The Tears of Kas̆dael

The thoughts racing through his head waged a war against the sheer exhaustion permeating his body, but it was a war they could not win. Jasper soon slipped into a restless sleep, his mind haunted by images of spectral beings with blood-red eyes and dripping fangs. He raced down the streets, the buildings writhing and contorting into bizarre shapes as he ran past them, by a ravenous horde of specters following close in his steps.

Gasping for air, Jasper stumbled into a large city square, perhaps a former market, and wildly cast his eyes about for an escape route. A large temple rose along the left of the market, and he broke into a run. Dashing up the marble stairs, he rushed into the ruined rotunda. A shaft of light pierced through the broken roof, illuminating an altar that - somehow still smoldering - lay before a colossal statue. A robust man, wielding a great whip in one hand and a mace in the other, with a crown of leaves upon his head, peered down at him. Jasper stumbled back in fright when the statue’s head moved to look at him, the eyes glowing with an unearthly light. Falling to the floor, he heard the howls of the wraiths behind him as they rushed up the temple’s stairs.

“Ayyaika, ayyaika.”

He jerked awake on his cot, nearly tumbling out onto the floor.

“Ayyaika, ayyaika.”

The chains on the warehouse door rattled softly, as if someone was testing the lock.

“Ayyaika, ayyaika.”

As the strange cries grew louder, his pulse quickened. Silently leaping to his feet, he took a few quiet strides over to the next cot, and gently shook Ihra awake. She awoke with a strangled cry, which she promptly cut off when she heard the commotion at the door. Immediately grasping the situation, she stealthily crept over to the horse. Retrieving her bow and quiver, Ihra aimed an arrow at the entrance.

“Ayyaika, ayyaika.”

The quiet rustling at the doors ceased as something large slammed into them, the force of the impact so great that showers of dust cascaded from the frame. But the door held. Jasper started when a patter of footsteps raced across the roof above them, their thuds echoing through the spacious warehouse. He tensed, his attention torn between the door and the roof, and reached for a spell. A presence loomed behind him, and he whirled around, as the spell surged through his fingers. With a deft movement, Aphora snatched his hand out of the air, and with a pulse of essence, extinguished his spell. “Wait.”

“Ayyaika, ayyaika.”

The doors bulged again as the force assailed them. They survived the first blow, but the second tore them from the frame. Dangling from the last of their hinges, the doors collapsed in a splintered heap. Dozens of dark forms rushed through the gap in the wall, their strange, trill cries echoing in the inky night. And then the world exploded in a flash of blinding light. The wraiths and wights that were not immediately vaporized were thrown back into the street as the entire front of the warehouse exploded from Aphora's runic trap. The roof above them groaned as its weight, no longer fully supported, begin to drag it down.

Lights danced across his eyes, as Jasper struggled to clear his vision from the brilliant flash of light. Blinking rapidly, he could make out dim forms rising in the street. Beside him, Ihra loosed her arrow. It streaked through the air, catching a wight on its side. The arrow hit with such force that the wight was thrown backward, slamming into the wall of a house as the arrow pinned its shoulder.

Another arrow zoomed past his ear, aimed at a wraith charging towards the gate, but passed through the shadowy creature harmlessly. With a twist of his fingers, Jasper sent a Sacred Star tearing towards the shade. The five small fireballs streamed toward the rushing monsters. Two slammed into the wraith, the small explosions pushing the creature back as flames erupted along its form. A second later, another Sacred Star tore into it, dissolving the wraith altogether.

But as soon as one fell, another took its place, and the creatures swarmed through the gaping hole in the warehouse’s walls. Jasper spammed Sacred Star, the explosive blasts pushing the horde back into the street while Ihra targeted the wights, not wasting her arrows on the wraiths. But in the space of a minute, he could already feel his essence running low. 15 Sacred Stars, and then I'm stuck relying on the glaive. Ignoring the throbbing pain that was beginning to build up in his head, Jasper reached for the twelfth spell, but a hand fell on his shoulders.

“Save your essence.”

The panic racing through his veins nearly overwhelmed him, but he held steady, the waning dregs of his essence at his fingertips. The horde charge towards them, with strange trills and cries ringing out.

“Ayyaika, ayyaika, ayyaika.”

The horde quickly closed the distance, till Jasper could clearly see the slobbering fangs of the wraiths, and the blue, twisted forms of the wights, the long black hair flowing down their backs still dressed in the traditional style of the elves of Onkodos Laos. They were barely a few feet away when Aphora spoke, a single word cutting through the cacophony.

IS̆ATĪLĪ.

A ring of silver fire blossomed out around them, like the ripples on a pool. It sliced through the horde effortlessly as every creature touched by its light was reduced to pillars of ash. When the spell finally fizzled out, Aphora staggered, her hand latching onto Jasper’s shoulder in a painful grip, as she struggled to hold herself up. The three waited in silence, keeping a sharp eye on the burning rubble for the slightest sign of movement, but nothing emerged through the smoke. At last, Aphora spoke, no sign of her weakness betrayed in her voice.

“We should not linger here; more will come.”

Aphora whistled for her stag and gracefully swung onto its back as it bounded past her. Jasper and Ihra ran for their mounts and, hauling themselves up, galloped after her. Jasper had to duck low beneath the sagging roof, which threatened to collapse at any moment. As they raced down the streets, small groups of wraiths and wights gave chase.

Turning the corner onto a new street, a wight leapt from the shadows and grabbed hold of Ihra’s leg. She tried to shake it off, but the wight held on with a death grip as it was dragged down the cobblestoned street by the galloping horse. Shrieking in rage, it swiped its clawed hand at Ihra, but she blocked the brunt of its blow with her bow, crying out in pain as one claw cut a thin strip into her thigh. Fumbling for her quiver, Ihra pulled out an arrow and stabbed it in the creature's eye. With a screech, the wight let go, bouncing along the rough street before rolling to a stop, far out of reach of the horse. But the horde behind them quickly swelled as the two chased after Aphora.

The narrow street suddenly widened, splitting into a broad two-lane avenue. The street ahead of them was already filled with large numbers of wights; the ghastly creatures were clustered around the abandoned stalls and cafes, as if performing some parody of their former life. As the group approached, the creatures snapped to attention, before charging toward the interlopers.

Lady Aphora’s stag deftly danced through their attacks, the nimble deer keeping just out of reach of their claws, while she sliced through dozens of them with a gleaming crescent blade. Ihra and Jasper struggled to catch up, their humble horses no match for Aphora’s lustrous mount. As they thundered down the street, Ihra tried to keep the path ahead clear, picking off as many wights as she could with well-placed arrows. But when the end of the street came into view, Jasper’s heart sank. The street opened out into a large plaza, but the entrance was blocked by a large horde of wights that had gathered at the mouth of the street. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that their pursuers were still close on their heels. We're going to be trapped between them.

Lady Aphora did not slow down. Digging her feet into the sides of the stag, she spurred her mount straight towards the horde, as it accelerated to even faster speeds than before. Just before she smashed into the ravenous horde of wights, the stag soared high into the air. It easily cleared the heads of the enemies, landing safely in the empty pavilion beyond.

Damn it. What about us? Jasper didn't dare slow his pace as his mind raced for a solution. Desperation mounting, he seized on his newest spell. “Ihra, drop back a few feet behind me. I’m going to try to clear a gap for us to breach through.” Ihra didn't respond, but a few seconds later her horse dropped back a few strides, inching closer to the horde behind. Jasper pushed himself up on the saddle, balancing unsteadily on Dapplegrim’s back, as he fished his oft-forgotten weapon out of its sheave. Holding the glaive in his hands, he jumped as high in the air as he could, summoning Seraph Burst.

As if fired from a cannon, Jasper shot forward in a ball of fire and ash. He ripped through the front lines of the gathered wights as if they were nothing but paper dolls, landing in their midst in a fiery explosion. The spell whirled him around in a circle, and the spell's razor-sharp spectral wings shredded through their ranks. His arms screamed in pain, as he struggled to hold the glaive steady in his outstretched hands, the deadly weapon cleaving through any that escaped the whirlwind of wings. When the spell finally ended, Jasper face-planted in the street from the sudden change in momentum, his head dizzy. But it had worked. A gaping hole had been blown through the center of the horde, and Ihra and Dapplegrim galloped through the opening before it could close.

He frantically rolled forward, stumbling to his feet as he reached out to grab hold of Dapplegrim’s bridle and swing himself up into the saddle. But as his hand almost closed on it, he was jerked backward as a wight seized him from behind. An arrow shot past him, and the wight fell dead on the pavement, releasing his hand, but the moment had passed. Dapplegrim had already thundered into the center of the pavilion, out of his reach.

The horde, which had been momentarily stunned into inaction by the brutality of Seraph Burst, surged forward as they saw their prey left alone. With a burst of frantic energy, Jasper snatched up his glaive and ran after his party. A shower of arrows arced past him as Ihra tried to pick off his pursuers, but Jasper couldn't afford to look back. He raced across the plaza, his feet pounding across the hard paving stones with such force that he could feel the bruises already forming. Pushing down the pain, he pressed on in a mad dash. The shadows behind him lengthened, drawing ever closer, and in another instant he found himself tackled to the ground.

His face smashed into the pavement with a painful crunch. On reflex, he slammed his elbow into the ribs of the wight with every bit of his inhuman strength. The wight's bones cracked beneath his blow, and it loosened its grip on him slightly. Taking advantage of the space, Jasper flailed out with his leg, catching it square in the torso and tossing it backward. With a little room to breathe, Jasper rolled over. His eyes caught sight of his glaive lying to his left, and he reached for it. His hands closed on the glaive just before the wight leapt at him, and he swung it in a wide arc. The sharp blade sliced through its torso like butter, and the wight crumbled to the ground beside him, a foul odor leaking from its wounds.

The other wights were closing the gap fast, and Jasper scrambled backward across the ground as he struggled to push himself. Catching his balance, he turned to run, but already he could see the shadows reaching out to him. I’m not going to make it. Then it hit him. I’m an idiot. With a scream, he launched himself forward, just out of reach of the encroaching foes as he cast Seraph Burst. He rocketed forward, landing in the center of the plaza in a whirlwind of wings. He staggered dizzily as the spell ended, but had no time to clear his head, forcing his wobbly legs toward the temple steps. As he raced up the flight of stairs, the wights closed in behind him. Ihra had paused at the top of the steps, still pelting the horde with arrows. Why the hell did she stop running? There's no point in both of us dying.

But Jasper had no time to contemplate her actions, as he fled into the temple. His steps almost faltered when he saw an altar in front of him; the ancient altar still smoldered, faint traces of smoke curling towards the ceiling. Above it rose the statue, the same statue he had seen in his dream. Redoubling his pace, Jasper altered his course toward the statue as a faint hope ignited within him. Please be real.

It was not the statue that saved him. As Jasper crossed the temple threshold, Aphora stepped out of the shadows and pressed a pressure plate set in the wall. A barrier of light suddenly bisected the entrance, cutting off the head of an unfortunate wight. It rolled across the floor and came to stop at her feet, rocking back and forth on the marble tiles. She eyed it with distaste, gently nudging it away. The crisis over, Jasper dropped to the floor, his head swimming from lack of oxygen, as he took deep, gasping breaths. Ihra dismounted and ran over to him. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, too breathless to speak, his limbs still shaking like jelly. The monsters outside beat against the wall of light impotently, but their blows did nothing. He watched them fearfully for a moment, but they soon lost interest, wandering off into the pavilion. When the last of them disappeared from sight, Jasper staggered over to the statue. Ihra had collapsed against one of the pillars, and in a corner, he could see Aphora bandaging a thin wound on the leg of her stag.

Taking deep, measured breaths, Jasper examined the statue carefully. The exquisitely carved statue held a whip and mace in its hands, and a crown of leaves adorned its head; it was indeed the same figure he had dreamed about, although the statue showed no signs of being alive. But he was confused by its presence here. As far as he knew, the elves of Onkodos Laos were henotheists; they acknowledge the existence of other gods, but only worshipped their Lady of Mourning. So why was there a temple to another god in Als̆arratu? He turned to Aphora, the question burning on his lips. “What is this place?”

Aphora continued to gently clean the wound on her stag's leg as she answered him. “This was the safe house we were supposed to spend the night at until we, unfortunately, had to stop early." Her eyes flicked over to Ihra, but she didn't say anything further. "This was once a temple to Tsiāhu or, as the Corsyths normally call him, the Lord of Mirth and Frost.”

Jasper persisted. “But why is there a temple to another god in an enclave from Onkodos Laos?”

She finished wrapping gauze around her mount’s leg. She stood up wearily, rubbing the animal's head as it licked her face, before replying. “The city was ruled by elves, but they weren’t the only ones to live here. There were inhabitants of many races here, and they were allowed to build whatever temples they wanted for their deities.” She looked up at the statue for a long moment, finally tilting her head to the side in a gesture of respect. “But even for the devoted of Onkodos, Tsiāhu shares a place of honor. Do you know the particular hypostatization of Selene that we worship?”

“The Lady of Mourning, right?”

“Yes, we worship our Lady as she mourns the death of her consort, the great solar warrior Shamsha. But while Shamsha lies dead, Tsiāhu stands in his place, fending off the forces of darkness until his lord is ready to rise again. Even the most fanatical devotees of our Lady still hold Tsiāhu in high regard. Although this city fell into ruins long ago, his temple offers succor to those that need help, a haven of safety in a dark place.”

She turned to him, a gentle smile on her face. “But enough of theology. You should rest. The night will not last forever, and in the morning we must head higher into the city.”

But one more question rankled in his mind, and despite his better judgment, Jasper could not let the matter rest in peace.

“You abandoned us back there."

Aphora paused, thinking for a moment before she replied. “You were not in as much danger as you thought. If you had failed to protect yourself, I could have dragged you into the safety of the temple. But, if a cub is to become a lion, it must learn to fight. A mother that fights every battle for its cubs only harms them in the end. This was an opportunity for you to learn, not just how to fight, but about what, or who, you wish to fight for.”

As he lay in his cot, trying to fall asleep, Jasper pondered her words. They made a good soundbite, he had to admit, and he had no doubt that Aphora would have thrived as a politician back on earth. And, loathe as he was to acknowledge it, there was more than a smidgen of truth to what she said. Ever since he had been dragged to Corsythia, he had been stumbling from one situation to the next, always reacting, never really having space to think. Why was he here? Did he have agency in his actions, or was he simply being puppeted by the gods?

Aphora's words echoed in his mind. What was he fighting for? His eyes drifted to Ihra, quickly darting away. But despite the wisdom in her words, they still sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. Sure, it was a nice sentiment, but coming from Aphora?

He just wasn’t sure if he believed it.