraction of the coming wave that had split off in their direction and quickened their pace. Domonkos gave Polos a pat on the head and put his hat back on, the veil falling down over his face like the ethereal armor of a maddened spirit.
“Leave this place,” he said. “Assist your brethren, I have no need for you here.”
It took a moment for the militia to realize it was them he was speaking to. They glanced nervously at each other, and back to Domonkos.
“Go.”
The young man in charge of this particular unit, who couldn’t be older than twenty-three, nodded to Domonkos.
“You heard him,” he barked to the unit. “We rejoin the main force. Leave the northern flank to our friends here.”
Redoubt had seen firsthand what Domonkos and the siege wolves could do, but even they had their limit. The force of Remnants swiftly approaching was dense, and writhing with fury. If they were to die, suppose it's better to get it over with quickly. The militia quickly formed ranks and marched south towards the main battle, rejoining Lazar and the rest of the Moiraspida.
“I am with you, my friend,” Redoubt said. “Until the end, if it comes for us.”
They slid both kite shields securely on their arms and took up position in front of Domonkos. They heard a shuffling of scrolls, and Domonkos began, his chanting echoing out from behind.
“They come in a cloud of prideful dust, sickened beasts of time immemorial. Bodies racked with the pain of their own detestable being. They come to wreck, to ruin, to eat, to die, to burn, to thrust upon the world everything which blunts the sharpness of life, until it is nothing but a worn and discarded stone. They are the fearful malice that stirs in the broken core of humanity, poised to strike with frenzy at the lifegiving rivers that flow through our weaving plane of souls.”
The mass of Remnants was close now, bonespears beginning to fly towards the four figures on the hillside. With unreserved quickness, Redoubt spun and pivoted around Domonkos, Acrieta, and Polos, shielding and bashing away each and every spear. Their forearms were already numb from the first two waves, so each hit felt like an explosion of spikes through their arms, but it didn’t slow them. Domonkos stepped forward now, a pale gray-black screen shimmering in front of him. In a moment of rest between volleys of spears, Redoubt saw Domonkos’ hands. Scroll after scroll was being burned away, through his incantation. He wasn’t casting one spell, he was string casting. Each spell could be tied to another and cast together if their incantations were woven, but even two were incredibly taxing to the caster. Domonkos was stringing nearly a dozen together. A bonespear careened towards Polos and Redoubt rolled forward, throwing both shields up and blocking the spear. Another spear flew towards Domonkos, but the gray-black screen in front of him hardened into an interwoven wall of scales and the bone spear shattered. His chanting continued.
“The softness of moonlight eagerly streams down upon those who bring nights of gentleness to this world, but upon you, oh terrible hordes of bitter undeath, there will be no such gentleness. In a thousand years and more, the warping dust clouds of your destruction will unravel through space like harmless clatterings of erupted stars, and children will point and watch as you drift by. All will say ‘let the children watch. Let them see, lest we forget what becomes of the rancorous.’ Become dust, you loathsome creatures.”
The last scroll burned away in Domonkos’ hand. The air around him, heavy as a tomb, picked up in gusts, becoming a passionate gale around the mage. The Remnants continued forward recklessly, nearly on top of Domonkos now. Redoubt moved back a few steps, keeping watch on the flanks and staying guard of Polos and Acrieta. They glanced to the south and saw Irfan, Nasrikonda, Faiza, Lazar, and the militia of Tumo Krasis fighting tooth and nail against the heart of the wave. A thick cloud of blue dust obscured the sun above them, with more added to it each moment. They looked back to Domonkos.
The air around him was a cylinder now, swirling fast enough to obscure him entirely. Beneath him, the ground pulsed with light. Cracks of gray energy fractured outward, all snaking their way toward the oncoming horde. As soon as a line of energy reached the Remnants, it would explode upward like a reverse lightning bolt, taking five to ten Remnants with it. They surrounded Domonkos in his pillar of air, furiously throwing themselves at it, tearing at the air with claws and teeth and hurling their malformed bodies at it to no avail. All around them, crackling bolts of energy surged upward in brutal fits, exploding pockets of Remnants into dust. The bolts of energy took on a new life, however. After they burst into the sky, they darted back and forth for a moment and then careened back down to the surface, slamming into the ground with a thunderclap like the shaping hammer of Ysopra. Domonkos, in his grief, stood somewhere in the center of it all. The section of the wave that had charged them was rapidly thinning, down to a few dozen Remnants surrounding the pillar of air that shielded Redoubt’s friend and comrade. The pillar began to unfold outward like a flower. Redoubt could hear their own heart beating. Just as it was with the first wave, this battalion of monstrosities fought in near complete silence. The scraping of claws and stomping of bare feet could be heard, but otherwise, the sound of Domonkos’ unraveling hurricane was the only noise present on the battlefield. It continued to blossom outward until it shadowed over the rest of the Remnants still drawing breath if they even did breathe. Then, with unwavering fury and quickness, the air went rigid and flattened itself downward, crushing everything beneath it. Domonkos stood in the center, head down, balance faltering, while around him a halo of dust from dozens of extinguished Remnants slowly drifted up toward the heavens. Redoubt had never felt immeasurably close to Domonkos. They got along well enough, but he was a man of profound silence. Even in the gentlest of times for the Moiraspida, spent around tavern tables or along the calm waters of a river, he never seemed to be at rest. It discouraged Redoubt from investing in him as perhaps they could have. But there was always Marietta and the siege wolves. Redoubt looked at the man standing inside the center of magic more powerful than anything they had ever seen, and it was clear that nearly all of him was broken.
The air of the field in front of Domonkos shimmered and cracked. At first, Redoubt thought it to be the residue of the depth of magic that he had just unleashed upon the world. Then they feared something more sinister, as the energies seemed entirely disparate from that of Domonkos’. Redoubt motioned to Acrieta and Polos and barreled forward, taking up position in front of the enervated mage. Redoubt couldn’t feel anything from the shoulder down on either arm, but they still clashed their kite shields together and formed a wall, with Acrieta and Polos on either side, the tips of their sharp red and black osteoderms clanking against the sides of Redoubt’s shields. A terrible thunderclap rang out, then seemed to absorb itself, working backward. The air before them split in half, revealing what looked to be a dense forest, buzzing with cicadas. A massive creature stepped forward through the split, walking on all fours, dragging a heavy forked tail. Its body shimmered a pale red in the sunlight, and three massive lizard-like heads peered down from long necks at the Moiraspida below them. Despite the stark differences, Redoubt couldn’t help but notice that the creature in some ways bore a resemblance to Acrieta and Polos. The air in front of the being crackled then twisted into a string of words.
Very brave of you to stand guard over your comrade in the face of one such as I, but fear not. I am not here for you, but for the infection which spreads throughout the skin of the Barge of Souls, pushed along the veins by the pulsing heart at the center of this land. My name is Palidesh, and I am one of many that have returned from a time before. Together we will break this fever once and for all.
SJ
“Am I leading us to our deaths?” Selouise asked, her voice hushed, head down. She sat on a barrel in the cabin of the Servitor, with her brother Senlo leaning against the wall and her old mentor Anselm, resting on a stool that Varit had made years ago. “What could we possibly do?”
“There are forces at work here far beyond us, that is true,” Senlo said. His deep voice echoed through the cramped space below deck like the heaving breath of a dragon. Even in the dimly lit room, Selouise could see his bright amber hair falling loosely around his two spiraling horns that curved along his scalp. “But this feels like the right thing to do. None of us would be here if it weren’t for you, sister. We will follow you to whatever conclusions may await us.”
Selouise looked up and smiled at her brother, then turned to the old gardener.
“Many years ago, you pulled me from the dreadful maelstrom I was caught within,” she said. “What words of wisdom might you proffer this time, if any?”
Anselm’s face, weathered from time, wrinkled as he smiled at her.
“Your brother speaks the truth, first and foremost,” he said. “From what I’ve seen, you have led the people of this ship rightly, for a long time. Their decisions are their own, and they have chosen to align them with yours. If nothing else, let that stand as a testament to your abilities as captain. As far as what awaits us, there isn’t a single person on the Barge of Souls who could say. What we do know, is that the Central Kingdom is certainly a blight upon the land, claiming more and more each day. You and your crew have made it your life’s work to safeguard the helpless and those in need, and this seems like a greater opportunity than you will ever see in your lifetime. I cannot say I have a timeless adage or words passed down from some figure greater than myself, because I dare say this is the time when those very things come to be. We are living in a moment that transcends the boundaries of our lifetime. You are doing what you believe to be right, and not a single person on this ship, myself included, doubts your leadership.”
Selouise reached out a hand to each of them. They obliged, and she held them tight, basking in what might be the last peaceful moment they would have together. Using her ability as a san renomo, she projected her thoughts into both of their minds.
I love you both. I would have no one else at my side than the two of you, should death come to meet us.
“Selouise!” Elantha’s panicked voice called from the other side of the closed door of the cabin. “Selouise come quick!”
The midday sun beat down on the deck of the Servitor, enough to cause Selouise to wince for a moment as she cleared the doorway. Varit and Numair were kneeling down next to a prone figure, while Elantha stood by the entrance to the cabin, waiting for Selouise. The Carshgan they had rescued from Yulfang had requested to join the crew after they had made the trek to Paruul’s Bazaar. Selouise cautioned that they were an entirely Saorin crew, meaning that most trips were done in the daylight, but Elantha insisted. She wore a thin blue cloak and hood during the day, her face almost completely obscured by a semi-translucent piece of cloth that Numair had stitched into the hood. It shielded her from most of the sunlight, without hindering her abilities. Even still, she operated on slightly adjacent hours from the rest of the crew most days. But this was not most days.
“It’s Shore,” she said, as Selouise and Senlo moved towards the figure laying on the deck. “He crawled up from the water looking half dead. I think it’s some sort of poison.”
Shore, the only zeitlos aboard the Servitor, lay unconscious on the deck. His eyes were shut and his mouth hung open, revealing the tumbling waves within. Splotches of what looked like a gray oily substance were visible in the water inside of him, and his skin was stricken with dryness and an unhealthy tightness, practically suctioned to his bones.
“Shore!” Selouise dropped to her knees next to him and took his face in her hands. “Can you hear me? Stay with us.”
While she spoke the words, she also channeled them into his mind. His skin felt harsh, like old wooden planks. She used her thumb to lift one of his eyelids up and winced. Shore’s eyes were normally pupilless and perfectly pale blue, but now they were covered in white and green dots that fluctuated in size.
You can fight this, Selouise now spoke only to Shore in his mind. You are stronger than this poison. We’re going to do everything we can but we need you to stay with us.
“Varit! Bring me the ash of ipocask tonic! Elantha, get two waterskins from the cabin. Senlo, I need a bucket and a towel.”
The crew sprang into action without a word. Shore began to convulse slightly, his head vibrating in Selouise’s hands.
“Hey! Hey!” she yelled at him. “Don’t let it take you! Think of Moonsah River, think of your home. Think of your days basking in the sun as the water cradled you. Clear and clean, filling you with the lifeblood of the Barge of Souls. Feel that clean water all around you.”
Shore’s head settled down into a gentle rocking back and forth, but his body still quivered. Varit slid down next to Selouise and handed her the vial of brackish black liquid. Elantha laid the waterskins next to her, and Senlo threw the towel over her shoulder and sat the bucket down at Shore’s feet. With the help of the crew, Selouise lifted Shore into a sitting position, with Senlo supporting his back. She unstoppered the vial and tilted it back into his mouth, then held it closed for a moment to make sure he swallowed it. It was Selouise’s only choice, but the ash of ipocask was not a pleasant experience. A brief moment passed, then Shore began to lurch, his stomach sucking in tight to him with each breath.
“Forward! Hold him forward over the bucket!” Selouise said. Together the crew held the young zeitlos as he violently retched, and then expelled a horrifying mixture into the bucket. As he did, his entire body went slack for a moment, as if he had emptied himself and was nothing but skin and a few ragged bones. Selouise took the towel from her shoulder and cleaned his face, then took one of the waterskins and, with the help of Senlo holding Shore’s head back, slowly helped the zeitlos drink. With each passing moment, life gradually returned to Shore. His skin softened, the quivering and shaking ceased, and the dots in his eyes were nearly all gone. As soon as Selouise was sure there wasn’t much else that could be done, she left Shore in the care of the crew and took the bucket towards the stern of the ship. The liquid inside was heavy and sloshed with a disconcerting inconsistency. It was closer to fat of some kind than water.
She reached the stern and found exactly what she was afraid of. The entire river beneath them was covered in a thick layer of whatever it was that Shore had regurgitated. It swirled in unnatural patterns, and dozens of fish floated belly up on the surface, their flesh sporting rotten holes eaten clean through by the substance. She hated to add to the disaster, but keeping the liquid on the ship seemed even more dangerous, so she took the bucket and dumped its contents overboard. The splash barely created a wake as the heavy liquid melted back into the thick layer on top of the water. Anselm stepped up to the railing next to Selouise and looked down.
“I suppose calling this a bad omen would be an understatement,” Selouise said to the gardener.
“Quite the contrary,” Anselm said, smiling at Selouise. “I think it means we’re almost there.”
The God’s Pearl was even larger than Selouise imagined. Thirty minutes after the incident with Shore, the river curved around a large cliffside to reveal the very center of the central kingdom, and the God’s Pearl itself. When the Barge of Souls was in its infancy, the gods blessed it by sending the gemstone down from the spiraling infinity of the sky. It crashed into the uninhabited center of the continent, drawing the people inwards from their seaside villages. The fourteen kingdoms formed in the two hundred years that followed, all blossoming outward from the jewel set as the axis of the land. Selouise gripped the railing of the Servitor tight enough to feel the wood creak. The Pearl towered upward, and yet she could tell that at least half of it was buried beneath the surface. Large chunks of the pale white stone were missing, carved away by the greedy miners of the central kingdom that started all of this. One particular section of the Pearl caught her eye, but before she could look closer, Elantha gripped her shoulder tight.
“Look! There he is!”
Selouise turned her gaze back towards the river as it curved in a parallel half-moon around the Pearl. Above the water, held in place by bloodied and pulsing tendrils, was the two-headed golden being that had emerged from the river months ago, as Selouise and her crew escorted Elantha to safety. The same being she had seen soaring over Paruul’s Bazaar, and the primary reason she had led her crew into the mouth of death itself. The being was bloodied, and weakly struggling against the creature that held it in place. Half submerged in the oily black river was a beast of equal size. Its back was to the Servitor as it held Elantha’s protector in the air. Its tendrils curled forward from rotting holes in its back as if they had emerged of their own free will. Selouise was sure the river here was no shallower than twenty feet, and yet the creature stood in it, the water only reaching its waist. The head of the creature was covered in deep scars and missing chunks of skin and bone that revealed a violent blend of blue and white viscous matter, spilling down and onto its shoulders. The arms of the beast rested at its side, although one looked too damaged to function. The very air around it shimmered in distaste and seemed to drain the color from things. The tendrils squeezed tighter on the two-headed being in its grip, and Selouise heard giant bones snap.
“We have to help him!” Elantha said. She ran towards one of the two mounted windlass crossbows on the bow of the Servitor. Sendo quickly moved next to her and grabbed her arm as she began to crank the crossbow.
“Look at the size of the beast,” he said. “A simple bolt will only draw its attention, nothing more.”
Elantha looked at Selouise, panic in her eyes. It had come to it. The moment the fate of her crew would be decided, and potentially the fate of much more. Varit and Numair stood at the ready. Shore rested against the mast, watching it all through half-open eyes. Anselm looked at Selouise with a distant smile, just like the one she had seen when she was laying in the medical tent across from him, all those years ago. The course of action seemed abundantly clear to the captain.
“Sendo, prep the rowboat. Everyone needs to get off the river as soon as possible,” Selouise said.
Her brother nodded and immediately moved toward the stern of the ship.
“Shore, are you able to rig one of those incendiary bolts you’ve been working on?”
The zeitlos nodded and pulled himself up to his feet.
“Aye captain,” he said. “I think I can manage.”
“This creature and the river itself are coated in some sort of oil or fat,” Selouise said. “I think our best chance is to burn the beast to ash.”
Elantha’s brow furrowed.
“Selouise, you can’t,” she said. “If you stay on the ship to fire that bolt, you’ll burn along with it.”
“I brought us into this,” Selouise said. “It is my responsibility to see you through it. This is our best option, and we don’t have time to deliberate.”
“Selouise…” Numair said. “I’m sure we can…”
He trailed off.
Varit stepped forward and embraced Selouise.
“The best captain we could have ever asked for,” she whispered to Selouise, her voice wavering.
Shore returned with a crossbow bolt, the tip of which was bound with a pouch and small wick. He cranked the windlass and set the bolt in place, then turned to Selouise.
“All set captain. Hang on…if we’re leaving the ship, how do we…”
He looked around at the crew, and Selouise, then his head dropped.
“Come on kid,” Numair said, nudging Shore. “Let's help Sendo get the rowboat in the water.”
He nodded, looked at Selouise with heartbroken eyes, then followed Numair and Varit to the stern. Elantha stepped towards Selouise.
“I will never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done,” she began.
Anselm cleared his throat.
“You’ll have plenty of time, Elantha,” he said. “Selouise is going with you. This task falls to me.”
Selouise glared at the old gardener.
“No, you can’t. This is my ship.”
Anselm the patient and kind old man smiled once more.
“Not for very long, if things go as intended,” he said. “I was guided here for a reason, Selouise. Galene has led me to this moment, and now I know why. You are not meant to die here. Your brother, your crew, they need you. This world needs you. I have done my part. Besides, I am beginning to miss her very much. Now show me how to fire this thing and get your feet on solid ground.”
Before Selouise climbed aboard the rowboat, she guided Anselm through the firing process and embraced him one last time. She was careful not to crush the bouquet of ember lilies he had tucked into his belt.
“For her, when we meet again.” he had said.
The rowboat of the Servitor slammed ashore and the crew clambered out, eager to be free of the sickly river. Further ahead along the riverside, they could now see the broken body of the other being that had flown overhead Paruul’s Bazaar. The segments of its body, which had shifted together so well in the air, were ripped apart and piled together like a cairn. Selouise watched the Servitor drift ever closer to the giant beings, and as it did the one crushing Elantha’s protector became aware of their presence. The creature spun its half-destroyed head ninety degrees to face the Servitor. Its face was just as scarred and damaged, but it was entirely human. It had two large blue eyes, and a wide snarling mouth full of teeth just as human as Selouise’s.
“Poor wretches, the lot of you,” its voice was deep and bubbling like its mouth was full of whatever slime sloshed out from its shattered head. “Come to bear witness to the splintering of your brave paladin. Just as I did with Ghuldoxa, I shall do to Sunhesh. I will rend from them any whisper of life and dissolve it away into the organism of the Pearl. It must be fed.”
Elantha’s protector struggled harder, freeing two of its taloned arms.
“You shall not touch them, Arisosh!” Sunhesh howled, digging its talons into the side of the beast. Arisosh grunted and spun his head back towards Sunhesh. While maintaining his tendril grip, he used his undamaged arm to grab one of Sunhesh’s and ripped it from his body. Sunhesh cried out in pain, blood pouring from the hole where one of their arms used to be.
“So humiliating, what you have become,” Arisosh said. “I can feel your power dwindle in my tendrils, as a paltry flame whimpers out in a tempestuous gust.”
The deck of the Servitor was too high to see properly from the riverside, but Selouise saw the bolt. A loud bang rang out as Anselm let loose. The wick ignited simultaneously and the pouch around the tip of the bolt burst into a massive flame as it soared toward Arisosh. His head spun around once more, just in time to see the bolt slam into his back. Just as Selouise had hoped, the entirety of his being was engulfed. An eerie scream echoed out from him, and his tendrils released Sunhesh as they burnt up into dust. Sunhesh, through his injuries, managed to soar upward and away from the flames. The head of Arisosh was next, the liquid inside igniting and spilling wild flames through the gaping holes in his skull. In moments, his body was lost to the blaze as the river itself caught and flames sped downriver quickly collapsing upon the Servitor. The boat that Selouise had spent the last ten years captaining was gone, as was her oldest friend. They were victorious, and yet before her was a savage blaze taking so very much. As the flames began to die down ever so slightly, the charred remains of Arisosh burned away to nothing.
“Champions of The Barge of Souls,” Sunhesh called out from the sky above them. “The Deathless King is no more, felled by your hands. When all of this is gone, when the land is changed and the inhabitants move on, still your deeds will be remembered. What you have done here will never be matched, but your work is only just beginning. The plague of The God’s Pearl ends today. Now you must rebuild what has been destroyed. You must weed out the corroborators, the stranglers, the ones who facilitated this hatred. My time is up, but yours is only just being born.”
Without another word, Sunhesh flew towards the God’s Pearl. A large doorway was carved into the gemstone, where the first citizens of the central kingdom began to mine. Sunhesh crawled inside, disappearing from view. Selouise and her crew sat in stunned silence for what felt like an eternity. Varit and Numair held each other. Shore lay on his back with one arm over his eyes. Sendo sat next to Elantha, holding her hand in his. Selouise pulled her knees close to her chest and rested her chin on them, feeling everything and nothing at the same time. Suddenly a loud pop echoed out from the God’s Pearl, followed by the same pop in reverse. The massive gemstone trembled, then began to collapse. As if an invisible golem swung a great hammer down upon it, chunks of the pearl dented inward, over and over until the gift from the gods vanished, along with Sunhesh.
“Good riddance,” Selouise said.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Caldifera shouted to her brother. He was two years younger than her, only eight, so she always let him hide first. Besides, he almost always hid between the same two rocks by the river, so she would get to take her turn fast. Their parents were off in town, meeting with the mayor about some scary business that Caldifera couldn’t understand. Luckily, Davre was too young to recognize the worry on their faces when they said they wouldn’t be back until the evening. Or at least, he didn’t seem to recognize it. She cleared the treeline and ran down towards the river.
“Davre! What are you doing? I called out loud and clear!” she said, disappointed to find her brother standing in the open.
“Caldifera, look!” he called back, pointing to something behind the rocks where he normally hides. She walked down next to him and looked. On the shore were dozens of pieces of shattered glass and half of some sort of ball. Next to it was an old man, soaking wet, gently laying out a bouquet of flowers on the ground. He looked over at the children and smiled, then went back to laying out his flowers.
“Hey, mister! You okay? Who are you?” Caldifera yelled.
“I’m fine, dear,” the old man yelled back. “No need to worry. I’m just a gardener.”