Savior of Istara (5 page)

BOOK: Savior of Istara

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Following the night of the
attack, the response from the Church of Shamash to the charges of
necromancy proved swift and brutal, much more so than I expected.
Three days after the dead walked the streets of Istara, the sun
rose twice, once in the East and then again in the West. The
reflection of Mother Sun on the shining silk sails of a crusader
fleet shined like a false sun on that fateful morning.

The liberation of my home
did not go seamlessly or quietly. The Knights of Shamash fell upon
our city like ravening birds of prey, slaughtering the occupying
army and its coconspirators among the citizenry. The hardest part
for me was living with the knowledge that my actions had resulted
in the death of innocents, so I must take the blame for any
collateral damage.

In my desperate,
shortsighted campaign to rid Istara of its occupiers, I overlooked
the consequences of my actions. You have to believe me that it
wasn’t intentional. But the results are why I don’t deserve to be
called the savior of anything or anyone. The very actions that
freed Istara from the hands of its would-be conquerors, the damned
of Golthus, made for the sun to rise twice on the same morning over
the city as well.

By the time the overzealous
crusaders were finished with Golthus, it was no more than a
smoldering crater. And every man, woman, and child within its walls
suffered the same fate as their home. Their remains ascended to the
heavens in a plume of smoke and ash even as the Knights of Shamash
condemned their immortal souls to the Nine Hells of Faltyr’s
Underworld.

Though Istara was free, the
cost was high, perhaps too high in the end. Not a day passes when I
don’t agonize over the decisions I made that fateful night in the
House of the Dead.

Was I really any better than
Ra’Tallah, the jealous fool Darconius manipulated into delivering
millions of unfortunate souls to the Lords of the Underworld? Had
my dark, desperate deeds damned my soul as his had done in the
previous cycle of ages? And what torments would I suffer for all
those souls I’d delivered to the Nine Hells, their bodies piled
high upon the bonfires built by the shining servants of Shamash,
Mother of the Overworld, those I’d deceived and manipulated into
freeing my city?

No
one can answer these questions for me, as I await the personal
judgment coming at the end of my own cycle of ages. So I must
abdicate my undeserved mantle of Savior of Istara. My dear friend,
Serra Viligotti, filled that role much better than me. The horror
of her tiny animated form leading the charge against my city’s
aggressors made a much greater impetus for the Knights of Shamash
to intervene than any crying girl on their doorstep.

If the road to the Nine
Hells is paved with good intentions, surely I belong there more
than the men of Golthus or even the traitors from my own city, such
as Uffu. So if you meet me during my travels around Ny, I beg you
not to hail me as the Savior of Istara. If you must call me
something, call me by titles that I truly deserve, such as the
Scourge of Golthus or the Fool of Eresh. Either fits me and my
actions, for I feel more like a scourge or fool than a
savior.

If you must praise someone,
if this story must have a savior, let it be little Serra and the
other undead patriots of Istara who stood by me when the living
could not or would not. Even if it wasn’t an act of their own doing
but the machinations of a headstrong, foolish girl who tampered
with forces beyond her ken and brought ruination upon one people
for the sake of another, they sacrificed body and soul to save
their home.

They, not I, are the true
Saviors of Istara.

THE END

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SAVIOR OF ISTARA

by J. Jeremy Hicks

Edited by Tommy Hancock

Editor in Chief, Pro Se
Productions-Tommy Hancock

Submissions Editor-Barry
Reese

Director of Corporate
Operations-Morgan Minor

Publisher & Pro Se Productions,
LLC-Chief Executive Officer-Fuller Bumpers

Cover Art and Design by Jeff
Hayes

E-book Design by Russ
Anderson