Chapter 64 Sariel #2
Sariel relented in his effort, his entire body sliding sideways to avoid being split down the middle by Eder’s blade, and then he reached out.
He drew radiance, not only from himself, but from the air, the tower, and, yes, even the damned hole in the sky.
So many forms, but he demanded fire. Blue flame burst from his palm, an eruption of power far beyond anything he had ever formed in his life.
It blasted across Eder, charring his clothing and blackening his skin.
His brother cried out, but not in pain. In fury.
The air rippled as an explosion of silver light rolled outward from Eder’s chest, banishing the fire.
Another shock wave, tossing Sariel aside as if he were a child’s doll.
Eder rose into the air, hovering several feet above the hardstone, as his burned skin glowed.
He was majestic in his beauty, his hair fluttering on a mystery wind as he drew radiance into his body.
“You would turn our gift against me?” he seethed. “You would defile the divinity we wield? Then let it purify you in turn.”
Eder lifted his hands above his head, and fire swelled within his grasp.
It shimmered a dark violet, gathering in power, and to Sariel’s blessed eyes, it was blinding in its brightness.
He dropped to one knee, his sword held close.
He felt lightheaded, and the effort of the fire left him drained.
One chance, he saw only one chance, for Sariel would not be the only one blinded by that overwhelming light.
The fire flew, an orb of intense heat and power, with enough radiance within it to send buildings crumbling.
It crackled and burned, a newly formed sun.
Sariel slashed his sword, all his remaining strength pooled into a silvery echo that struck the orb at its midpoint between them.
The fire detonated, awesome in its power, a swirl of colors that consumed the air and knocked Sariel to the floor.
The slash continued onward, unseen amid the burning glory.
It struck Eder across the chest, cleanly slicing through his robe.
It lacked the power to cut through him completely, but it severed flesh and shattered his ribs.
Eder gasped, blood spurting from his mouth to stain his lips.
The glow about him faded, and he dropped awkwardly upon the hardstone.
Sariel staggered to his feet, swaying unevenly on legs that did not wish to move. He approached his brother, who lay on broken limbs. Underneath him was a slowly growing pool of blood.
“This… this won’t stop it,” Eder said, having to pause to cough. “The sky is torn, and nothing will close the wound.”
“We’ll see.”
Sariel grabbed Eder by the hair and lifted his head. In his other hand, he raised Redemption.
“I still love you, brother,” Eder said. Blood dribbled down his chin. “Even now, I await you in Father’s arms.”
Sariel swung, severing the head. He watched the stars leave his brother’s eyes, replaced with bloodshot whites and pale gray irises.
“Damn you, Eder,” he said, and dropped the head. He fought off the temptation to toss it to the ocean far below. Such cruelty was beyond him, even if Eder’s demented vision had led to the death of Faron.
Faron…
Sariel slowly approached the body, his legs turning weak and his throat tight.
It was strange. So strange. He had witnessed his brother burn to death upon a pyre multiple times, but this was different.
No light remained within the corpse. No glimmer.
No soul. He collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms about his brother’s enormous frame.
He buried his face in his unmoving chest.
“Faron,” he whispered. “Damn it, Faron, why?”
No answer. There would never be an answer, and the truth of it struck him like a spear. He wept and gnashed his teeth, but it would not change. There was no coming back. For once, there was no coming back.
That sorrow turned to rage as he looked up to the altar of hands and the bowl they held.
This miserable, wretched relic of a dead people.
Sariel gripped his sword, hatred flooding through him.
Who would build such a thing? Who would desire this madness, and why must it destroy the only thing sacred in a world so broken as Kaus?
Sariel struck the bowl with Redemption, dislodging it from the hands.
It landed with a loud clatter. The runes sputtered.
The great silver beam faded from the sky.
Nothing else changed. As Eder had promised, the damage was done.
Sariel could only hope the sky healed with time, and that gaping wound sealed over and was forever banished.
He glanced once more to Faron’s body. It felt wrong to leave him there, but there was no soil to bury him within, and he would not suffer his brother the indignity of the ocean.
“One last pyre, then,” he said, and wreathed his hand with fire. It fell upon the body. It burned his clothes. It charred away the skin. Sariel watched it consume, his insides twisting hollow and draining of life.
“Not now,” he said, forcing the pain away.
Time was not on his side. There was at least one life he might save amid this nightmare day.
He rested Redemption over his shoulder and turned to Isabelle.
She remained where she’d been, eyelids open but eyes not seeing.
He gently put his free hand underneath her and lifted. Her feet moved, attempting to walk.
“That’s right,” he said. “Just hold on to me, and I shall see you safe.”
Together they approached the broken lift, and once they were on it, he kicked the nearby lever to lower it.
Sariel scanned the lifts on the rafters until he found his desired choice, a platform that would drop all the way to the entrance.
He lifted the catatonic Isabelle into the crook of his left arm, careful to position her so she was not cut by his sword, and then wrapped his right arm and leg around the rope.
His jacket and trousers were his protection from the friction as he slid down into the chasm of the Tower Majestic.
Once his feet were on solid ground, he shifted Isabelle’s weight so she was carried in both his arms and Redemption lay atop her. His heart heavy, he exited the Tower Majestic to the narrow crossing of Bridgetop.
Hundreds of former residents of Racliffe formed a wretched gathering at the entrance.
They stared, snarled, and squawked, depending on what deformation had overtaken them.
Unlike earlier, when they seemed lost to madness from the change, their eyes shone with frightening clarity.
Sariel was too exhausted and broken to imagine fighting them all.
What hope might he have against an entire city, and with him burdened as he was?
Accepting his fate, he merely walked, Isabelle clutched tightly in his arms.
Four lions formed the vanguard of the monstrosities, and at his approach, they separated, turned sideways, and then pressed their faces to the hardstone.
Others were quick to follow their example.
A gap spread through the ranks to the very end of Bridgetop.
The sight chilled Sariel, but he dared not question it, only forced himself to place one foot in front of the other.
Sariel slowly crossed through the otherworldly army, Isabelle muttering incoherently in his arms, as one by one, the creatures and people dropped to their knees, lowered their claws, stingers, and wings, and bowed as if in the presence of their king.