“There is greater power in the still and small voice within than in all the armies of elves, men, and mages.”
Lord Lerelos Elthor of Gwanerlay, The Lead of the Light, Volume 24, Wind-Cycle 1365
THE STEAL
The long labor of Deralius — one thousand years of scheming, clawing, fighting, dying, and being reborn just to see her again — now seemed futile. His obsession with his brother's noble deed had clouded his thoughts. The perfect timing of Zulion’s actions, so deliberate, raised suspicion. He wasn’t just aiding The Four Towns; he was after her heart.
That thief of thunder dares to steal my glory?” ponders the Star-Slayer.
Nothing else matters. All the love, the killing, the destruction, the wanton deception — the dark cloak of self-righteousness he had covered himself in for far too long — now is as tattered as his brittle confidence.
His brother, unlike him, spoke little. There was a sharp, purposeful efficiency to his every word. Zulion’s terse statements carried more weight than his colorful, mesmerizing pleasantries. It gnawed at him throughout the entire dinner with Eloria, Elezir, and Ashar.
Like an eagle, Zulion had swooped in and stolen his prey from his outstretched talons. Deralius realized Zulion's salvation of The Four Towns would leave a lasting memory, while his dream would now fade. He learned a valuable lesson from his brother about the power of mystery. He left behind an unforgettable memory. On the lips of every child, mother, father, and elder was the fictitious name of Zaelon… not his.
Deralius was devastated. He had not seen Zulion in over a million years. The last memory of his brother was from the Cradle of The Universe, where Zulion had defended Mother-Light’s commands with self-righteous fervor. Was his brother lying when he claimed Eloria loved him before Deralius?
Fear and doubt. Wrath and envy. These emotions settled in his ancient heart, fueling every insecurity and sharpening the focus of his hatred. He felt a heaviness never felt before. Was it the weight of his brother’s betrayal or was it something else?
THE FOREIGN VOICE
Elezir, Ashar, Eloria, and Deralius sit together, feasting in their humble home. Ale and wine flow freely. The Four Towns are safe, and the fear of civil war has subsided. It is days after the solemn ceremonies commemorating the victims’ deaths. Music, song, and dance fill the air.
Elezir raises his dented silver cup with drunken gusto, saying, “…and that’s when he appeared.”
Ashar’s sharp question cuts through her husband’s drunken haze, “I thought you met him when you first found Eloria?”
Elezir belches, rubbing his stubbly face and bald head. “Ah! Yes! You are correct, my love.”
Deralius hasn’t eaten a thing — not even a glance at his wine — as Elezir’s comment demands more probing. “You knew Zaelon long before he saved The Four Towns?”
“But of course!” shouts Elezir. “He didn’t reveal his name back then. He wore a white cloak and hid his face. All I could see were his shining blue eyes. How could I forget?”
Eloria pauses, noticing the dark mood hanging over the Star-Slayer.
Deralius presses further, “Did he bring her to you?”
“I don’t know,” Elezir replies, chewing on steamed fish with his bare hands. “I was fishing by the river when I found a swaddling cloth. When I approached it, he was there. He told me her name and left. He’d appear occasionally as Eloria grew.”
Eloria leans in, curiosity written on her face. “The man who saved your life is the same one who spoke to you when you found me?”
“Yes. He must be a watcher for the gods,” says Elezir. “Or perhaps something else. He was there when the sores appeared on your legs. And on the first day of your studies at Minlis in the Healer’s Guild.” Elezir turns to Deralius. “You know him. How did you meet?”
Deralius takes a long swig of wine before he answers, weighing lies with truth, “I’ve known him all my life. Much more than a friend. We were there when it all began. A clear never-ending day. A glowing tree. A sacred hourglass. A brilliant light. He is a warlock of great power.”
Ashar is confused by his cryptic words. “Warlocks are evil. They are deceivers. But this man was no such thing. He was a healer. Just like you. A just man.”
“Who says I’m a just man?” answers Deralius, the bitterness in his tone palpable.
Eloria stops eating and listens intently.
“I healed Eloria because I felt her heart—her sorrow, her childhood," says Deralius. “I wanted to end her pain. A man is not good because of what he says but because of what he does. I’m glad he has done a good deed for The Four Towns… as I have done for your daughter.”
“And for that, we are grateful to both of you,” replies Elezir.
Elezir’s seemingly blasphemous inclusion of his brother alongside himself causes Deralius to bite his lip and clench his fist.
“That powerful white flame crowning our mountain came from his hands, says Elezir. “He has great power within him, just like you. He told me he was going to spread The Flame everywhere and build altars in the highest places to restore The Ever-Morning. He must be a Dawn-Rider, like you. I take it you’re helping him with this task, aren’t you?”
Deralius trembles in anger, sweating profusely, unable to shield the rage in his gaze, “Yes. We’re working together. Trying our best to restore the Age of Utter-Light back to the world. Where did he say he was going to next?”
“Southeast of here. To the coastal fortress city of Thra Athar,” answers Elezir. “The home of the sea-elves. Will you join him?”
Stone cold silence. The Star-Slayer peers into the distance. A deluge of fantasy fills his angry heart. Move and countermove. Strategy. Pieces on a puzzle. He sees the board game and knows the next move.
He wants to destroy my beloved night, thinks Deralius but then a foreign thought interrupts his contemplation… a voice and will not his own…
If he destroys the night then he can destroy OUR POWER,” says the slithering foreign voice within his heart. And if he destroys OUR POWER then our deal will be broken. You promised me this world, Leeuwth-Rayene. You have slain so many stars. What is a mere world to you? Save The Night. Save the shadows and you will save your dream of having her. You will never have her without OUR POWER. Snuff The Flame and you will save her from him.
Suddenly, a fever spikes through Deralius' body. The coldness of death fills his senses. He coughs violently, spitting black phlegm onto the table.
Eloria jumps out of her seat and lunges at her father, shoving him away. Ashar stands back as well. Deralius feels the distance, their fear, and as the anger rises in his heart, the foreign voice speaks in his mind once again…
Look! They treat you like a leper! These are the people you wanted to save? They only care for OUR POWER! They are using you!
Staggering out of the house, Deralius stumbles into the town square. Immediately guards notice his loud cough and lips veneered in black phlegm.
One guard shouts, “He has the Black Fever!”
Two guards grab him and drag him away to the nearby gate of Wereld.
Eloria runs after him, shouting, “Stop! What are you doing?”
The lead guard, a middle-aged fellow named Areld, answers, “He came from your house! You and your father have brought the plague of the Black Fever back into The Four Towns!”
Eloria steps before him, casting a fiery and defiant stare, “It is because of my father that the Four Towns was saved! He has known Zaelon for many years!”
Areld shouts back, “Your father was thrown out because you were accused of being a witch! The elders should have never let you back in here! Now you’re bringing sick maggots like him into our midst!”
Eloria strides forward but a hand touches her shoulder and tugs her back. It is Elezir. He gets in Areld’s face, calmly saying, “Raise your voice like that to her one more time and you’ll know the end of my sword.”
Areld unsheathes his sword. The other guards follow. “Arrest them!”
Ashar interrupts, “Areld! My husband healed your mother and daughter several months ago! They are alive because of him!”
Areld ignores her, ordering other guards, “And toss this stranger outside the walls. No sick person is allowed in these parts.”
The guards bind the hands of Elezir, Ashar, and Eloria and send them away. After several hours, they reach the Skarabol Dungeon on the northern end of Wereld. Tossing them inside the dank and rat-infested cell, Areld informs Elezir, “You and your family will stay here until you show no signs of sickness. After seven days, if you do not die of the Black Fever, you will be released and will stand trial before The Four Towns Convention.”
“Is there a law for this?” asks Elezir. “When did this happen? Why was I not informed? I’m a member of The Four Towns Council!”
“Should you survive the seven days, your seat in that council will be discussed at length. I hope you survive. May Mother-Light shine on you.”
Areld leaves. Eloria hugs her father and consoles her weeping mother in the dark of the night.
SHADOW-WINGS
Meanwhile, at the gate of Wereld, guards toss Deralius outside the wall.
He shivers in cold sweats, curling in fetal posture in the mud, trembling and choking on his blood. The fever is weakening. His body regains its warmth.
The foreign voice speaks in his mind yet again…
The Flame… the cursed power of your brother sickened you. He’s trying to kill you. And if he raises more altars not only will shadow and night die, but you will. Do you want him to defeat you? Do you want him to destroy OUR POWER? He will take her for himself. You must act now!
Deralius stands. Walking further away from The Four Towns, he disdainfully glances back at the mountain and The Flame. Its shining white light reflects in his pupils. He clenches his fist and morphs in midair into a giant raven.
Flying south, the foreign voice in his heart goads him yet again…
Raze that cursed place to ash!
THE CALL OF SALVATION
Back at the dungeon, Elezir and Ashar are already fast asleep on the rat-infested ground. Large roaches scamper past Eloria, racing to her sleeping mother and father. Seeing the creepy critters climbing her father’s back, she releases a brief yet powerful gust of wind, tossing the roaches against the wall. They fearfully scatter underneath the door.
Elezir stirs in his sleep, muttering nonsense in his dream. Several minutes ago, Eloria was given quite a lecture about abusing her powers to escape. She would honor her father’s wishes because she knew he had worked hard to gain his high standing in The Four Towns Council. Breaking her parents free would make her family look like lawless criminals, even though they were wrongfully accused of bearing The Black Fever.
She still remembers how so many parents in The Four Towns attacked her family when she was young for using her powers against bullies who were ridiculing her diseased legs. She remembers when her family was cast out of The Four Towns temporarily after several of those incidents. She had put her father and mother through so much. Even her sisters feared her temper for several times they also took the flight of the wind after teasing her.
She was always the constant whisper of the busybodies in the town square and marketplace. They feared her uncontrollable power as much as the young boys feared the double-edged sword of her beauty and wit. She always felt like an outsider, even among her own family. Her sisters always reminded her that she was not their blood… that someone had discarded her.
Though Ashar and Elezir never treated her in such a way, there was always a reminder that she did not belong. If it wasn’t her diseased legs, it was her powers. If it wasn’t her powers it was her sharp tongue. And if it wasn’t any of these, it was her innate ability to stir up trouble by simply being so different from the rest of the “regulars” of The Four Towns. She was irregularly ‘regular,’ an outcast even among the outcasts of their settled town caste system.
If you were not highborn and had no claim to wealthy lands, gold, or mercantile prowess, you were called a “regular.” She had been one her whole life. Now that her father had somehow defied the odds and broken through the proverbial glass ceiling, becoming the healer of the royals, she knew she would have to sheathe her power once again. Just another shackle. Just another constraint.
As the night passes, a tempest brews within her. Her anger at The Four Towns is now mixed with her concern for Deralius. Just days ago she experienced her first night of love. She rode with him triumphantly to save The Four Towns. He was going to be the hero and she was going to be the one who brought that hero to her people. The Four Towns would finally have to accept her, and now, despite their salvation, she was a prisoner.
She had been bound by the prison of people’s fears and insecurities since she could remember, but now, as she rests in the dung-riddled dungeon squalor, she is shackled by the doubt of her true identity.
Who am I? ponders Eloria. Was Deralius right? Am I more than a mere mortal?
Confusion. Anger. Confinement. Relegation. The emotions churn inside of her, filling her every consideration. She needs to get out. The dungeon was merely a physical manifestation of her own incarcerated soul. For the first time ever, she wonders what it would be like to leave The Four Towns for good. That was the true prison.
She envies the plight of Deralius. She wishes she had become sick herself so that they would cast her out and deliver her from such a cruel irony. Zulion had saved her father and The Four Towns but also ruined her every certainty. Rejecting Deralius felt like they were rejecting her… and they had done that all her life.
Oh, Deralius. My dear lover. Why did I not believe you? You will heal yourself. This I know… but will you heal me from this hole in my heart? Will you heal me from my faithless and wayward soul? I may be able to walk but my soul is crippled without you. I never felt more alive and free than in the short time that we were together. Come back to me. Save me from this prison. Save me from this tortured and lovesick soul.
At once, Eloria sees a floating ring of fire… a widening portal of terrible power turning like a wheel. A great gust of wind streams into the dungeon. A white light blinds her eyes. She jumps to her feet. The light dims until she sees the other side of the portal. Tall white cliffs hang over a green and silvery sea. On the shore, she sees hundreds of dismembered sea-elves, some burned to black ash while others beheaded and maimed. Those who are alive on the beach scream in terror. Many others holler as if possessed by darkness itself.
Chains drag aground. The braying cacophony of horror fills her ears until a dark being comes into focus. Donning a black cloak, he removes his hood, looks at her, and smiles.
“Deralius!” shouts Eloria.
Darkness once again. Silence. The portal disappears. All she hears is the pounding sound of her heart and her asphyxiated breath.
As she calms herself down, a strong female voice not her own, yells in her heart… Mother-Wind! Save them!
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