Chapter 21 Vaylen
Vaylen
Ifall, waiting for impact, for the crushing finality of stone meeting flesh.
Instead, the world slows as a column of air suddenly materializes beneath me, invisible hands cradling my limp body.
My descent gentles, the ground rising to meet me with unexpected mercy.
I land with a soft thud rather than a fatal crash, blood still seeping between my fingers where they press against the stab wound.
Was that me? Did my powers finally respond in that last desperate moment? Or maybe Fragor? Did he not abandon me?
I scan my surroundings and discover I'm swimming in impenetrable darkness. The world is gone. Memories sink like cargo in black water, just beyond my grasp. Then one surfaces… Tahranis. His eyes sparking with triumph. The cold slide of metal between my ribs. The sickening rush of air as I fell.
I must be dead, after all.
Strange. I expected differently, not this floating consciousness. If this is death, it offers no comfort as I'd hoped. No reprieve from thought or heartache.
A dull ache begins deep in my side. At first, it's distant, as if happening to someone else. Then it sharpens, intensifies, until pain radiates through every part of me, beating at the pulse of a pounding hammer.
No. Death shouldn't hurt like this.
The agony confirms what I now understand. I've been condemned to one of the seven hells. Probably the hell of wind and air, where traitors to their element suffer eternal falling. A fitting punishment. I failed my duty, failed Embernia, failed to see the danger until too late.
The pain crescendos until I want to scream, but my mouth won't open. My lungs won't draw breath. I'm paralyzed in this lightless void, feeling everything and controlling nothing.
If this is hell, I wonder which circle Tahranis will eventually occupy, and if Rhealyn will join him there.
Guttural sounds penetrate the darkness, clicks and hisses exchanged like words in some primitive language. I strain toward the noise but remain locked in place, muscles refusing to respond.
The cadence is familiar, a conversation. But where have I heard this before? My mind grasps at fragments that dissolve before I can capture them.
Fragor? I reach for him—attempting to grasp the bond, that familiar consciousness—but it's gone. Nothing answers. The silence in my mind is deafening, worse than the pain radiating from my side.
Why did you abandon me?
Rough hands grip me. I'm lifted, jostled, passed between unseen entities like a sack of grain. Each movement sends fresh agony through my wound. I try to protest but produce only a weak groan that dies in my throat.
For one blessed moment, the blackness above me parts. Stars wheel in the night sky, brilliant and cold against velvet. I've never seen anything so beautiful. Then the gap closes, and I'm swallowed again by the void.
The clicking grows more urgent. Something sticky brushes my face. The smell hits me. It's musty, feral, like wet feathers and rotting meat. A scent I know from countless battles.
Screechclaws! I'm being carried by Screechclaws.
The realization should terrify me, but I'm beyond fear. If they mean to eat me, at least the pain will end. If they have other plans… Well, I've already fallen from grace in every way possible.