Part 13: Chapter Eleven: The Hour of Our Twilight

(Friggin' finally!)

Chapter Eleven: The Hour of Our Twilight



The Boil Hole is just that--a great searing hole in the earth, choked with magma and soot. The spells I layer on to keep me safe can't keep me cool, and each breath is labored and hard. I wish to be free of this damnable pit soon.

Thankfully it is no maze--it seems to have been shaped by powerful magic to expedite travel through its corridors, though I shudder to think of what army could survive this taste of Tartarus.



Aside from Magma Fish and Nightmares, I come across little constructs named Rockies. They are weaker than full-sized Sandmen, and their attacks are easy to avoid.



Flamed Manes are magnificent creatures, but dangerous and predatory. They are creatures of Tartarus, formed of earth-aspected magma. In defeat they slink back to their hell. They are regal and proud, their awe and beauty the only pleasures to be had in the hell of the earth.



Spirits are far and few here; after my recent bounty of spirits, I feel a growing tension at their sudden drop--surely someone else must be harvesting from this place; so much elemental power surging around must make stray spirits grow like weeds. I fear my coming battle will require more from me than what I can muster from experience and the rampant collection of spirits.



Red Wyverns are a degenerate breed of Wyvern. While they can suffer more punishment and thrive on meager sustenance (drawing energy not from food but from the heat of volcanic regions) their firebolts are much weaker. They are nowhere near the terrors their green cousins were.



After a long trek, I come to a clearing. Far in the distance I spy a man. I come prepared. He can only be...



...Fargo.

"Welcome fool." He sneers. "You have done my work for me, and brought me the other three precious jewels. That weakling Beigis thinks I will hand them over to him. Wrong! I, and only I, will be the King of Celtland. The world belongs to me. Now hand them over..."

I don't bother wasting breath on this one. I blast him with wind cutters, and the battle begins.



Fargo trades fireballs with me. They are fast, hard to dodge, but manageable. I tear into him with ice knives, but it seems his limited binding with the Fire Ruby has granted him immunity to magical freezing. I draw close to test my water spells.



He rewards my daring by smashing the ground. Fire bursts from his touch, sending me flying back. I stay my distance, alternating between ice knives and wind cutters. It is a tense duel, neither of us seeming to gain an edge, taking or dodging or batting aside each other's spells.

Am I strong enough to stand up to Beigis if I can just keep my own against a thief? I close in, blast Fargo with a pillar of water--



--and I hear his ribs shatter. He stumbles back, tries to breathe, and falls. In moments he stops moving.

I stand over him. I don't feel... anything. He's dead. Just another dead monster.

I take the Fire Ruby from his sling.



All four of the sacred gems are in my possession. The Fire Ruby seems oddly dim in my hands; when I store it with the others, I notice the Water Crystal shines brightest of them all. Is it merely showing its favor? I wouldn't know if I had accidentally bound with it until I heard (or saw) the elements raise their voices in displeasure.



I take what healing items and magic trinkets Fargo stored up, and take a spirit he had neglected. Every little bit helps.



In time I am out of the Boil Hole. A miserable pit. I won't miss it.



The sky is black as smoke. Even the clouds are only a little brighter than the sky. The sun is drowned out and distant; I can stare straight at it without burning my eyes. The buildings are adorned with strange and luridly-colored, eye-blanching symbols. Speaking of which, eyes are a constant motif--staring, all-knowing eyes.

The spirits here gutter like candles in a rising wind. Almost like I'm doing them a favor by taking them.



Brannoch Castle Town looms ahead, more like a colossal jail than a castle. It has always been well-defended, but it seems to have stepped up its defenses to a degree only seen in wartime.



I spy a spirit flickering in the distance; I move to catch it and am ambushed. Normally I wouldn't be surprised, but...



Their armor is decorated in a rose motif. Despite their plated armor, their movement is slick and decisive. In fact, when they draw close, I can hear an unpleasant sloshing from inside their armor.

They are dangerous--they are spirit tamers, and their large cutters are brutal. I cast a restriction spell on the pair of them--it works, and well. They must be human to fall so easily to a restrictor.

I bludgeon through their armor with my staff. Slick, blackened blood pours from between the plates, and they die without a scream or protest. It occurs to me, after I boil away their altered blood from my staff with a small fire spell, that a father or son was in each suit of armor. The rising tide of numbness consumes whatever dread I should feel and replaces it with a pragmatic note that the people in the town aren't likely to be friendly to a knight-killer.



...perhaps they will. The place is gloomy, the streets devoid of life. I doubt Brannoch is overflowing with civic pride.



I visit the inn. I check in on Shannon. Shannon's presence is a comfort now, a constant like the sun rising.

"A shadow has fallen on the city," she said, casting a quick glance up without moving her head. "King Beigis brings pain and anguish to all. He has rounded up and jailed many who rose against him. It's possible your father's in prison... if he tried to challenge the king's powers."

I tell her I have no doubt. He is a good man, and strong. Whoever tried to hold him would be in for an unpleasant and final surprise. She shakes her head. I tell her not to worry. This would all be over soon. The locals give me worried glances.



One of the people staying at the inn is a native. He explains that his house was destroyed in the razing of Greenoch; he is the only survivor not to be taken prisoner for the charge of plotting to commit treason. "King Beigis has some kind of madman working for him now," he says nervously. "His name is Guilty, I think. He just showed up one day from who-knows-where. His experiments with magic have made the town a living mess."

Guilty? What a melodramatic name... but if the Rose Knights (as I have found they are called) were his work, his power isn't to be trifled with.



I explore Brannoch. It is a horrible place now, suffocating under a pall of shadow.



Some of the people here are knights of Brannoch, awaiting further orders. "Two fortnights ago," said Tinvel, a fear-eyed man, "a mysterious woman accompanied by a wicked spirit came to see the king." That was just two days before my journey. "He became a very different person after that. King Beigis will let nothing stand in the way of his new and horrifying magic. He intends to conquer all of Celtland!"

I ask Tinvel what the two looked like. The beast was an enormous ogre, with red skin, great teeth and claws, and milky eyes. The woman was regal, moved like her neck was frozen in place, and had short white hair.

...

It couldn't be.



My heart pounds in my chest. Could it really be true? Could Shannon be involved with Beigis? Why was she following me? Helping me? Had she given Beigis the means to wage war on all Celtland? Was it an accident, his newfound power suddenly bringing out the worst in him? Was she trying to set things right by sending me in his direction? What...



The castle gives me a sense of purpose. It stands great and terrible, stark against the sky. I can feel power radiating off it.



The pathway is guarded by Ogres, giants armed with stone-hard bones from the dragons' graveyard near Brannoch. Accompanying them are Gloom Wings, scavenger-butterflies that assist Ogres by magically weakening their prey.



Flying sunfish swim the path as well. They are forcibly infused with wind-spirits, the most possession-happy of elemental spirits; they are dead-eyed predators, slinging powerful water magic in defiance of the elemental that propels them.



Guarding the way in are more Rose Knights. These have white armor instead of red. Their magic is dangerous, but easier to handle than the hacking large cutters of the red. I can defeat these with avalanche magic, a risky proposition--the spell is mighty, but there is a chance it might miss entirely. The risks are worth it; even one hit can mutilate, and multiple can all-but-ensure a kill.

As I draw closer, I hear a sudden bone-rattling clap of thunder. It takes me a moment to discern it is not thunder I hear, but the zap-pop of magical Wings, magnified as if in an opera house. And not long after I hear the thunder of black powder.



I find a spirit desperately clinging to the side of the castle and take it. The sounds are more subdued now, moved to the interior of the castle.



The gates have been blown open. They smell strangely--not quite like fire magic, not quite like actual fire...



I enter the castle, ready to kill a king.

...But it seems I'm not alone.



Battle rages in the hallway. My heart skips a beat at the assembled masses. Knights from Dondorian, armed with spear and sword and shield! From Limelin, armed with black-powder wands and hand-pumped sprayers of burning pitch! Spirit tamers from Larapool, spirit tamers from--I recognize them, my friends and colleagues and students from Melrode! I spy Colleen's bizarre roast-fish guardians, and Marionasties and Mad Dolls. They trade blows with the Rose Knights, but with all their weapons together they can barely hold back the knights.

Then across from me a little blond boy kicks down a bright-red barrel into the growing crowd of Rose Knights at the far end of the hall. He snaps his fingers and the barrel explodes, sending shards of blasted armor flying.

My stomach churns when I see the remains of the Rose Knights slither away. Blobs of bone, flesh, and organ crawl from their shells, held together by the brackish brown filth of a Man-Eater.



I strike against Rose Knights as I come across them. Many are already injured, my spells and staff finishing the job. I pass through halls filled with massive cannons. I take the scattered and few spirits this place attracts; each one, I imagine, is another strike against King Beigis.

I turn halls, open doors, hear screams and blasts and howls--and then nothing, and he is there.



Guilty.

"Ah ha haa... I have just been using you to experiment," he says. "Now give me all of the magical powers that you have obtained!"

What manner of--

He casts a spell at me. Great steel fangs appear at my side, like bear traps. They crash around me, defensive magic barely absorbing the strike. The agony is blinding. I trade spells with him, stone and cutter and fireball.



His moves are slow and decisive and inevitable, and he scours me with close-ranged magic. I move and cast and run.

I feel helpless against him. I hurl spell after spell and he simply takes it, as if each wind-cutter is a breeze, each stone a light dust devil, each bolt of fire refreshing steam. What kind of monster is this?



He just takes it and takes it and takes it and takes it and nothing stops him. He keeps crawling at me, lashing out with bear-trap spells and that horrible glow. I see nothing familiar in his spells, nothing resembling the four elements. What could... how...

He has me cornered. I can't survive. I'm going to die here and though I've not thought of it in days all I can think of are the freezing winding tunnels of Jahannam waiting to swallow up the murderer that dared try and escape its grasp--

There's an explosion above us. Guilty pauses, turns around--



Red and blonde--a leap--Guilty reels--she lands on his chest, and in a single mighty hew his throat is torn open. He slips and falls. One wouldn't expect a monstrous face like that to be capable of much expression, but when the torrent of blood fades to a trickle and he rises no more, his face is contorted in a look of infantile protest; this wasn't how the game was supposed to end.

Princess Flora leaps off him, nimble as a damselfly. She's soaked from head to toe in blood--Guilty's fresh red, more congealed brown-crimson from the Rose Knights. She steams with the heat of Guilty's lifeblood.

"Master Brian," she says, and every time I see that smile I feel both insignificant and protected. "Glad I could help in your conquest of King Beigis."



I regain my strength, and we run through the halls of Beigis's castle; she leaves dainty, bloody footprints behind her. She explains our predicament on the way in. "Limelin sent out its own spirit tamer to investigate King Beigis and the missing gems," she said, "a boy named Leonardo. You were both in Normoon after the Wind Jade, but I guess you missed each other." I remember a faint whiff of black powder...

We encountered a pair of Rose Knights. I crushed one with an Avalanche spell; Flora sent her rapier through the slit in one's visor, and it fell quietly.

"Beigis had an agent of his own, seeking the elemental gems--from what Limelin's spies say, Nepty and Solvaring were accidents, but Fargo and Zelse's acquisitions were engineered. Beigis was seeking to add all four to his army, but someone killed all but one before he could convince them."

And what of Zelse?

"I don't know what you did to him, Master Brian, but he's down there with the troops from Larapool, killing in the name of the Queen."

Amazing what a little good news can do for morale.

We cleared another hallway strewn with debris and smelling of that strange mix of fires.

"We're holding our own, Master Brian... but we need you. We can't keep this up forever, and you're our trump card. We know you can kill Beigis."

I feel flattered.



A number of monsters slink up behind us. A blond boy, a familiar one, pops from a door, yells "Duck!" and so we do. I see a little black ball with a burning wick like a firework soar over our heads. I hear it clatter against armor and explode. Heat washes over us. I turn around and see a number of blown-apart Rose Knights.

The blond boy--Leonardo, I guess--ushers us into a room. We follow.

It seems to be a makeshift infirmary, the injured piled up and attended by water-aspected spirit tamers. Leonardo introduces himself. "Lord Bartholomoy's been taken to a remote hiding place, Brian," he said. "I came here to rescue him, but I didn't make it in time."

I ask where he went.

"To fight King Beigis. He was hurt, the wounds too old for magic to heal, but he..." He holds his phylactery close to himself. "Your father fights like the elements themselves. I can only hope my talents can one day aspire to his."

He provides a few healing items, which I gladly take. He also provides a stray spirit yet unclaimed in the corner. My staff hovers over it; it has a certain... finality. I draw it in. My last chance.

"We have to go," Leonardo said. "I believe my magics have been quite useful in holding the front."

"Strike that bastard king down," Flora said. "I believe in you, Brian." She licks some blood off her hands--then grabs me, pulls me in. She kisses me.

She slips her tongue in my mouth, a warm and wet and coppery feel.

She lets me go.

"Live," she says, and the two leave.

My first kiss.

The king's chambers are not far from here. I kill the last few Rose Knights between me and Beigis and strike in the door to his throne and--



Dad! And--

Shannon draws back her arm; it shrinks back, bones snapping back into place, muscles returning to normal proportion and length. Dad breathes hard. He looks close to death, barely sensate. Shannon turns her head, just a little too far; I hear bones snapping in her neck.

"Hello again, master apprentice," she says. "Your power is much greater than I expected. It must be because you are a true magician." She chuckles. "This fellow challenged me to fight even though he's hurt, just because I told him about you."

Everything is numb.

"His life was in danger. He tried to stop me although he couldn't lift a finger. Why does he trouble himself? I don't understand. You can't escape this room." The door on the other side slams shut. "You will have to move forward if you want to rescue your father... you don't have a choice." She snaps a finger. I see dad's left arm wrench out of place; he barely has the energy to groan. "Your fate and your father's are in my hands. Do as you're told."

I...

What can I do? I walk.

Shannon watches as I kneel by my father. He coughs, looks up at me--

"Brian! How did you find me? How did you get here?"

"...I fought my way to Brannoch," I say. "I came here to save you. To save Celtland."

"Quick!" dad moans, "Run for it! This place is a trap! The Eltale Book is much more than... than even I thought... oh..." I hug him, hold tight. "Agh..." he utters, and he falls unconscious. I can feel his heartbeat. He's still alive, praise all the life in the world... I cast water-magic into him, knitting what wounds I can.

"Hurry up," Shannon says. "Beigis is waiting."

Betrayed. Broken. The world is on my shoulders. My father is near death. A war is being waged around me. I have to kill a king. A king and a demon that had its hand in the Day of Grief. A puppet ruled by a puppet, killed by a killer, a sacred and chosen killer. I am a murderer whose murders will save a world that has been torn to pieces, that has been judged wanting by forces far greater than any the little maggots crawling on its surface could ever dream, that is ruled by murderers and cannibals, whose people are gladly sacrificed to gods of labor, the capricious moods of tyrants, and the idle play of the very elements they worship.

I am Chosen of the Water Jewel.

The wasting of life: the sin of water.

The Water Jewel's seat is in Jahannam.

The Water Jewel belongs in hell.

So does its chosen.

The taste of blood is sweet in my mouth.



The king awaits.



"Hmm. It seems Fargo and Guilty were not as powerful as their boasts. But my power is absolute, and before my greatness your pathetic human magic is not but child's play. Ha ha ha..."

His laugh is cruel and dismissive.

My laugh is of a man who may, in a short while, have nothing left to lose.



He fires. The bolt is massive; it washes over me. It is wholly the power of the gems that keep me alive. But I'm still alive, aren't I?

I call forth healing magic to keep my body together. After all, aren't I the chosen of water?

He is of the fire element, this I can tell. Where Guilty's magic was impossible, otherworldly, this was terrestrial magic writ implausibly large. Nothing I couldn't handle. Nothing I can't stop.

I respond to Beigis's magics with my own; the walking-water sends erupting fountains of water pillars through Beigis. I toss in a few ice daggers for good measure, though he seems immune to its freezing effect.



I come close. He stops firing the blast and draws his saber; the fiery demons bound inside it howl in rage, and he cuts through me. Again the gems keep me from dying outright. And still I weigh into him with magic.

Sometimes he misses. Enough time to draw the magic from healing items long-stored. I think he's starting to look afraid. No, he's been like this ever since I've gotten close...

He cuts, and his cuts become more erratic and hard-to-land, and my spells never stop, and suddenly the world goes gray and then black and for a short while I lose myself.



When my sight returns, I see I have killed Beigis.

I don't know what I did to him--what I could've done to leave his corpse like that. It seems there is power I did't know I had. The power of friendship, perhaps. I cackle, double over, vomit, nearly pass out. I catch myself on my staff. Wonderful! I spin around on it, eyes still bleary, waiting for the tears to stop pouring and laughing all the while.

After a while I have to stop. My eyes are clear, but my head is reeling from incessant spiraling, and my throat is killing me. I wince and inspect Beigis's corpse. He doesn't have the Eltale Book, so I take his sword instead. I don't know how to use it--but I know someone who might. I slide it into my blessed satchel, and it clanks rather violently against the elemental gems, as if they're hungry and it is easy prey.

The doors are shut tight behind me. So I ascend, walk the winding path behind his throne and up--to the roof of Brannoch Castle.



Shannon is waiting for me. The battle's sounds begin to die out. Perhaps the Rose Knights cannot maintain their stability with the king and Guilty dead.

Shannon is utterly without expression, like an old statue of a goddess.

"What took you so long? King Beigis wasn't a big problem, was he? Nothing compared to the power of Mammon!" The enthusiasm in her voice is forced. Her movements are becoming erratic and bizarre. "Solvaring, Zelse, Nepty, Fargo--these four guardians held the power of the four magic gems. Feel the power within you. You now have the strength to open the way to where Mammon waits."

I scream. I scream and I can't think of anything to say and I don't know what to do and I just want to kill her but how, why, why, why, Rose of Larapool, stroking my hair, feeding Solvaring to the worms--

A book appears in her hand.

It is familiar to me.

The binding seems to be leather. But it isn't. The pages seem to be paper. But they aren't.

"Take the Eltale Book, long sought by your father," Shannon says. "Take it and go past the Stone Circle." She presses it into my hands.



Its weight is unremarkable.

"Why?" I ask.

She knows.

"I... am a soulless puppet made to serve my lord Mammon," she said. "I will help Mammon destroy everything that holds the power of life. You cannot go forward from here." You. Everyone-you. Me and everyone I know; the whole world. "This leads to oblivion." Her eyes glaze. "And I will be free to start from the beginning."



Mammon awaits.

Next: Shame on us, doomed from the start.