The Great Convergence Part 25

As she streaked to her task, he removed a gem from his pocket and shattered it on the frozen earth. A portal similar to the one that had brought him here opened. Ivy launched herself at Lain. He rolled to the side and she gouged a deep trench into the earth where he had stood. He sprinted to the slowly crawling General, but he disappeared through the portal moments before Lain could reach him. Ivy turned her attentions briefly to the stone form of Ether. She rose high into the air and rocketed at the motionless form, shattering it with enough force to cause the pair of them and a fair piece of the field to collapse into the burning pit. A moment later she emerged, crying in pain and clutching her chest, the mark meting out its punishment. When the pain subsided, she turned toward Lain. He pulled his weapon and made ready for the clash, knowing full well it was a fight he could not win.

In a blinding streak of red light, Ivy attacked Lain. With the skill and precision of a lifetime warrior he blocked the attack, but the force was too much. The sword was broken in two, and Lain was hurled backward. Ivy recoiled in pain, the mark on her chest glowing brilliantly through her ragged clothing. Lain climbed painfully to his feet. Blood leaked from a dozen old wounds and a dozen new ones. His sword was out of reach. Ivy hung ominously above the ground, her gaze locked on Lain. Behind her, the raging flames seemed to darken. The fire was dying out.

"Ivy. You do not want to do this," Lain said.

Ivy lowered to the ground. It was unclear if she was tiring, or if there was some other reason. Her arms were at her sides, fists clenched tight. Lain stood firm as she approached. Her eyes looked upon a friend, but her soul beheld something else. Filtered through the suggestion of the General, the images reached her burning mind as twisted monstrosities. She felt nothing but the need to destroy them.

"Look at me. Listen to me. Smell me. I am not your enemy," he stated.

Soon she was nose to nose with him. The raw energy pouring off of her burned at Lain, but he didn't so much as raise a hand. It would do no good. The brilliant orbs of light that were her eyes peered deeply into his own as if they were testing his resolve. Flickers of truth fought through to her mind. She tested the air with her nose. She knew the scent. Her aura was beginning to dim, and the slightest hint of recognition was dawning on her face. She slowly raised a hand to touch his face. From the pit there was suddenly a low cracking sound. All eyes shifted to the source. Floating above the pit, drawing in the last of the flames, was Ether. The brilliance and intensity of the flame that made up her body was reminiscent of her first appearance, and every bit a match for the fiery red aura that surrounded Ivy. She held above her head a ma.s.sive, flaming, blackened piece of wood. It was formerly the door of the fort.

"Get away from him you BEAST!" she cried.

"Ether, no!" Lain warned, far too late.

The huge projectile sailed through the air. Lain dove aside and was showered by burning embers and ash as it collided with Ivy. Before the debris finished falling, Ether continued her a.s.sault. The symbol on her forehead burned even more brightly than the flame, but whatever pain it caused did not show past the anger on her face. She hurled herself at Ivy, raining blows upon her. Tumbling to the ground, Ivy absorbed a ma.s.sive amount of punishment. Suddenly she exploded skyward, directly through the form of Ether. The flames scattered and reformed. Ivy shrieked as she peaked in her flight, the mark taking its toll swiftly. Ether shifted to wind and summoned an intense gale straight upwards. Ivy was pushed further and further up.

"Ether, stop this!" Lain demanded.

"She has proven once and for all that she is a tool of the enemy, a knife eager for a place in our backs. I cannot kill her, or it will mean my end, but I intend to see to it that she can never threaten us again," Ether raged.

With that she shifted to flame. The whole of the mighty column of air she controlled changed with her. Ivy vanished inside the towering flame. Ether continued the a.s.sault. The churned up, snowy earth began to sizzle and boil. A single point, Ether's mark, shone through the flame. Suddenly the pain it was causing her became too much. She relented, covering the mark with her hands and crying out in pain. Lain's eyes turned skyward. High above, Ivy was plummeting. Her aura had dimmed greatly. She angled herself in the air as she fell, positioning her feet for a strike. Ether recovered just in time to for the blow to be delivered. Her fiery form scattered into a galaxy of embers. Ivy struck the ground beneath with enough force to form a crater, splashing aside a torrent of scalding mud and thawed earth.

Now her own mark administered its punishment for her attack. Her fingers clawed at the shining point on her chest, an ear piercing cry splitting the air. Ether's form pulled sloppily together, the exertion now clearly showing. Through the pain, Ivy's eyes locked on her. Quickly the shape shifter changed to water. Ivy charged at her, but Ether vanished into the melted ice. Ivy skidded to a stop on the muddy ground, looking furiously about for her target. The very water itself leapt up all around her, first coating her, then immersing her in a swell of murky melted snow. Ether's form separated from the ma.s.s of water that surrounded Ivy and quickly solidified into ice. The water around the raging malthrope followed suit. She thrashed about in it, her body slowly becoming immobilized. Her muzzle only just reached the edge of the water, peeking out of it, when the ice froze completely.

Ether's mark smoldered on her head, a slight smile of satisfaction on her face. It vanished swiftly. She was not satisfied. She shifted to stone. Like a wave spreading out from her core, the water she held in place changed to stone. Soon nothing was visible of Ivy but her nose. Ether slouched, the strength she had drawn in from the flames already nearly exhausted. The mark on her head continued to burn at her as she began to walk toward Lain. Suddenly she stopped. She turned to the encased Ivy. Hairline cracks, crimson light shining through them, were spreading across the surface of the impromptu prison. Ether held up a hand and exerted her will. The cracks began to close. Her hand began to waver. The cracks opened again. Ivy burst from her bonds and dove upon Ivy's stone form. She hammered her with blow after blow, breaking the stone form down into smaller and smaller pieces. The mark on her chest crackled with power as it sought to punish her appropriately for her actions.

Lain dove on Ivy's back. His prolonged touch was enough to break the General's control and make it clear to her that it was no enemy she was facing. Confusion swept in, mixing with the anger. Her strength was gone, her soul taxed to its limit. She pulled away from the mound of pulverized rock that had once been an ally. The fury began to drop away. Any dulling effects it had on the mark's effect went with it. A pure, intense pain burned at her chest, cutting her to the core. Just as her mind knew naught but anger before, now it knew naught but pain. It consumed her mind and pushed it past its breaking point. With neither the strength nor the will to remain standing, Ivy collapsed in Lain's arms.

Lain lowered the unconscious creature to the ground. In the eastern sky, the first rays of dawn were coloring the clouds. He surveyed the surroundings. It looked as though h.e.l.l had clawed its way out of the earth. Smoke still rose from a pit that buried a comrade far below. The smell of death rose from it as the carca.s.ses of the countless failed experiments smoldered among the ruined timbers. His eyes turned to Ivy. She was alive, but only just. Unlike her other outbursts, Ivy was not spared the physical consequences of her battle. Sc.r.a.pes, gouges, and burns littered her body. Her fists were smeared with blood. Swelling marked where attacks had landed. He bent to lift her to his shoulders, but the sharp pain in his abdomen surged as he did. Ribs were broken, and blood poured generously from gashes on his chest. It was difficult to get a full breath. The hand that had formerly held his sword felt like it was grinding when he moved it.

He stood and found the two pieces of his sword. Tearing a few shreds of his clothing free he bound the tip of his sword to his broken hand, stiffening it so that it would heal properly and providing him with at least some measure of a defense. After stowing the rest of the blade, he turned once more to the pit. Slowly he approached its edge. He pulled in a painful breath. She was gone. Myranda. It was inevitable. She had grown immensely, learned much, but she wasn't ready. This was not the life she was meant to live. This was not the death she was meant to die. But she was heading for it the moment she took her first step out of her world and into his. Now she was dead. The fierce pain in his chest and hand reminded him of why he had found her again. If for nothing else, he needed her skills. Before they had been drawn here, they were on the run. On the verge of discovery. Even if the column of failing smoke rising into a brightening sky was not enough of a beacon, the towering column of flame Ether had chosen to summon would lend an urgency to the patrol's steps that would bring them here in no time. He was the only one left standing. And just barely. Without a healer, he might survive a battle, but he wouldn't survive long after. That was why this must not be a battle. More familiar tactics were called for.

Already he could hear them coming. The pound of hooves. He moved far to the edge of the field, leaving Ivy far behind. The men must not reach her. His eyes focused on the approaching forms. Six soldiers, all with horses. The whole of the patrol had come to investigate. That was good. It meant these men were inexperienced. Proper protocol would have been to leave at least one behind to summon aid if the threat was great enough to warrant it. That would have complicated matters. Instead, once these men were down, there would be none to replace them for some time, and no message would be delivered. He readied himself.

The most senior member of the patrol rode tentatively. He had been ordered not to approach this section of the field. There was a wide radius around this place that was completely off limits, but news of whatever had happened here was surely enough for his commander to overlook the violation. He hadn't seen land so ravaged since he had last been to the front. Pausing briefly to scan the surroundings for some trace of the army that it must have taken to do this, his eyes came to rest on a handful of unidentifiable forms. The nearest was a p.r.o.ne figure midway to the smoking pit that seemed to be the center of the cataclysm that happened here. As he drew nearer, the form looked to be a malthrope. He hadn't seen one in years. It was an ill omen to find one here. Behind him, he heard one of his men separate from the others.

"Halt!" he barked.

All but one horse was reined in. The commander gritted his teeth and turned his horse. The rearmost of the men had fallen a fair distance back, and was slumped forward on his horse. The other men were rigidly at attention.

"Soldier!" he growled.

When the man did not react he rode up to the offender. Blood trickled down the front of his armor. His throat was cut.

"DEFENSIVE FORMATION!" he ordered.

The men struggled to pull their steeds into the appropriate configuration while the commander glanced desperately for what had struck this blow so swiftly. His men were nearly in place, forming a tight, outward facing ring with himself as the missing link. As he coaxed his horse into his place, something slipping beneath the horses caught his eye.

"SCATTER!" he ordered.

The form leapt up and yanked back the head of one of his men, pulling a blade that seemed to be an extension of its arm across the soldier's throat before dropping from sight. What manner of demon was this? The body of the murdered man was pulled from the saddle. He had been the marksman. The commander's sword was drawn. Whatever this thing was, it was behind the horse.

"ATTACK!" he barked, charging past the horse.

The men turned to him, but he was staring at the body of his fallen comrade and nothing else. The arrows of his quiver were missing. A clattering of wood drew his attention to his left. The fletched ends of the arrows, separated at their centers by jagged breaks, were just settling to the ground. Before he could spot what his men had, he heard a sound like an arrow in flight, but without the tw.a.n.g of a bowstring. One of the pursuing men lurched and fell from his steed. Then another.

"RETREAT!" the commander ordered, far too late.

The last of his men fell back, the frayed end of a broken arrow protruding from a joint in his armor. Then, as suddenly as it had come for his men, a sharp pain brought the darkness upon him. His work done, Lain drew in another pained breath. He was a monster. He knew that. Anyone who would hope to survive a life like this had to be one. That was why Ivy must be spared it. As his many wounds painfully reminded him of their presence, he set about raiding the supplies of the soldiers. The arrows had been easy to break. Too easy. He quickly discovered that all of the equipment and weapons were of similarly lacking quality. Briefly he considered taking one of the swords to replace his own, but until his hand healed, he would need a very light weapon. Each of the men carried a dagger. He selected three of them, and transferred any other useful resources he could scavenge into the saddle bags of the most able looking steed.

Taking a deep breath, Lain lifted Ivy to his shoulders and threw her across the horse. He made ready to mount the beast and be off, but a thought came to mind. His eyes turned to the pile of rubble that had been Ether. He wanted very much to be rid of her, but her power, however misused, was unmistakable. That power could be useful. More importantly, if she was still alive and he left her, she would most certainly try to find him when she recovered. If that happened, there would be a string of soldiers following her. Better to keep her where she would be able to do the least damage. He scooped up some of the largest pieces of rubble, one of which still bore the faintly glowing mark of the Chosen. Most of the rest of the remnants were indistinguishable from the dirt and stones of the field.

He mounted the horse and headed to the east. With the patrol for that area dead, it was the destination least likely to offer any resistance in the immediate future. In less than a day he would reach the foot of the mountains. From there he would head to Verneste. There was a weapon smith there. He might be able to reforge Desmeres' blade. Lain would rather have found one of the storehouses to reequip, but he could not afford to encounter anyone before shelter could be found for Ivy long enough for him to recover. He set off.

Deacon glanced behind him nervously as he approached the crystal arena. Already the sound of angry cries and hurried footsteps revealed that his actions had been discovered. It was now or never. He stepped inside. The rosy light of dawn vanished as a magnificently starry sky opened overhead inside the arena. The stars bore little resemblance to what he was accustomed to. Azriel had a habit of conjuring up the sky that had been her nightly view in her homeland, rather than in this place.

Azriel was the eldest wizard in Entwell. In truth, she was its founder. For hundreds of years she had made her home in a section of the hidden city that was composed entirely of the very gems that wizards used to aid their casting. It made spells effortless, and spared her the ravages of time. The centuries had brought her unparallelled knowledge in mystic arts, and her role as the final test for any who wished to be called a master of the mystic arts made her not just a figure of respect, but of fear among the spell casters of Entwell. In the distance she reclined, gazing at the sky lazily, a book of spells open and resting in her lap. She had striking white hair, a tall, slender frame, and a black robe decorated with white flames that moved and flickered as though they truly burned.

"Deacon," she said without looking. "Making trouble, are you?"

"I . . . yes. But, please. The others will be here shortly. I request just a few moments from them while I explain," he said.

She raised her head, intrigued. With an absentminded wave of her hand, all of the scenery slipped away, leaving only the two of them in a black void.

"They shall not find us until I will it so. Tell me. What has motivated you to abandon our ways?" she said.

"Myranda," he stated.

"You will forgive me if I am not surprised," she said with a grin.

"I have been watching her. Ever since she left this place," he said.

"No small task," Azriel nodded. "But hardly an explanation."

"She is Chosen! It is proven. I believe she has spoken with Oriech himself. And I have been studying the words of Hollow. The ones that I shamefully coaxed out of him in the absence of the others. I believe they speak of me. I believe I must help her," he said.

"And how do you plan to do so?" she asked.

He pulled a bundle of pages from his bag and shakily handed them to her. She spread her fingers and they arranged themselves before her as if on a desk. As she read, her expression became more serious.

"You tread on dangerous ground, Deacon," she said.

She continued reading.

"Creative. Insightful. But incomplete. You propose some truly novel methods. Artful solutions to age old problems, but it will not be enough. There are numerous a.s.sumptions of conditions that may never exist. This is impractical. It will not work," she said.

He pulled out a final page. The words were hastily sketched, runes scratched out and rewritten. She looked it over, glancing again at the first pages. A look of contemplation came to her face.

"You realize that this is not definitive. Even given a flawless application of the methods described, you merely make success a relative likelihood, not a certainty. You should continue your work. This has merit. It is brilliant, even revolutionary, but irresponsible. Given time, a tremendous breakthrough could result," she said.

"I can't. I have violated the terms of my punishment to come this far. I will certainly not be given the right to continue for years," he said.

"Then wait. A contribution of this magnitude is quite worth the wait. When you reveal what you have done here, you will have your name spoken in the same breath of some of our most revered visionaries," she said.

"I don't have the time. The last images I saw of Myranda painted a very grim picture. I believe it may already be too late. But I must try. I can't do it alone. With the benefit of the arena, I may be able to find her regardless of her state of mind, and I may be able to cast the many parts of this spell, but I cannot do both. You are the only one aside from myself with the knowledge of gray magic necessary to aid me," he pleaded.

For a moment Azriel was silent. She thought. When she spoke, her voice had a solemn tone.

"If you do this, regardless of the outcome, it will be the last spell you cast in Entwell. Casting a spell in this form, untested, upon yourself, shows a disregard for our principles that cannot be forgiven. You will never again be permitted to practice the mystic arts. Remember your mentor," she warned. "Gilliam lost his life to an untested spell, and one far less dangerous than this."

"I am willing to accept those consequences," he said without hesitation.

"Very well then. Let us waste no time," she said, the air tingling as she drew together the first of the procedures described.

Lain rode on. The column of smoke from the ruined fort was visible, even at this distance, and he was only just reaching the forest at the foot of the mountains. Much care had been sacrificed for the sake of speed. Fortunately, he had remained unseen. Though the weapons of the soldiers were of the poorest quality, the same could not be said of the horses provided to them. A horse was far more likely to survive a battle than its rider these days, and as such, generations of war had done little to weaken them. Wide hooves caught the snow well, and powerful lungs drew the frigid air with no ill affect. Even so, the steed was heavily burdened and badly fatigued. Lain slowed to a walk when the trees were dense enough to make their discovery unlikely.

There was not a single part of his body that didn't scream out for relief. He could not remember when he had last eaten. The gashes across his chest still seeped blood and burned increasingly. They would not heal well. Many bones were broken, many more nearly so. It was a condition he'd had to learned to endure before Myranda had come into his life. He would learn to endure it again now that she was dead. Her skills would be missed. She would be missed. His mind lingered on her briefly, but he shook the thoughts away. Distraction was something he could ill afford. Not now. He could not smell it, hear it, or see it, but something was wrong. It was a feeling he had come to trust. He was being watched.

Time and distance did not diminish the sensation. A tingling in his spine. A dull flutter in the back of his mind. He was certain now. Slowly he brought his horse to a halt. He needed silence. Eyes closed, he drew in the air. He could smell animals nearby, a spectrum of smells, but nothing threatening. Slowly, the feeling faded. The concern it caused only grew. Whoever it was that followed was near enough to know of the discovery, and skilled enough to remain hidden. There were precious few beings he knew to be capable of such a feat, and only one seemed likely. Now was not the time to call him out. For now he must continue.

Shortly after he began riding, his ears twitched at a distant crack of thunder. In the south that might have signaled a coming storm. Not here. Not this far north. He put it out of his mind. Whatever strange forces were at work, they were far behind him, not yet of his concern. The terrain was rocky now. A light but steady snowfall was beginning, whipped into a painful blast now and again by the constant wind from the mountain. He heard sound from inside his saddle bag. A whisper.

"Lain?" came Ether's wavering voice.

There was a strange quality to the voice, as though it came not from a mouth, but from thin air. Lain grunted a reply.

"The beast. Did she survive our encounter?" she asked.

"She did," he replied.

" . . . And I a.s.sume you are carting her worthless hide along with us," she said.

Lain offered no reply.

"I suspected as much," Ether said. "I have ruminated on the subject of your obsession with her. It is my observation that mortals, in their quest to perpetuate their species, are driven to find and protect each other. Love is the name of this affliction. Even those unburdened by mortality seem to fall prey to this phenomenon. It is necessary for their mental wellbeing. I am quite certain that you, to a mild degree, have allowed yourself to be infected with this disease of the mind. Its target is Ivy. In the world of mortals this quality may be seen as admirable, but it is a danger to our cause. You wish to be rid of her, and that is good, but your insistence on delivering her safely to the south is a delay at best and a threat at worst. She is a liability every moment that she is allowed to live, and while we cannot kill her ourselves, it is in our best interests, and in the best interests of this world that we leave her to die."

" . . . If you suggest such a thing just once more, do not expect to see another sunrise," Lain warned.

"It is as I suspected. Very well. While I believe that in time you might be cured of this affliction, time is not among our a.s.sets. We must, then, indulge your illness in a more helpful manner. If you must love someone, I shall permit you to subst.i.tute myself. You may thus find outlet for your affections without endangering the purpose for which you were created," she said.

"You suggest that I love you rather than Ivy," he replied.

"Indeed. You have my permission. You may begin at once, if you wish," she said.

Before Lain could react, a soft, weak laughter began to sound. It was Ivy. She began to stir.

"You, (giggle) you love him. You say all of this about emotions being bad, and you love him," Ivy slurred, trying to open her heavy eyelids.

Lain halted the horse just in time for her to slide from the animal's back to the ground, tumbling to her seat. She continued chuckling softly.

"Ouch. That's why you don't like me. He likes me better than you," she said, finally wrestling her eyes open.

She looked around briefly, a puzzled look on her face.

"Where is she? Is she the horse?" Ivy asked, struggling to her feet and immediately stumbling into the steed to catch her balance.

"As though I would take the form of a beast of burden and carry you," Ether objected.

"What the?" Ivy exclaimed, moving unsteadily to the saddle bag from whence the voice had come.

When she beheld the contents, she began laughing uncontrollably. As she did, a pale yellow glow surrounded her. Lain felt a warm sensation in his twisted hand and gashed chest. He pulled aside some of the tattered cloth to see the wounds slowly closing. When her laughter stopped, so did the healing.

"She's a pile of rocks!" she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye.

"You DID this to me!" Ether objected.

"I did?" she said, snorting with contained laughter. "I'm . . . very . . . sorry. HAHAHA!"

Again, Lain could feel his wounds healing. He didn't know what the D'karon had done to her, but apparently it was not limited to fear and anger. On the rare instance that a more positive emotion was felt intensely enough, it had beneficial effects. By the time the latest outburst subsided, Lain's chest was little more than sore, and his hand could move again.

"Silence! Silence!" Ether commanded. "How dare you take joy in the betrayal of your fellow chosen!"

"I'm sorry. It's just that, you are always talking about how you don't have emotions, and how you are better than us, and now you are helpless and in love!" she snickered.

"Blast the human for letting herself die. At least she could get you under control!" Ether cried out.

Instantly anger roared up in Lain. How foolish could she be? Did she want to coax a more dangerous state of mind from Ivy? The creature stopped snickering, but did not seem angry.

"Myranda's not dead," Ivy stated. She looked around, confused again. "Where is she?"

"I've already told you," Ether replied.

"No, she isn't dead. She was just here, I was just talking to her . . . Where did she go?" Ivy asked again.

"Stupid animal, you were dreaming," Ether said.

"No! I barely ever dream, and when I do, it is always about music. Lain, where is she?" Ivy asked.

"She was left behind, at the fort," Lain said solemnly.

" . . . You mean she went back to the fort, right? Because she was just here. Shouldn't we wait for her to catch up? How far is it?" Ivy asked.