4. Sarilian
four
Sarilian
Instantly, Sarilian realized what Malorg must have faced coming to his rescue. The darkness pressed in on all sides, near suffocating. His body’s natural glow dimmed, his connection to dawnflame weakening until he had to struggle even to maintain his armor and spear.
Merciful Light, how had Malorg managed to run, let alone fight in such conditions? That he had been anything more than a liability while so afflicted proved how formidable a warrior he was. Sarilian doubted he could have done half so well in Malorg’s place.
This was a colossally stupid idea. He glanced longingly toward the border and the welcoming light of the Dawnlands shining beyond. A couple steps, and he’d be back where he belonged…and no closer to confronting the Infernal that haunted his thoughts.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned his back on his home and stepped deeper into the shadowed forest.
Where did he even begin? Malorg had said he often ventured out this far, but the border between the Dawnlands and Dusklands stretched from one end of the Immortal Realm to the other. What were the odds Malorg would be right near where they’d met at the exact moment Sarilian came looking for him?
“You look lost, Celestial.”
Not even the Dusklands could fully suppress the shocked penumbra of dawnflame that flickered over Sarilian’s body. Brandishing his spear, he whirled, falling into a defensive crouch.
Malorg stood there, barely visible in the dim light. An amused expression covered his pale face. “You seem on edge. The Dusklands not to your liking?”
“No, I…” Sarilian’s gaze roved the area around Malorg for any signs of danger, but all he could make out were shadowed silhouettes. Slowly, he straightened, lowering his spear. “It’s so gloomy here. I don’t know how you can stand spending your entire life in the dark.”
“Better than spending it blinded by the light. Or worse, bored to tears by what you see.”
“My eyes are wide open, thank you very much.” Recalling his first awed glimpse of Daybreak’s gleaming spires and golden archways, he added, “And there’s plenty of beauty in simplicity—in perfect lines and ordered structure.”
“Sure, there is…if you prefer tedious monotony.” The Infernal gestured to a nearby tree as dull and listless as everything else in the Dusklands. “Here, individuality is allowed to flourish. I’ll take exciting over barren any day.”
Ignoring the Infernal’s jibe, Sarilian stared at the indicated tree, wondering if Malorg was having a laugh at his expense. “You call this exciting? It’s nothing but black and gray!”
Malorg shrugged. “I see you’re like every other Celestial—so convinced your viewpoint is right that you can’t fathom any alternative.”
Sarilian gave the dark forest another skeptical once-over. “Are you implying that the Dusklands appears differently for you than it does for me?”
“No. I’m telling you that it does.”
The corners of Sarilian’s lips twitched up. After the almost obsequious politeness of his own people, Malorg’s bluntness felt strangely refreshing. “Can you show me?”
He took an eager step toward Malorg, noting the subtle shift in the Infernal’s posture as he kept his body positioned the same relative to Sarilian’s. Even while relaxed, there was a wired tension to Malorg, as though he might erupt into violence at any moment.
It probably should have made Sarilian wary. Instead, it gave him an odd sense of comfort. Should anything attack them out here, he had no doubt he could count on Malorg to have his back.
Malorg considered Sarilian’s request, cocking his head to the side. “There’s a spell that might enhance your vision, though I don’t know if it will work on one of your kind.”
“Try,” Sarilian said. Malorg’s eyes narrowed, and Sarilian quickly added, “Please. I want to see what you see.”
With a resigned sigh, Malorg gestured to Sarilian. “Very well. Come here.”
Sarilian dismissed his spear and moved closer to Malorg, so close they were almost touching. The aura of cold radiating from the Infernal sent a shiver down his spine. Black duskflame pooled in Malorg’s hand. He started to reach toward Sarilian, then paused, raising an eyebrow in silent query.
Sarilian swallowed. Last chance to back out. He’d seen what the Infernal’s magic had done to that voidspawn. Here in the Dusklands, Malorg could kill him even more easily. He met Malorg’s eyes, and though he wasn’t certain what he was looking for, something in those gray pools calmed him.
He nodded his permission, and Malorg lightly pressed his palm to the exposed skin on Sarilian’s neck.
Goosebumps flickered over his flesh where the icy duskflame flowed into him.
His own dawnflame flared in a bright patch of pain as it tried to fend off Malorg’s magic.
He quelled the instinctive reaction with a grimace, allowing the duskflame to do its work.
Nothing changed. He squinted, peering about the dark forest, but he could still make out little more than the vague outlines of trees.
His excitement dimmed. Perhaps Malorg had been right and Sarilian’s Celestial body was incompatible with Infernal magic.
Then, the world around him abruptly shifted as everything resolved into better focus.
Trees he’d taken for dull gray now appeared speckled with dozens of shades that reoriented into new patterns each time he turned his head. The ground underwent the same remarkable transformation, striated lines squiggling across it like the ceaseless waves of an ocean.
Merciful Light, he’d had no idea there were so many different hues of gray, nor that they could be so vibrant and alive!
His gaze fixed on Malorg, and he sucked in a breath.
He’d gotten a good look at the Infernal in the Dawnlands, but there, he’d seemed almost washed out—faded, like paint left too long in the sun.
Here, however, he practically pulsed with vital energy.
Intricate tattoos coated the pale skin visible around his sleeveless tunic.
Like the trees and ground, the tattoos seemed ever in flux, forming half-glimpsed images that twisted about his lithe muscles.
The effect should have been chaotic and confusing. Yet like so much about Malorg, Sarilian found it only made the Infernal more…
Alluring.
Warmth flooded him in a way that had nothing to do with his reserve of dawnflame, and he focused on the hard planes of Malorg’s narrow face.
Coal black hair hung low over his forehead, and his gray eyes—no longer dull—were storms of roiling ash.
Despite his enhanced vision, Sarilian found he still couldn’t interpret the Infernal’s intense stare.
“Well?” Malorg demanded, his voice oddly rough.
“You were right,” Sarilian admitted, causing Malorg’s eyes to widen in evident surprise. “It is beautiful here. I had no idea the darkness concealed so much. No wonder you call the Dawnlands barren. It has its own unique appeal, but compared to this, it’s so, so…”
“Desolate,” Malorg suggested.
Sarilian grinned. He brushed his fingers against the leaves of a nearby tree, marveling at the wavering hues beneath his fingertips.
“I wouldn’t go that far. We Celestials prefer a little stability.
But it certainly isn’t so busy.” His gaze returned to Malorg, drawn to him as if by some magnetic force.
A scar stretched down the Infernal’s left cheek, and Sarilian had to resist the urge to touch it. “How did you come by that scar?”
He might’ve missed the way Malorg tensed had they not still been standing so close. “A parting memento from a void god.” The Infernal chuckled at Sarilian’s startled expression. “Don’t worry—I made sure it wouldn’t forget me either.”
A void god? Darius had mentioned them in passing—elite servants of the Void more powerful than even void lords, only a step or two below the Empty Ones themselves.
Yet, he’d never heard of a void god breaching the Immortal Realm.
That scar, more than anything, drove home the sheer breadth of years Malorg had spent upholding the Covenant.
Malorg’s brows rose, his stormy eyes dancing with wry amusement. “What, no follow-up? I thought for sure that would pique your interest.”
“Are you kidding? Of course, it did!” A hundred questions flitted through Sarilian’s mind.
What was it like? How did you defeat it?
When did you clash? He settled on the one that mattered most to him in that moment, his expression sobering as he met Malorg’s slate-gray eyes with his own golden gaze. “Does it hurt?”
Malorg froze, appearing caught off-guard.
Something flitted over his face too quickly for Sarilian to parse.
The Infernal glanced away, staring into the Dusklands’ deep shadows.
“Sometimes.” His fingers hovered above his cheek until he caught himself and lowered his hand with a scowl.
“My duskflame couldn’t fully counteract the Void’s taint. ”
Again, Sarilian fought the urge to trace the faint line with his fingertips. “I can attempt to heal it if you like. I’m no master mender, but perhaps in the Dawnlands my dawnflame would be enough to accomplish what your duskflame alone could not.”
For a moment, Malorg’s expression softened, the perpetual storm in his eyes calming. Then, he scoffed and turned away. “A generous offer, but an unnecessary one. The scar serves as a reminder of how hard I fought—and how pointless it was in the end.”
“Fighting for what’s right is never pointless. We sacrifice ourselves so that the Mortal Realm can survive.”
Malorg chuckled, but this time was different than the last, any joy stripped away and replaced by bitterness. “Sacrifice—such a Celestial ideal. As though our suffering is noble and therefore just. As though we aren’t throwing our lives away to delay the inevitable.”