The wind roared and died in an uneven pattern about the roof of the chamber in which they met Lucia. Dark clouds spun overhead in a dizzying kaleidoscope of gray, white, and black. Kazyr glanced upward and found himself unable to stand in view of the whirling mass above.
"It seems so close," he murmured, brushing a lock of his thick hair from his eyes.
In front of them, separated by the great chasm between spires, rested the largest of the peaks. On the pinnacle a shapeless mass pulsated, hummed, and shone with a sickly green light. Its skin appeared to be nothing more than a thick leathery sack, loosely filled with a sluggish liquid that slowly sloshed and writhed as it strove to keep its precarious position.
Ghaleon squinted up at the mass. "Looks like its body doesn't entirely fit on the platform it's sitting on."
"Well that's obvious," said Sadoul, eying the fatty bulges hanging over the lip of the spire.
Solon stepped close to the edge of the chamber's roof and studied the gap between them and the larger spire. "I'm guessing this is about twenty, twenty-five feet across. If you guys are in any sort of athletic shape, we should be able to jump it. We might want to save our magic for whatever that thing is."
The mass quivered, and belched out a purple gas from a previously hidden orifice. The color faded as it spread in the dim light, and then whirled out of sight in a sudden gust of wind.
"Think it spotted us?" asked Kazyr.
"Sensed us is more like it," said Ghaleon.
Jeal shrugged. "Maybe. But it's odd. I don't sense any power coming from it. It's like it's not an enchanted creature, but as ordinary as a toadstool. I don't understand what magic allows it to hold someone as Lucia prisoner."
Solon turned to look at Jeal. "Godlike magic perhaps?"
No one cared to answer.
Kazyr changed to his werewolf form and jogged back a ways opposite the spire. "Give me room," he growled. He lowered himself into a crouch as they parted to either side. Then with a grunt he launched himself into a sprint.
His breath came hard, as if a weight pressed against his lungs, and his feet hit the roof solidly. But he made certain to push off each step with all the strength he could muster. It doesn't want me to get to the spire . The thought sprang unbidden and swallowed his mind in quicksand. He gave himself a mental shake to break free. The end of the roof closed in fast, and he noted that his landing area on the next spire over was at a slant. He would likely bounce back a bit from his impact, and he couldn't risk loosing his balance or he'd slide off the building entirely and fall. A levitation spell would solve that, assuming he could remember the words in time while falling down several yards a second with the wind whistling in his ears.
Kazyr shook his thoughts clear and cursed the shapeless mass ahead with all the breath he could muster just as he reached the end of his runway. He gathered his legs under him and leaped, arms reaching out in front of him to grab hold of the first solid thing he should touch.
His feet touched down on the other side first, but the weight of his torso nearly propelled him over on his back. He scrabbled for a hold and finally held tightly on to the protruding rib of the spire's infrastructure. Kazyr panted, not understand why the jump had been so much of a trial. He tried to look back towards his friends, but instead his gaze turned downward, eying the long fall he would have taken had he miscalculated his jump. Kazyr felt sick and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the nausea.
"You okay, Kazyr?" Sadoul hollered.
Kazyr responded with a croak that even he could barely hear. Then he forced himself to raise his head and take a deep breath. He turned himself a little so they could hear him better, but he did not face the chasm. "Just a bit dizzy!" he managed to say. "I landed a little off balance."
Sadoul nodded and turned to the others. "Who's next?"
Ghaleon glanced thoughtfully at the creature atop the spire. "I guess I'll go."
The former Magic Emperor paced off to where Kazyr had started his run and checked to make certain that Althena's Sword was secured beside him. He had loaned his old sword to Solon so that the Magician of Water would not be helpless in melee combat. The desert-born wizard had seemed reluctant to take it, but understood the need of a nonmagical form of defense.
Ghaleon glared at the distance between the spires. Kazyr had moved a little higher up on to the spire, although still a good many yards below the sickening creation above. He was well out of Ghaleon's way, and clinging like a spider to the stonework.
Kazyr watched Ghaleon take a ready stance, right foot back, left arm slightly raised. The silver-haired mage's face betrayed no hint of doubt. With a quick intake of breath he sprinted across the roof, easily clearing the yards with long strides. When the edge rushed up before him, he pushed off. He easily cleared the gap and landed in a light crouch. Ghaleon turned back to Jeal, Sadoul, and Solon and waved.
Kazyr snarled softly, disappointed in himself. His nausea had cleared long enough for him to watch Ghaleon's leap, but now it returned twofold. What was wrong with him? He had never feared such heights before. He released the grip of one of his hands from the spire's roof and peered curiously at it as though seeing his white-furred appendage for the first time. The queasiness shifted in his stomach and he resumed his grasp of the roof.
Another thud landed below him, and Solon called to let everyone know that he was okay. Ghaleon told Kazyr to move up some to give Jeal and Sadoul room.
Kazyr's body registered the command although his mind remained locked in itself.
"Here goes!" Jeal shouted.
The Danek emperor slid down the roof a couple feet before he obtained a secure hold on the taller spire and pulled himself up near Solon.
"Just you now, Ardor!" Solon called.
Sadoul smirked, and waved to show that he heard. "Sure, just give me a sec." He lifted his hand and began chanting to himself.
Ghaleon grumbled something about Sadoul's tendency to show off and Jeal simply looked away, waiting for Sadoul to reappear of their side of the gap. Solon opened his mouth to tell Sadoul to conserve his magic power, but decided against it. The proud Magician of Fire would only remain even more steadfast to his action.
Sadoul barked out the final word to his spell, naming his destination. The blond wizard's eyes suddenly blazed. He gasped, and he tried to close his eyes, but it would not be shut out so easily. Sadoul felt it pulling at his breath, pulling at the very strands of his consciousness. He tried to cry out, but could only collapse as the world around him faded from reality.
Ardor awoke for the first time in centuries. He stared wildly around him. The streets of Kemeth? The empty village homes, the shattered stores, all that was left after the Vay Armor's attack. He touched a hand to his chest, and the cloth beneath his fingers felt coarse and unrefined; a peasant's clothes.
"How?" he asked.
Ardor brushed his mop of blond hair back. Though desolate, the chill breeze felt welcome. No one else was here. There was no reason to brag or prove himself, and the arrogant facade fell away like a dead leaf from a tree.
You didn't stay , a voice accused him in his mind.
"There was nothing to return to," he murmured, now walking along the single barren street. He noted the withered willow tree by the village square and the huge white rock, worn smooth by the countless generations of children who used it as a lunchtime gathering place. "There is nothing to return to," he corrected himself.
You never looked hard enough.
He lowered his gaze as a modest home came into view. Without going inside he knew there would be only two rooms inside, one for the living room and the other a sleeping area. The thatched roof looked okay from the outside, but there was a leaky spot by the chimney that always made the floor damp during the rain.
"The gas, the radiation leftover from the Armor. No one could have survived. Born in fire, they died by fire."
"Ah, but now you know that is not true," said a second voice.
Ardor jerked his head up, spread his legs in a ready stance, and firmly grasped the hilt of the saber at his side. He looked from side to side, blue eyes intense and unflinching.
A man appeared before him with long pale blond hair and pinkish eyes. His fair skin had the pallor of a corpse. He cocked his head and regarded Ardor. "According to local legend, the Danek Isles arose in a massive volcanic eruption, and from the lava and ash were born the hardy people of the isles. Blessed with the fiery spirit of the earth itself, they sought to die in the heat of battle, thus winning a place amid the holy flames of heaven."
Ardor shook, but drew his sword. "No..." he said with a ragged breath.
The pale man smiled.
"No," Ardor repeated.
"The Danek weren't created by the fire of the earth, but by loving light of a goddess, a goddess you knew nothing of." The man spoke swiftly and harshly, walking towards him.
Ardor grit his teeth and scuffled back to keep the distance between them.
"And now the goddess's minions are faced with a new power they did not know of, one who surpasses her, and indeed holds all creation in its grasp."
Ardor squeezed both hands on to the hilt of his saber and pointed the blade at the man. "The Maker, tell me of him."
"He lives within you."
"That isn't what I want to hear! If you're gonna take the guise of one of my friends, at least act like him!"
"I am him, just as we are all a part of He who watches over us."
Ardor narrowed his eyes, shifting his stance to ready himself for an attack. "The Maker made us, the Maker is a part of us; is that all there is to him? He may as well be the spit in our mouths, just waiting to be gotten rid of."
The phantom smiled again, thin lips pale from lack of pigment.
"Why am I here?" Ardor finally demanded when he saw that the man awaited his words.
"Why are any of us here?" the man countered. "Why do we exist? Why do we think and breath, live and die? 'Tis all for the Maker's will and pleasure. And thus he has the right to take and mold as he wishes."
"I'm not standing here for some greater being's fickle entertainment!"
The man laughed lowly. "Ah, but the Maker is far from fickle. Everything is planned, for he sees all as it transpires, and has the uncounted ages with which to manipulate and devise. An immortal being has no need to rush, and indeed he has had his sights on this world and its moon for many millennia. One who lives outside the effects of time is untouchable to those who must bend to its will."
Ardor's chest suddenly heaved as an invisible weight barreled into him. He shot through the air and careened over a charred wooden fence. Ardor sucked in a painful breath as his left elbow jammed into the earth beneath him during his attempt to catch himself. His vision reeled and he just barely managed to lurch into a sitting position to face the pale man. Miraculously he still gripped his old saber in his right hand. He tasted something sweet and salty in his mouth and swallowed it reflexively.
The man regarded him placidly, a marble statue save for the tendrils of hair caught in an ethereal breeze.
"Damn you," Ardor muttered, wiping the blood that frothed from his mouth with the green cloth of his sleeve. "Face me in the real world why don't you!" The man smiled as Ardor continued. "Don't tell me this is real! I don't know where I am, but this isn't real! I am not Ardor anymore than you are my friend."
"Then name me," said the man.
Ardor balked, certain that he knew what this thing was, but unable to recall. His mind raced, but found nothing except a hazy fog of emptiness.
"If you are not Ardor, who are you? If this is not real, what is?" the man harshly demanded. "You know who I am not, and you know who you are not, but do you know who we are?"
Ardor's vision swam and the man's face seemed to draw closer, though he took not one step towards him. The hilt of his sword felt barely substantial in his hand and he heaved himself up to face the boring red eyes.
You do not fit in the Maker's plans.
Is it my fault that I don't fit? I have nowhere else to go . A voice cried within him, and he could not tell whether he argued with himself or the man whose burning face left only the reddened eyes in sight.
"I... I..." he stammered through labored breaths.
He was falling, falling back into the depths. Soon not even the eyes would remain. And he knew that once the darkness enveloped him, he would never see the light again.
"...am..."
A dim blanket surrounded him in warmth, and something cool and wet pressed against his forehead. A voice came to him and he echoed it as his mind curled up into a ball.
"Sadoul..."
Only a dim red light remained near him, and rearranging himself for sleep, he turned his head and blew it out.