18. The Rising Moon
Chapter Eighteen
The Rising Moon
Fane stood at the tower’s parapet, looking out over the landscape before him.
As far as the eye could see, everything was lush and green, with sweeping cityscapes of white stone and rivers that ran blue as the sky itself.
Dragons soared over it all, wings steady as they glided on currents of air, even in the distance their scales glimmering in various colours.
A flash of light spread across his vision, and then everything was aflame.
The horizon burned, the sky bleeding from gaping wounds that tore open the fabric of the world itself.
The trees and rivers were gone, supplanted by desolation and ruin.
Hundreds of thousands of bodies spread across the open space like seeds planted into the earth.
And in the centre of it all, a man stood with his blade in the crust of the world, his armour bloodied and battered, his heart broken and empty.
Creatures shifted amidst the bodies around him, grotesque things with many limbs and writhing bodies. They moved towards him, circling, waiting. One of the many paths.
Fane snapped his eyes shut, slowing his breathing. When he opened them again, the world was as it had been – full of colour and full of life.
“I need to speak to her.”
Eltoar’s voice was but an echo in Fane’s ears, muffled by the many futures flickering in his memories.
“I need to try,” Eltoar continued.
Fane pulled himself back from the pit that threatened to swallow him whole. “We have spoken of this many times, my friend. Alvira will not listen.”
Not a word of a lie left Fane’s lips. Had he thought Alvira’s ears would be open, he would have gone to her long ago.
But that woman was as stubborn as she was obsessed with her own nobility.
She would not change her colours. It was a waste of time, and time was not something in plentiful supply. The Blood Moon drew near.
“We have spoken many times,” Eltoar repeated, “but each time you dismiss my concerns.”
“We are growing strong, Eltoar. Tens of thousands stand with our cause in their hearts. Now is not the time to question and to stumble. We must remain strong, we must persevere.”
The elf unclasped his hands from behind his back and leaned forward on the parapet.
“If Alvira will hear my words, all of this can be done without bloodshed. With those who stand by me and those who follow Alvira unified behind a single cause, there are none on this continent who would challenge us. We could reform The Order without a single drop of blood staining the stone.”
“You cling to the last shred of who you thought you were, my friend. You stand on the edge of a precipice with fear in your heart. And that fear will kill you if you let it.” Fane examined Eltoar as he spoke, watched the elf’s jaw twitch, watched him place one hand atop the other.
“You want everything, Eltoar. But nothing in this world is achieved without sacrifice. You want The Order to change, you want the corruption gone, yet you are not willing to do what is necessary to bring about that change.”
The elf shifted, his eyes narrowing as he glanced sideways at Fane. “Not willing to do what is necessary? Even by standing here I betray everything I’ve ever known.”
“You betray nothing, Eltoar. You have done nothing. You have learned to see the lies and deceit where once you were blind. You have challenged the eternal notion that The Order can do no wrong, but you have not betrayed anything. You have not sacrificed a single thing that cannot be recovered, not risked even a sliver of what you love, yet you act as though there are none who have sacrificed more.”
Eltoar turned fully to face Fane. “I have listened, Fane. I have given you my oath, sworn myself to this cause, and brought many of my kin to your side. All I ask is more time. If I can sway more, if I can just… If I can just make the others see, then everything we have built need not be set aflame.”
“Again, you are willing to burn our future in the hopes that you need not bloody your hands… Every step you take is a half step. Until you are committed, you stand in the world between worlds, and in doing so you risk everything.”
Fane pushed back his robes and walked across the tower’s top, looking out at the landscape to the east. He could see it now, see that he needed to be stronger.
Eltoar stood at a precipice, and all that was needed was a push.
In the pocket of his robe, Fane felt the outline of a gemstone, felt the call of the Essence within.
A gift granted to him by Narvhok. Though knowing the web that Amatkai weaved, it was not truly a gift from the Shaman.
He shook his head. It was too soon. When Eltoar had nothing left to hold onto, when he understood what Fane already did, then and only then would he accept the next step. Fane knew in that moment what must be done.
Fane turned to face the First Sword of the Draleid, to face Eltoar Daethana.
“What scares you so, Eltoar Daethana? What terrifies the First Sword of the Draleid? The legend that lives and breathes. Soulkin to the Black Sun, the Shadow of Death, Helios. There are none in this world who would dare stand against you, and yet… when it comes time to sacrifice for those you swore to protect, you hesitate. What is a hero who will only act when it costs them nothing?”
Eltoar tilted his head, taking a step closer to Fane. “Watch your tongue. I have given everything to the people of Epheria.”
“Truly? From where I stand, you followed every lane laid by another, walked on paved roads, sung the songs already written. You have done what was asked of you and nothing more. Do not mistake me, for you performed your duties to the highest degree, but do you truly lie to yourself as others have lied to you?” Fane raised both his open palms. “You have chased, Eltoar. Like Nasril and Ralcrain, like Varahír and Lavah?r before him. But those heroes, they did not follow the paths laid out for them. They did not act so that their names would be remembered. They did what had not been done. They risked everything to enact change in the world.”
“What is this, Fane? Why do you goad me?”
“I do nothing of the sort.” Fane shook his head.
“The measure of a soul is not in their acts, or deeds, or their words – it is in the change they bring to the world, the mark they leave, the lives they affect. You talk of sacrifice, of giving everything. But you have given nothing. You risk nothing. Can you honestly tell me in all your years, have you ever acted when you thought the world might judge you as wrong? Have you ever truly risked something for what you believe?”
Rigid, tense, wordless, Eltoar only stared.
“What you do when the world is not watching is what will define you, Eltoar. We stand on the edge of the gravest choice our lives will ever see. But we must be willing to sacrifice everything. That is what a hero of legend does.” Fane walked back to the parapet and gestured out at the world.
“What you fear is being remembered as the villain, as the bringer of darkness and despair. As the person who brought The Order to its knees.” As Fane looked out over the landscape, his vision flashed through images of fire and death and pain.
Every path upon which the world would burn.
Every path but one. The sight summoned an anger within him, a righteous fury that set his bones aflame.
“But that is the cost! We know The Order is corrupt, they do not. We must be willing to sacrifice ourselves to make this world a better place even if they do not understand what we have done.” He moved to stand before Eltoar, those images of death still flickering in his eyes.
“To save this world I am willing to set myself on fire so that others might be warm, I am willing to carve the flesh from my bones and the blood from my veins so that this world can flourish. I do not care if they call me a monster, if The Order brands me a traitor and smears my name. The gods built this world and left it to rot, Eltoar. They abandoned us. And it is only by our own hands that we can make something worth saving.”
Fane’s breath shivered, his blood burning as he spoke, the screams of millions shrieking in his ears.
“If we do not act, this world will burn. Everything and everyone you know and love…” He stopped himself.
Eltoar was not ready for that. He might never be.
Fane drew a long, settling breath and stared into Eltoar’s eyes.
“A hero stands for those who cannot. They stand no matter the cost, no matter the enemy. Their blade is the blade of the voiceless, of those who have already given everything. A thousand times you have fought in The Order’s name, in your own name.
But will you now fight for the people of Orinhale?
Of Antala? Of Vastillion? Will you lay your honour before you and stand for what you know is right?
Will you show others the path instead of following blindly?
Because they look to you, Eltoar. If you rise, others will rise with you.
All great things, my friend, require sacrifice. That is the truth, and the only truth.”
Eltoar remained silent for a long moment.
He turned and stared out at Ilnaen in the distance, at the green forests and rolling hills, at the dragons that soared across the sky.
An eternity passed in that moment, until eventually Eltoar looked back him.
“Give me one chance. Let me take the letters to her. Let me show her what I have seen. If I do not try, then what am I? Give me this. If I am right, then we take one step closer to a world without bloodshed. And if I am wrong, then I will stand beside you without doubt in my heart. I will be the blade of the voiceless, and I will sing their song in blood.”