Part 14: Chapter Twelve: The Day the World Went Away

(WARNING: WORDFUL.)

Chapter Twelve: The Day the World Went Away

I feel as though a great ebon hand has reached from the heavens and crushed me in its palm, ripping me from the womb of the earth into a freezing, screaming void. The blackness parts.



Where am I?



The stars are half-hidden by a growth of flesh and root, distant and all-encompassing. Peering through the cracks in the shell I see the moon, enormous, bigger than it has ever been from the earth. I stand in the void between the earth and the stars.

The world of Mammon.



My favorite part of my favorite story of Eilan the Brave was when he fought the Spriggan in the Cave of Jewels. These bestial things are, to the last steel-hard tendon, just as I imagined it.

In the distance I spy many crawling worms bigger than Wyverns. They remind me of the pinhead worms I hated so much when I was young--little darting things with spiny heads. In my youth, I woke one night to see a pinhead crawl over my face, its head dangling just in front of my eye; so close, it seemed to be colossal.

At the end of the walkway is a door hung suspended in a void. I open it; beyond is shrouded in darkness, though I can see, just barely, a floor lit by the stars. I step in and let the door close behind me.



Behind it is another walkway, laid beneath the bare stars. Far below this walkway is the shell, shifting and changing like the clouds must look from up above. No spell I cast can resist this bitter, terrible cold. I feel as if I should've frozen solid and perished of hypothermia by virtue of being here. Not even Jahannam was this cold.

I miss the Boil Hole.

At the end of this walkway is another door in nothing. I step through.



Princess Flora's room?

The air is choking, strange, and red. It's warm... just a little warmer than I like. And humid. And sweet. I approach the threshold to Flora's bedchamber and I halt in my tracks.

Flora is there. As am I.

Flora looks up at the me beyond the door, relaxed. She is not vulnerable; she looks as determined and in-control as she's ever been. She smiles at the other-me, and beckons him come near.

He draws near and seizes her by the neck, and she struggles, and he punishes her for struggling. My body seizes up, refusing to let me turn from what the other-me does to Flora. Hearing her cry, hopeless and alone, wrenches my heart. My hand locks around my staff and refuses to rise; I am as a hog stunned before the final killing stroke crashes on its neck.

When other-me is done, he turns from Flora and walks out. I flinch aside, but other-me doesn't seem to notice my presence. Or at least he doesn't acknowledge me. A loose tooth slips from Flora's head as he swings it from her ponytail; when he leaves, I bend over and, wincing, pick it up. It is real, and sharp enough that it cuts through my gloves.

I... I cannot bring myself to leave it. I hold it close to my heart, then slip it in a pocket and leave.



The door leads somewhere new. I walk the new path to its own door, and through the door to somewhere else. This new place is a strange mix of familiar and alien; it is a forest, but the water is a strange color, reflecting a strangely-colored sky. The smell of this place is making me lightheaded. Is this an alien world, close to mine but not exactly?



Monsters parade through this strange forest as they crawl across the hovering platforms of the World of Mammon. These resemble pale riders--a common symbol of the destruction wrought on the Day of Grief. These are all-too-literal.



These statues are as I remember the statues of Judgment, the most ancient spirit tamer known to history. These beasts are immobile, but the bolts of lightning they project are deadly and long-reaching.



Behind the next door is a house from Brannoch. If anything the oppressive gloom has grown thicker. I peer out one of the windows. There's a crowd of people here, men, women, young and old. Many are crying, many are silent, and some are--singing strange hymns, dancing, praying in jubilation. And someone in the crowd screams, and some fall quiet, and others cry louder, and others start to scream, and the prayerful reach a crescendo, and a shadow passes over the moon. And a voice issues from on high, and wind cutters thick as a locust swarm descend upon them, and they are in pieces before I can finish a breath.

Judgment has been passed. I push through the door and stumble into a forest.



I fear I'm retracing my steps, but no, this forest is different. Another planet, similar to ours, but different in fundamental ways. The door leads somewhere new. New and growing ever worse.



I recognize the interior of Kiliac's ship. I try to pass downstairs, but a stench wards me off, the thick and mighty stench of a mass grave. I open the door instead, and on the deck is Kiliac himself. He faces me--no, he's facing away from the bow of the ship. He's looking intently at something in his hands. I can barely catch a glimpse: a lock of blue hair. In the distance the sea boils like water in a pot, and I see why. I am there--I cannot see him clearly, but it can only be me, if these are visions I am seeing, of some horrible future--drifting lazily in the pitch-black sky, a firestorm cascading into the sea.

Kiliac collapses, curls into a fetal pose, and waits for death. I step through, and step into another void, another great emptiness.



The void is vast and frozen and utterly silent. In a way, it's a respite...

Past the next door, someone waits for me.



Epona.

"I've been waiting for you," she says. "This is the very last place where someone might come to your aid. From this point on, no one will be able to help you. So, will you rest now?"

I feel more rested than I ever have in my life. I have questions to ask.

"Who is Mammon?"

"Mammon is from beyond this world, child. He is a judge of life. If he finds a planet he believes has become too decadent and terrible, he seeds it with the Eltale Book and two of his servitors--his avatar and his chosen. Shannon is his avatar, his voice, his hand, and until the book is opened, his fist. His chosen is his symbol, the living embodiment of the power of the Book.

"We caught Mammon by surprise; if he knew the spirit tamers of Celtland could shape such magic, he would have destroyed us with greater haste. As it was, we curtailed Lavaar's folly and kept enough humans alive to continue our race. We sealed Mammon and his subordinates with his own power; he was unable to escape without destroying himself. But the theft of the earth and water gems destabilized our bindings just enough to free his avatar and chosen; their influence allowed the theft of the fire and wind gems and the Eltale Book. Now all he needs is you."

I ask the most useless question imaginable: "Why me?"

"Because you are the Chosen of Water. Mammon favored the water element above all others, and his magic favored the Water Jewel above the rest. You now wield more of Mammon's magic than any being outside of his containment. You are the only one who can free him..."

She draws close to me, lays a hand on my shoulder. "And the only one who can kill him."

"I... could I?"

"I believe in you, Brian," Epona says. "Your heart is true. Your soul is kind. And you wield the strongest magic in all the universe.

"Now go."



Outside the door is Melrode, as if drawn through the Hell of Balance. That hell has no name, unlike the elemental darknesses that surround it. It needs none. For those who offend the human condition on every level--pride, lust, selfishness, death--only a hell of balance is fitting.



Familiar streets now reek of grave-dirt. Windows are stained with bubbling blood. Distant but recognizable voices weep in pain. This is the New Day of Grief. The end of everything. In my mind's eye I see myself walking through a dying world, killing off everything I've ever known and everything I've never had a chance to see. The final dawn. A tide to drown a world unfit for life.



Is this his offering to me? A vision of a hideous world destroyed? A promise of the same power he used to tempt whole worlds into killing themselves? Does he think I, in my human weakness, would find this an endlessly palatable offer?

The door to the monastery.

It opens at the touch of my stave.



Shannon waits for me.

"Brian, you've gotten this far. If you keep going forward, you'll find your quest. Then my job will be over, too. I am a puppet made only for the purpose of leading you. I went out among the people so that I might lead you. I knew nothing of the real world and its foolish people, who are doomed to die. But..."

I wait out her pause.

"...why are humans so strong? With all of their grief, sorrow, happiness and anger, why do they shine so brightly? The warmth of fire, the winds in the field, the miracle of water, the abundant harvests. For all of these, they give their thanks with prayer. Tell me, Brian, is that what life is about?"

I tell her.

"To live, even though you will die, and make life better for others. The world is a thing of suffering, of horror; this cannot be helped. But we are human. We can change the world. We can call on the power of the elements themselves, raise the world from what is base to what is pure. With effort, we can rarify ourselves. We can save ourselves from hell."

Silence.

"What else can you ask of us?"

"I'm a puppet," Shannon said. "And I just don't understand. I am not of the human SPIRIT!" She screams, cries, tears out clumps of hair... and falls.

A slow fall. The supports are being ripped out of her. What can I do but catch her?

She stops breathing.

Then: a single, ragged, choking breath. A pause. I can feel a single forced heartbeat. Then exhale... then another beat... another...

Taken with great effort. As if she had to will it to happen.

A puppet with her strings cut.

I know only one thing to do. I lay her down. I invoke water. I pray.

I force healing magic into her body. Every part of her body was dead, and the magic of life could do nothing but try and get it to live again. I poured every drop of energy into her, trying to keep her alive. I swallow dew drops for fast magic. I keep her going. I must have been at her side for hours, casting, waiting to see her condition, and casting again, and all the while I can feel the Water Jewel, and it sings through me.

Eventually, she doesn't have to force breath, force a heartbeat. She lay still, staring. A blink.

"...s-s-sorry to complain," she stammers. "If you... have the book and the ... the magic stones... this key... will... open the gaol." She raised a hand. I held my own. I felt all the gems speak through me, and an obsidian-black key fills my hand.

"Your job is over here," Shannon whispered. "Farewell."

The world around me fades away.


I felt him before I saw him.



I am not ready.

Nothing would be.



"Good to see you, Master Brian! We've been waiting! And waiting!" His voice did not bely a demon's form. I was reminded of Solvaring's near-heroic bravado, of Zelse's hubris, of Nepty's shattered madness, of Fargo's cruel leer. "Thanks to the curse of the magician Epona, I've been shut up in this prison for a thousand years. My wait is now over. You're the one who can set me free. Give me wings. I will be free. My time has come again."

I step forward.

It was like stepping into the sun. His power was no longer a gut feeling, it was a physical thing, pouring off of him in waves. The key disintegrated, and the World of Mammon, his cage, blasted away. "You have released me from my prison," he said. "And just to show my gratitude, I will not let you suffer."

I let him know what I think of his offer.



And he gives me the slightest taste of what he thinks of mine.



A near miss is enough to make my flesh burn with... nothingness. Numbness. No pain. No sensation of any kind. Comfortable numbness.

I rise up the hill, keeping my distance--



--great pylons of flame shove towards me, burning bright, and I barely avoid the rushing wave of death.

So the fight begins.

I have never fought so long in my life. So much running, so much panting, so much biding time, praying that he doesn't spin another one of those globe attacks. I can't avoid them all, of course. And each hit makes King Beigis's blast seem a gentle breeze in comparison.

I hit him with everything: fire, water, air, earth, and when I dare, smashing blows from my stave. If I did anything, Mammon gave no indication. He sucked up whatever I threw at him, though he seemed least-inclined towards the Avalanche spell.

No pain. Nothing.

Each hit replaced my fear with bland nihilism. Each spray of his perverse, inhuman magic drained my hope, left nothing to replace it. I was aware my body was failing, that my heartbeat was now irregular and strained, and that healing-magic and my dwindling curatives restored it. But what use of it?

I'm a murderer who hides behind a cry of "no choice." I killed a screaming, helpless king; a good man who only wanted justice for his people; a broken woman, insane, in need of love and caring; women whose only sins were being the victim of random chance.

Why bother?

If I am this world's champion... the best it has to offer... then it deserves to--

Zelse. Zelse, who promised to ruin the world, fighting to save it. I let him live.

I could not save Rose, or her sisters, but I ensured that no others could fall to their fate.

I have burned away tyrants, slain monsters, laid the dead to rest.

When I return I will be the Chosen of Water. With that power--what could I do?

I could've spared so many. But I am not perfect. I can only do what is best.

The Eltale Book. Those who open its pages find boundless power and boundless ruin.

I am a spirit tamer. I am chosen of water. I take only what I need; nothing more.

I draw the book. Mammon looks on with amusement. I feel the Water Jewel, close to me now as my heart, and remember why Mammon could not escape his own prison.

I cast an ice knife into the book, and it shreds, and I burn the pages, and with wind I funnel the power it contained into the elemental gems, and with earth I bind them. And I smile.

Human ingenuity, Mammon's raw, untold power.

Fire for passion: I send it crashing into Mammon's body.

Earth for caring: I call it down in torrents of stone.

Wind for bravery: I, at last, gouge bloodless rents in Mammon's hide.

Shannon. Flora. Dad.

All the world.

Water for life.



It is done.


"Why... why am I dying?"

"Why is this flesh decaying? Oh... I.... why?"

"Life... I... hated it. This ... death. Peaceful."

"...sleep...."



"Mammon has been destroyed, but I'm still here."

Shannon?

"But why? Was I not bound to Mammon for eternity? Master Brian? Is this your doing?"

"It is."

"Deep inside me, I guess I always knew that you would be triumphant. The life force that is human is much greater than the forces of evil could ever hope to attain. Mammon was always jealous of you humans, overflowing with the power of life."

Destiny? The right place at the right time? A little bit of both, perhaps?

"I have made a decision. I want to learn more of your human ways. I am leaving Celtland in order to meet as many people as I can. Perhaps if I experience enough I, too, may find my own humanity. Perhaps we will meet again, but until that time, you have my undying thanks."

She kneels. She's not led by the neck anymore; her grace is fluid, natural. Gives my head a good pat. Wrings my stray hair around her fingertip, one last time.

"Farewell, Brian."

"Goodbye, Shannon."

In spite of everything in the past day... in spite of what she's done... I couldn't stop myself.

"...I love you."

The World of Mammon fades. Below me is the earth, vast and blue and green and white. It is at peace.

With the blessing I have given to the elemental gems... why, I--

No. The blessings of the gems are the blessing of all mankind. We can do anything.

We can save ourselves.

When I wake up--

* * *

--it is outside of Brannoch Castle, and I am smiling. I think I'm home, for a moment at least. The sun burns bright, warm. "He's up!" Princess Flora.

I am on a bedroll set out on the streets of Brannoch. All around me are injured soldiers from all over Celtland, spirit tamers nursing their own and constructs. There was a monument to our victory already: a statue of King Beigis, removed of its head.

Princess Flora is out of her armor and scrubbed, but she hasn't quite gotten the stain of blood from her hair and skin. She kneels next to me. "We found you on top of the castle. We didn't know if you'd pull through." She gave me a hug. "You've done it, Brian. You killed King Beigis."

"Dad... where's dad?"

"He's resting. We found him a few halls down from you. He was near dead, but he pulled through thanks to that girl that followed you. That Shannon girl--she could heal wounds like no other magician I've seen."

I laugh. It is too long since I've had a laugh at other's fortune.

"How was the battle?"

"We lost a lot of men. But when you killed Beigis, the dam broke. The Rose Knights went berserk, started destroying each other, came apart. They were the people of Greenoch, Brian... stitched together with Man-Eater flesh." She spat. "That bastard king is rotting in the Hell of Balance."

I felt for my pack. "Where's..."

"Over here..." Flora reaches for it--just out of reach at the foot of my "bed"--and gives it to me. I root through it, thankful for the many enchantments keeping its contents sorted and contained, no matter their size. I feel cold steel.

"This is for you." I drew Beigis's sword; it is no longer screaming. It seems the gems have tamed the demons bound up in it. It nearly purrs. I present it to Flora.

She her eyes widen, as if Year's-End came early. "Thank you," she says, taking the saber. She turns from me, gives it a few trial swings, and in one slash it is fit for her size. She places it over her lap. "The gems, Brian... and the book."

"I'll keep the Water Crystal. The Earth and Fire we can return. The Wind needs a new guardian, the people of Normoon aren't strong enough to defend it on their own."

"I think Zelse is up to the task."

"He changed so much, so quickly?"

"That witch-girl from Normoon--she's an angel. She'd have made Beigis see the light. Of course, you'd still have to kill him, but..."

"The book is gone."

"...what?"

"Come on. I want to see my father."

She helps me to my feet. We walk the streets and take in the sights. We see men and women have their wounds tended to by spirit tamers and herbalists. We see the queen of Limelin emerge from a healer's tent, half-clad in plate armor, her left arm sporting a thin white scar encircling her shoulder; the telltale sign of a limb severed and restored. We pause to watch Leonardo rush from a circle of mourners and embrace his queen. She smiles and lifts him up, and he--er--kisses her armpit where the scar passes through. He whispers prayers and praise to her, and she coddles him like a son. A more uxorious lad I've never seen.

We see mourners and celebrants, drunkards dancing to bards singing songs of old victories, the symbols of Mammon defaced and symbols of the old gods and spirits raised in their place.

My father is in a bed at the inn.

"It's okay to--" an aid starts, and he sees me run, and he lets me pass, and I find my father in his bed and embrace him. In moments Flora catches up, and she joins the embrace, hooking her arms around my chest, pressing hers into my back.

"Brian, you're the bravest man in the world," Flora whispers.

"If I am..." I say, "it is because my father raised me to be."

Life does not end save with death; but here is the end of my first quest: my father found, the book contained forever, Mammon slain, Shannon set free, Brannoch set free, all the world returned to peace.

The world is not perfect; but here, in the arms of my father and the woman I am falling in love with, it is good.

Next: You will find a better place.