Mythborn: Rise of the Adepts (73 page)

They tried to flee, but Rai’stahn fell upon them, his frustration at Arek and Silbane needing release. He smashed some and tore apart others, flinging their bodies in all directions, littering the hard ground with a gruesome mix of body parts and splashes of blood, drying quickly in the hot, desert air. When finally there was nothing left alive, he looked southeast, across the Shattered Sea. His anger began to cool, and with it, reason returned.

The boy must be stopped, and there are still those of power who walk this earth.
Though many believed dragons were gone, Rai’stahn was not the last. He kept the Vigil, guarding this world while others of his kind slept. They too, had once walked Edyn as gods and would do so again. It was time for them to rise and decide how best to deal with the return of the Celestial Lilyth and her Aeris Lords.

The great dragon bunched his muscles then leapt into the sky, beating his wings once, twice, before finding his bearings and arrowing off toward the one he had called to earlier. Soon, he knew, Sovereign would act, the Aeris would counter, and the Conclave would prepare for war.

Journal Entry 24

Time passes and my friend grows stronger every day. She was at first understandably angered by my presence (I daresay, my very existence) but this has since passed into a grudging kind of acceptance. I think she understands we are trapped here. Anger is wasted, and as we all find out, dangerous.

My knowledge of this place grows with each passing day. I understand the intrinsic nature of things now and have turned my attention to the problem of stopping something so entrenched in our belief that its existence is self-sustaining.

You cannot shake the faith of an entire people through individual moments of weakness. Even defeating these Aeris only gives rise to more legends. Just as my imps believed in me and grew into elves, so too do the Aeris Lords grow and increase in power by our faith. Victory or defeat is meaningless. It is a difficult thing to overcome, as the belief in gods does not die easily.

I ask myself: How are my elves able to kill anything? To clarify, how is an image brought forth by my imagination able to have effect over other images brought about by my imagination? These raids are the product of my mind as well, yet my elves are able to defeat them easily. For all intents and purposes, the raids are no longer a threat. Firstmark Malak has seen to that.

Is it my confidence in them, ritualized by their own efforts? Is a system of belief growing amongst my protectors? Maybe I have looked at this wrong, the desire to defeat the Aeris.

Perhaps all I require is a new dream...

Y
ETTEJE
T
IR

You have two eyes, two hands, two legs.

You are used to perceiving pairs,

And therefore must strike in odd numbers.

This last odd strike is hardest to block.

—Tir Combat Academy, Basic Forms & Stances

L
ilyth turned, her serene gaze falling again on Yetteje. The princess seemed beside herself, yet within her coursed the Way and Lilyth meant to test it. They had a far greater destiny together, though the poor girl did not know it yet.

Her attention was still inexorably drawn to the stone floor at the base of the pyramid and to what she knew lay beneath it. The Aeris were powerful, yes, but in this realm, their power was limited by the body they inhabited. The being she sensed was one she had never thought to encounter again. Not here and certainly not like this. Her eyes narrowed and she gestured with one hand.

From out of the ground rose the black-robed assassin. He rose from the solid granite as if the rock itself vomited him up until he hung in mid-air, his massive body limp in death.

Lilyth looked upon him with awe. Sovereign had made a mistake, and growing desperate, had delivered to her a creature vastly different from the people of Edyn, so much more powerful. A smile played upon her lips, for she had never expected such a bounty.

She noticed Yetteje, still watching her with wide eyes, but resolute. Well, she thought, a little fear would be a good thing. Lilyth snapped her fingers and fire outlined the dead assassin’s form. Her power suffused him, bringing false life to those limbs. He straightened and stood, landing lightly on the ground. Her fingers flexed and his eyes opened, but shone a dull white instead of that soft, lethal blue.

Lilyth looked at the horrified Yetteje and said, "Girl, I give you a few moments before I unleash him. Tell King Galadine this: I have his son. If he does not turn himself over to me by this nightfall, I will eradicate every person still living within these walls." Lilyth rose to her full height and her aura brightened to the intensity of her blue sun.

"What did you do with Arek?" Yetteje asked, standing her ground and shielding her eyes.

"The light of my sun bathes the penitent, a goddess’s gift to those I deem worthy. Even now it alters you." She paused for a moment, then said, "You are wasting time. Go, before my patience ends, and prove your worth."

The assassin’s hand came up and clenched into a fist, igniting in a flash of white power like a sunburst. Yetteje screamed and scrambled back, then turned and sprinted for the door.

Lilyth then said one word, "Baalor." It echoed across the vast chamber and the living mist immediately responded.

A black behemoth of smoke and fire came to stand by her side, resembling a large, hulking beast standing upon two thick legs. Its body was amorphous, giving one the impression of a giant, winged creature. Lightning danced around its form, crackling with intensity. It turned baleful, flaming eyes on Lilyth and in a deep voice said, "As you command."

"Sovereign has played its hand early and failed. Now we have one of the treasured few, a builder." Lilyth gestured to the body of the slain dwarven assassin. "Use it."

Baalor looked at Lilyth in surprise and said, "And in return?"

Lilyth’s eyes never left Yetteje’s retreating form, but she nodded and said, "The girl will lead you to the king. We must have him. Succeed and you may keep this body."

She waved a hand and a sigh escaped from Baalor, a sound of pure ecstasy. It was not difficult to obey Lilyth’s will.

"Very well," he said, then his form flowed into the dead assassin’s nose and mouth, filling it with his substance. The body of the assassin began to burn with a cold light that seeped from its very flesh. When that light reached its eyes, they changed from pure white, crackling with the same blue intensity as the lightning that had danced around Baalor’s hulking form. An intelligence filled them as the Aeris lord took hold.

Lilyth continued, "If the Galadine blood still runs within the king’s veins, they are an ancient line, as old as the builders themselves."

Baalor inclined his head in obedience, then touched the stone of Bara’cor. His now builder hand touched rock and the fortress shuddered in response, as if it knew what touched it was more than one of its ancient stone brothers. He exerted his will, powerful and unyielding and the fortress grudgingly obeyed.

"So many!" the Aeris lord exclaimed.

Lilyth knew he could now see every living thing in Bara’cor, a gift of his new form. While a body was not necessary for Aeris Lords such as Baalor, it aided the lesser Aeris in bringing themselves fully into being. Free bodies for the taking, potential salvation for her people, and a new race of demigods to resist the onslaught of Sovereign! A sudden wave of emotion flooded through her, joy at what this moment meant for her and all Aeris.

"Even now my sun quickens their Ascension," she said, looking across the open expanse and at Yetteje’s fleeing form. "Find the king. Test him."

"And if he fails?" Baalor asked, his voice booming now with power, his mastery of this body complete.

"We need the pure living blood," Lilyth offered, a twinge of regret in her voice.

Baalor inclined his head again, then looked in the direction Yetteje had fled. "It matters not. In the end, all will serve."

* * * * *

Yetteje hit the door arch painfully hard with her shoulder, spinning herself around so she half fell through it onto her haunches.

She looked back and saw Lilyth climbing to the apex of the pyramid with hundreds of clawed and fanged, four-legged shapes coming through the portal. They looked like mistfrights, childhood dreams that had sent her scurrying to her parent’s bed for solace.

Their feline forms were graceful, but insubstantial. They swarmed across the pyramid and spread like a black smoke, flowing down its steps and up the chamber's walls. Thousands, it seemed, seeped into holes along the walls and cracks in the ceiling, spreading into the fortress above. But they weren’t real, were they?

Then she saw the assassin’s eyes flash once as he crouched like a panther and began to run in her direction, his form lethal and unerring, death on claws. Where he stepped, lightning erupted. Yetteje scrambled back to her feet and fled, running up the passageways without looking back. Behind her, the forces of Lilyth flooded out of the Gate opened by Arek and into this world.

Yetteje moved with the desperation of the hunted and this gave her energy. Time slowed and each decision on where to turn, what path to take, played back from her memory with preternatural clarity. She dodged up the blackness, turning at hidden corridors and blind alleys, not hesitating as her eyes widened and drank in the little light left. How she did this, she did not know or care.

Then she was at the exit, an iron door slightly ajar. She grabbed the handle and flitted through it, pulling it shut behind her. She spun the wheel and four solid metal bars extended into the surrounding rock, locking it shut. She fell back and gulped air, her chest now heaving. It was as if her lungs had been sustained throughout her flight, but now needed to inhale as much air as they could. She held a hand to her neck and willed herself to regain control. Her breathing slowly returned, almost too normal, and she began to take stock of her surroundings.

The area had more light, with torches placed every ten paces. Then she noticed a foot laying twisted to one side. A short scream almost tore through her before she clamped down on it, exerting her will. I am the hunter, not the hunted, she said to herself, pushing against the fear threatening to overwhelm her. Gradually, her body relaxed and her hands unclenched. She was the hunter and would start acting like one.

She drew her blade and looked around the corner. To her surprise, the leg did not end with a body. It lay severed, torn off, as if by some creature of immense strength. Could one of those mistfrights have done this? She crouched and brought her breathing further under control. Her instructors at the Tir Combat Academy would have been proud, she thought wryly.

The door was secure and she knew this passageway led up to another that then led to one of the main stairwells. Slowly, she made her way down the hall, her ears and eyes straining to detect any sound, any movement out of the ordinary. She could feel her breathing quicken and took the time to calm it. To be the hunter, she needed to feel her prey.

The corridor turned to the left and Yetteje paused, her senses hyper-alert. She heard it then, a low growl, like an animal. She stepped back into the shadows and circled the corner, watching for any movement.

She saw something: a man in uniform, armed with a sword. It was a soldier of Bara’cor, but something was wrong. It sounded like the soldier was vomiting, but he stood straight, his head thrown back and mouth open. His body shook and convulsed as if something moved within him.

Then she saw it, thick black smoke writhing and twisting up the man’s leg, clutching at him, snaking around his body and wrapping him tightly in its embrace. The smoke had entered through his mouth and nose and as she watched in horror, disappeared into the man completely. Then all was silent.

She didn’t know what was going on, but that smoke looked like the creatures she had just fled. If they had already beaten her here, they could move through the fortress much faster than she could. It confirmed stealth would be her only advantage.

She started to take a step, her foot making less sound than a whisper, but the creature’s head snapped to look directly at her. There was nothing normal left in the soldier. Fire flashed from its eyes and the thing that was once a soldier of Bara’cor dropped to all fours and ran at her like a wild animal.

She realized it was a mistfright, come to life! They were said to be a combination of men and animals, almost invisible, preying on children who didn’t listen, stealing them away. But how could something from a fairy tale exist?

An unreasoning fear built, as the mistfright-come-to-life charged her in a blur of fang and claw. Yetteje knew she would only have one chance to save herself. Her timing had to be perfect.

She waited, counting out the few heartbeats between her and certain death. Then she side-stepped the headlong charge and spun, cutting downward.

Her shorter blade just missed its neck, sparking instead off the stone floor. The creature, its body covered in a thin, black fur, turned and leapt. In that brief glimpse, Yetteje saw a feline head with ears laid back. The creature moved with uncanny speed, swatting at her with its razor-sharp claws and sounding a guttural roar as it passed.