Chapter 9
Naming Tradition
Earlier…
Declan could see a faint glimmering outline of Finley huddled on the ground against the back of the wall of the stairwell. Like a ghost. Shimmering in blue-white. He was practically curled into a ball, eyes tightly shut, arms brought up to his face as if to ward off something…
Declan breathed in and smelled the sharp ozone tang.
Leviathan.
And then there was the sharper, bitter smell of fear.
Finley.
At first upon seeing this ghostly remnant of his best friend his heart lodged in his throat.
It filled his mouth. Made it so he was unable to speak.
He heard voices all around him. Rhalyf screaming.
Elasha shrieking. Aquilan murmuring loving reassurances.
Darcassan’s strangled cries. Helgrom trying to keep it together.
Snaglak and Glom understanding that Finley was gone.
But was he really gone?
Declan had seen things like this ghostly figure before.
In Tyrael. In the first year of the war, he saw these emotional echoes of people who had died in terror.
He had glimpsed them out of the corner of his eye.
Glimmering there in dark corners. And when it became night, they glowed like fallen stars.
Everywhere.
He’d taken it upon himself to seek out each and every one of them.
In many places, he’d found whole families who had died within inches of each other.
Reaching for one another. Mouths opened in terror.
Eyes squeezed shut. Children ripped from parents’ arms. Brothers holding one another.
Sisters vainly defending younger siblings. Friends holding hands as death came.
He’d sit with them in their glimmering ghost light and he’d tell them that they were safe. That it was over. There was nothing to be afraid of any longer. And slowly, they had faded away. He didn’t know if what he’d done had helped them or if their energy had simply, naturally dissipated.
He’d told Aquilan that he had never come to Chicago for… reasons. But the truth was that he had not wanted to see all those fallen stars. Or the absence of them. He hadn’t seen any of the figures in the Thompson Center. Maybe time had washed their terror away without his help.
Yet when he saw Finley like that…
Was Finley gone?
Was Finley dead?
If this echo of his terror was here then…
I would not let the brother of your heart die, my Rahven, the elf said.
Relief was like a tidal wave. Slamming him back inside of himself. He had somehow left his body. He’d hardly felt it. But now he sensed the tile beneath his feet and smelled the cold, hard air of the underground.
You… you saved him? Declan asked, terrified he’d heard wrong.
Of course!
You saved him. The breath whooshed out of him. Declan would have collapsed if he had not such a tight hold on himself. As it was, he curled half way forwards. He felt Aquilan draw nearer to him.
Yes. Such a simple answer, but such profound relief.
Declan closed his eyes. A faint tremor went through him. Finley was alive! Thank you.
You are most welcome, my Rahven. Finley is quite the talker. I admit that normally annoys me, but his twittering is quite adorable, the elf chuckled.
Declan opened his eyes and wished to hear Finley talking right then. Asking him questions. Expressing his amazement at the fight. Wishing he could be in the thick of it with them.
He’s with you? Right now? Declan clarified.
Oh, yes. So many questions! The elf seemed delighted by them. That was good. Finley was safe.
Finley likes to talk. He likes to know things. No mystery is too small. He means no harm by it, Declan answered weakly. I enjoy listening to him, too.
Especially when it allows you to say nothing, the elf chuckled more.
This elf knew him. So well. Down to his bones.
He’d been watching Declan for a long time.
Listening to his thoughts and his words even giving advice.
But only making himself known now. But why?
Why hide for so long? And why reveal himself as a separate entity now?
Yet did it matter? The elf had saved Finley.
And for that, Declan would be in his debt forever.
Words are not my friends, Declan admitted.
What you think and what you feel are too large to be reduced to words, my Rahven, the elf sounded indulgent. Like a proud… a proud parent.
Is that who he was? A parent? A father? His father?
But his memories–he was convinced now that the dream he’d had wasn’t a dream at all, but a memory–had told him that he was an orphan.
Jadir. Bloodless. Unless he’d been told lies…
Would Lady Ashryn lie to him? Vulre would without doubt.
But those questions stuck in his throat. Words betraying him again.
Or maybe he wasn’t quite ready to know the answers.
I am just poor at communicating with words. Regardless, Finley’s talking is pleasant. And I would like to hear it again. Right now, Declan demanded as his heart quivered then added, Please.
He cannot return quite yet. You have to come to him, the elf sounded teasing.
Declan’s heart raced. He would go wherever he had to. He would do whatever he had to. He would have Finley by his side again and never let him leave. Where is he?
Home.
That word shimmered in his mind. Like a stone dropped in still water with the waves flowing out from it.
Home was Finley, Gemma, Michael and Shonda.
Home was Helgrom, Snaglak and Glom. Home was becoming Aquilan.
It wasn’t a place. But what if it was? What if there was a place, too, where he belonged as well as people he belonged to?
Is it home for you? Declan clarified.
For me. For you. Illithor, the elf said the name as if it had a taste. Rich. Piquant. Illithor.
For both of us? It felt momentous saying that.
Yes, my Rahven. Our sacred home. Won’t you come home? Won’t you see me?
Ever since he’d entered the darkness under Chicago, the emotional shocks had kept coming.
So much so that the sword–Sorrow’s End–had become his as much as Krith had.
He was walking on a crumbling edge. Everything he thought he knew about himself on one side, but on the other?
Off the edge? The truth. It was waiting for him. He just had to get to Illithor.
How do I get there? Declan asked.
Ah, I left you a key… The voice drifted away.
“... Declan, does this plan work for you?” Aquilan’s voice was suddenly clear as crystal in his ears.
He thought of where he was going: Illithor.
He was journeying there to get Finley back.
But he was also going there to meet the elf who called him “my Rahven”.
It wasn’t safe to bring Aquilan with him.
For the Sun King was like Finley to him.
It was ridiculous but true. The bartender and the king!
It would never work, but he could feel whatever he felt for Aquilan secretly and treat it as real for it was real for him.
He would protect Aquilan from everything and everyone.
Including himself.
Yet he could not look at the Sun King as he said, “None of you is going with me. I require no assistance.”
“Declan, we all saw your fighting. You are more than impressive,” Elasha cried, “but you cannot go to Illithor alone!”
She had realized he wasn’t human the moment she’d met him.
The others had likely thought she’d made a silly mistake, but it was actually quite astute.
But in this, she was wrong. Where he was going was dangerous to be sure.
It was home after all. But he could face these things without anyone else.
He would not bring anyone into this deeper darkness.
Yet how am I to get there? A key… He said he left me a key… The back of Declan’s neck tingled and then he knew. Sorrow’s End is the key.
“You do not understand. You think that I am going to enemy territory where only danger awaits me. But I am not,” Declan said softly. He reached for the sword as if it were physically slung across his back and felt its hilt and the heaviness of the blade appear in his hand. “I am going home.”
“W-wait! That’s–that’s a Niri blade!” Darcassan gasped.
“Niri? How would you know anything about those?” Rhalyf scoffed, still lying to protect Declan.
And himself.
“Who wouldn’t recognize one of the most powerful blades in existence forged by Vex himself?” Darcassan growled back.
Forged by King Vex?
I left a gift for you…
Is it Vex waiting for me? The Night King? Xelroth Vex, the most feared of all beings? Strongest Mage who ever lived? Godlike in his own right?
These were all descriptions that Finley had given the Night King.
Declan realized that Finley was likely in Heaven if he was with King Xelroth Vex.
And no wonder the elf had laughed about the amount of questions Finley was asking him.
Vex was his hero in some ways. Others might find that a strange choice, but Finley had always been drawn to outsiders, people who he felt were simply misunderstood.
Is Xelroth Vex my father?
That sounded insane to him. The way Vulre had acted like he was dirt under his shoes hardly made sense if he was the son of the Kindreth king.
But Vulre had also been clear he thought that Declan brought danger to the whole of the Venomthorn and Lady Ashryn.
But why? Why would the son of the king be labeled jadir and made the lowest of the low? None of it made sense!
But the answers will be in Illithor.
“Why would he have a blade forged by the Night King?” Elasha asked, clearly perplexed.
“Declan boss,” Snaglak muttered. “Big boss. Always.”
“So you knew about him, too, Snaglak?” Helgrom asked.
Knew about him… too? Helgrom knew I was a Night Elf? But he never said a thing! And he never ratted me out to anyone, Declan thought with awe and affection of the dwarf. He hired me and vouched for me. He’s always been so kind.
“Night Elf smell,” Snaglak answered. “Smell funny.”