Chaos Unleashed (15 page)

“There isn’t much time,” Rexol warns her. “You must use the Crown to defeat Daemron when he returns!”

For the first time in the vision, Cassandra realizes she has been clutching the Talisman in her right hand. She knows that the wizard is right; Daemron has to be stopped.

She brings the Crown up and places it on her head…

Cassandra’s mind snapped her back to consciousness. Even in a dream, she wasn’t ready to wear the Talisman again. Not yet.

With her Sight, she could see it was dark outside; night had fallen over Callastan. A full moon hung above the city—but instead of its normal color, it was dark red.

Cassandra knew the Blood Moon as a portent of impending disaster, an ill omen that hadn’t been seen in nearly twenty years.

You were born under the Blood Moon,
Rexol reminded her.
It means Chaos has been unleashed upon the mortal world.

The crimson orb in the sky only confirmed what her vision had already shown her. The Legacy was about to fall. Daemron was about to return.

Despite what Rexol had said in her dream, however, she knew she didn’t have to fight Daemron. A battle with the Slayer and his army would not save the mortal world—it would only bring death and destruction.

The Legacy must be restored. If I go to the Keystone, I can use the Crown to repair it!

She expected Rexol to make some snide comment, but the wizard only asked,
How are you going to get there?

“My vision will guide me,” Cassandra said aloud. “The island sits at the farthest edge of the Western Sea. All I need is a captain and a ship willing to take me.”

Outside her room, Methodis was puttering around his apothecary. The kindly doctor had already done so much for her she hated to ask anything else of him. But she was a stranger in Callastan, and he knew the city and its people.

You’re a fool,
Rexol declared.
The only sailors he knows will be pirates! You can’t trust them!

“You don’t trust anybody,” she muttered.

Rolling from her bed, she took a few seconds to test her legs. The muscles felt strong, her balance was good, and she felt no pain of any kind.

Every day that she stayed hidden in the back room put Methodis at greater risk. Eventually, the Pontiff’s army outside Callastan’s walls would attack. A number of Inquisitors had probably already infiltrated the city, searching for her and gathering information in preparation for the inevitable assault.

Even if they find you,
Rexol reassured her,
you can use the Crown to defeat them and get away!

The wizard was probably right but Cassandra would only use the Talisman as a last resort. She had accepted the need subtly to draw on it to heal herself, but she still wasn’t willing to take the risk of unleashing its full power by actually placing it atop her head.

More importantly, if the Inquisitors found her, Methodis would be the one to suffer if she escaped. If the venerable healer somehow survived the Pontiff’s brutal methods of interrogation, he would still end up being burned as a heretic for daring to help her.

She had stayed hidden long enough. She was healthy and strong again. It was time to ask her host to help plan her escape from Callastan.

T
HE CLOUDS ABOVE
their makeshift camp were too thick to see the night sky, but Jerrod’s Sight—weakened as it was—allowed him to pierce the veil and sense the Blood Moon hovering above them. He didn’t know what it meant, not exactly, but its presence filled him with dread.

The last Blood Moon heralded the birth of the Children of Fire. Does this one foretell the final fulfillment of the prophecy of the Burning Savior, or does it warn of their death and defeat?

Scythe and Keegan were sleeping, wrapped up in blankets against the dampness of the grassy hollow where the three of them had bedded down. They were only a few days away from Callastan now. A few days away from reaching Cassandra and the Crown…assuming they could find a way to get past the Order’s siege.

And then what happens?
Jerrod wondered.
Will she believe me if I say she has to join us? What if she refuses?

The Blood Moon didn’t augur well for how such a confrontation might end.

Jerrod pulled his focus away from the sky and down to his two young traveling companions. Scythe’s eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and rhythmic, but he didn’t actually know if she was asleep. Now that she carried Daemron’s Sword, she only needed one or two hours of rest each night. And even when she drifted off, part of her senses were always on high alert, ready to spring into action.

Keegan, on the other hand, was in a deep slumber. His soft snores were interrupted by quiet moans and momentary shudders as his mind wrestled with its nightmares, a common occurrence ever since he’d first used Daemron’s Ring.

Three children born under the Blood Moon, each carrying one of Daemron’s Talismans, on the verge of meeting beneath another Blood Moon. Jerrod knew it had to be more than coincidence.

Cassandra has to join us. I have to make her understand that she is part of the prophecy of the Burning Savior!

And yet, a small part of Jerrod’s mind couldn’t help but wonder if his interpretation of the prophecy was wrong.

He wasn’t a Seer. As a young child, he’d seen visions in his dreams—frequent enough that his devout parents had willingly given him to the Monastery when he was only five. But after joining the Order, his visions had faded. He was trained to be an Inquisitor, and as a young man he’d served zealously in his role.

Like most Inquisitors, he rarely had dreams of any real significance. But one night, almost twenty-five years ago, he’d had a vision that changed his life forever. He could still remember the dream: a figure bathed in fire; a champion taking up the ancient Talismans created by the True Gods to stand against Daemron the Slayer and thwart his return. For three straight nights the dream had come to him: an image so vivid, so intense, that even while awake he had thought of nothing else.

When he spoke of it to Nazir—Yasmin’s predecessor—the Pontiff had confirmed that others had recently shared a similar dream. He also told Jerrod that the figure bathed in flames wasn’t actually a champion or savior. The Seers, the Pontiff explained, had already interpreted the true meaning of the vision, cobbling together all the details from several different accounts.

“The Legacy is crumbling, Jerrod. Daemron is dying; our ancient enemy grows desperate to escape his prison. But the burning figure you see is actually symbolic of Chaos itself; it represents all the torment and suffering it will cause if allowed to run free in the mortal world.

“The vision is a warning that we must be ever vigilant in our duty. As the Legacy grows weaker, the influence of Chaos on our world grows stronger. Now more than ever, we must seek out those touched by Chaos—the Children of Fire—and bring them into the fold of the Order before they unleash terrible destruction upon the world.”

Jerrod had accepted the words of the Pontiff though even then some part of him had not been able to fully embrace the official interpretation of the dream. Yet he kept his doubts silent lest he be accused of lacking faith.

It was only when Ezra—one of the Order’s most revered Seers—approached him that he learned there were others who shared his misgivings. Ezra drew him into the circle of those who rejected the official interpretation of his vision and Jerrod was quick to embrace their cause. Unlike the Pontiff, they did not believe Daemron would perish before the Legacy fell. Ezra and the followers of the Burning Savior believed a mortal champion was destined to arise and turn the Slayer’s own weapons against him in order to save the mortal world.

For twenty years Jerrod had devoted himself to this new belief—first, as a secret follower working within the Order to find and recruit others to the cause, including Rexol, the most powerful Chaos mage in the Southlands. Later, when Ezra died, Jerrod became the leader of the old Seer’s small but loyal group of followers. Eventually Rexol exposed him and he was forced to flee, but he never lost his faith.

His belief was so strong that when he had a vision of Rexol and his young apprentice being imprisoned beneath the Monastery, Jerrod had arranged for himself to be captured so he might help them escape. And when Rexol was destroyed by the power of the Crown, Jerrod had been quick to take Keegan under his wing. After all, who better than he himself to protect the prophesied savior of the mortal world?

Throughout it all he had remained confident in his convictions. The exact details of the prophecy were unclear, and over the past few months he had refined and clarified the specifics of what he believed. At his core, however, one fundamental truth remained unchanged: The Children of Fire were saviors who would destroy Daemron the Slayer.

Yet ever since Norr’s death, the first seeds of doubt had taken root in the corners of his mind. For the first time in over twenty years, his confidence had wavered.

Part of it had to do with his normal vision’s being restored. With the white veil across his eyes removed, he struggled to use his Sight. But the effects were even more far-reaching; he’d felt it when he faced the Inquisitors in the ambush a few nights ago. With his focus split between combat and allowing his Sight to pierce the images of his normal, human visions, he was much slower than he had once been. If not for Scythe, the Inquisitors would have won that battle.

You’re letting your lack of faith in yourself weaken your faith in the prophecy.

But he knew it was more than just that. Something Scythe had said when they set the soldier free kept gnawing at him.

“There’s Chaos in our blood. We are bringers of death and destruction! Daemron was a hero once, too—and look what he became. In a thousand years, will the Order be looking for someone to save the world from us?”

Keegan had power—he’d seen ample evidence of that. And Scythe had an incredible, almost indomitable, will. But was that enough to save the world?

He’d watched Keegan struggling to do the right thing, trying to use his power for good. He’d helped Norr win his duel with Shalana even though he clearly had feelings for Scythe. He’d refused to let them execute a prisoner, making every effort he could to spare the soldier’s life.

He’s still just a kid, but at least he’s trying to be a good man.

Still, Jerrod had his doubts. Keegan still showed flashes of the selfishness and arrogance Rexol had taught him. What if defeating Daemron required him to make the ultimate sacrifice? Did he have it in him to give up his life—or his power—for the sake of others? Or, like Scythe had said, what if he had to sacrifice her? Would he be willing to pay that cost?

And what about Scythe herself? Despite her insistence that she was ready to do whatever was necessary to fulfill her destiny, Jerrod still had his doubts about her.

Norr’s death had changed the young woman. She no longer fought Jerrod at every step. She even seemed to embrace her role as one of the Children of Fire. But what was really driving her? A hunger for vengeance? Nihilistic rage and hatred? Could she really be a savior if her motives weren’t pure?

Jerrod had chosen his path long ago; he wasn’t about to change it now. But as they marched inevitably toward the end of this long journey, he was no longer certain they were doing the right thing.

He’d tried to recall the vision that had inspired him so long ago. But he was no longer able to recapture the vivid intensity of the dream. The details were blurred and half-forgotten, faded over the years just like the certainty of his youth.

This is the danger of letting dreams and prophecies guide us,
he thought.
When the visions stop, what are we left to cling to?

Keegan stands on the shores of a white sand beach. He recognized his surroundings; he’d seen this place in other visions. This time, however, something was different.

Previously, there had been another with him—a woman lying on the sand at his feet. A figure of fire had loomed above him, and he’d seen the enemy hordes rushing through the breach in the Legacy. This time, however, he was completely alone.

Yet though the island was deserted, it wasn’t empty. Farther inland, a massive black obelisk rises from the earth before him. Curious, Keegan begins to walk toward it.

The obelisk pulses with power, simultaneously compelling yet repulsive. Reaching the base, he reaches out with his good hand and places it on the surface. Instantly, a collage of images floods his mind: the Old Gods, the Keystone, the creation of the Legacy, the banishment of Daemron the Slayer.

He staggers back and drops to his knees, overwhelmed. Yet on some level, he knew what he’d seen wasn’t real. Unlike his previous visions of the island, this one felt unnatural. Manufactured. Artificial.

“Something’s not right,” he mutters.

And then the Keystone explodes, swallowing him up in a pillar of searing blue Chaos fire.

Keegan woke with a start, his heart pounding. He didn’t know if he’d cried out, but Jerrod was at his side in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” the monk demanded.

“A vision,” Keegan said, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart.

“Great,” Scythe said from close behind him. “These are always so useful.”

Jerrod shot her a sour look, then turned his attention back to Keegan. “What did you see?”

“An island,” he said. “A place I’ve dreamed of before. I think it’s where we will battle Daemron when the Legacy falls.”

“Let me guess,” Scythe interjected. “You have no idea where this island is, do you?” When Keegan shook his head, she added, “Perfect.”

“What else did you see?” Jerrod urged.

“There was an obelisk made of dark stone. Like the walls of the Monastery. It’s called the Keystone.”

From the blank look on Jerrod’s face he clearly had no idea what Keegan was talking about.

“It’s where the Old Gods created the Legacy,” Keegan said. “The Order doesn’t know anything about this?”

“Perhaps the Pontiffs knew of such a place,” he explained, “but if so, it was a secret kept from the rank and file.”

“I thought the Order was supposed to defend the Legacy,” Scythe noted. “Why would they keep this from you?”

“The existence of the Crown was a secret known only to a few,” Jerrod reminded them. “Perhaps the Keystone is dangerous. If it was used to create the Legacy, maybe it can also be used to bring it down.

“What else did you see?” the monk asked.

“Nothing, really,” Keegan said. “But there was something odd about this vision. It felt off.”

“What do you mean?”

The young mage shook his head. “It’s hard to put into words. The vision felt artificial. As if it almost wasn’t real.”

“It wasn’t real,” Scythe said. “It was just a dream.”

“Visions feel different from dreams,” Jerrod insisted. “They are projections born from the Sea of Fire, manifestations of raw Chaos seeping into the mortal world. There is an intensity—an insistence—about them that is unmistakable. If anything, they feel almost too real.”

Keegan nodded. “Right. But this vision didn’t feel like that. It almost felt…staged.

“I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but I’ve seen this place in other visions. It’s familiar enough to me that I sensed something wasn’t right.”

“Maybe someone is trying to trick us,” Scythe said. “Is it possible to send out a false vision?”

Keegan shrugged and looked over to Jerrod, who shrugged in return.

“I suppose such a thing is possible,” the monk admitted. “Though I have never heard of it. It would require incredible power.”

“Maybe it’s Cassandra,” Keegan suggested. “She could be using the Crown to reach out to us!”

“Or maybe it’s the Slayer setting some kind of trap,” Scythe countered.

“Daemron cannot touch the mortal world,” Jerrod insisted. “The Legacy keeps him at bay. That is why he sent his Minions to be his agents.”

“Then maybe it’s one of the Minions,” Scythe said. “Or maybe the Legacy is weaker than you think.

“You keep talking about Daemron’s return, but it seems like you haven’t really thought it through,” she added. “If he’s out there waiting for the Legacy to fall, do you really believe he’s just sitting around doing nothing all this time?”