Ashes by Stelmarta

Hey, folks, it's been a while. It turns out that I was lying when I said that there was one more chapter to go (plus an epilogue). I realized this once I finished this half, and noticed that it was already on the long side. Granted, it took me a while to realize that, otherwise, this chapter would be over ten pages long and I'd be posting it sometime next month. So here is chapter 14 in the story that keeps getting longer.

Note: a miet (mentioned near the end) is a unit of time used in the series. It's about half a minute.

This chapter is dedicated to the Queen Mum, who died a week or two ago at age 101. I think that she deserves a great amount of esteem just for living that long, not to mention that she was active until the end. So, God Save the Queen etc., enjoy the chapter and please please please please be patient.



PART XIV – The Revolution

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The Avengers didn't as much storm the barracks as drop in, as the plague might visit an unsuspecting household and leave just as quickly, death in its wake. There was no proud standard, no battle yells. They simply opened the doors and entered. Then proceeding to kill every human inside with an icy exactitude.

It is unsettling, as the soldiers of the Order learned, to fight a silent enemy. All their other battles had been fought just as much with noise as with steel. But these attackers simply cut the soldiers down, not a flicker of emotion disturbing their cold masks born of hatred and imprisonment.

For some, anger is a curse that clouds their judgment and deadens their thoughts. For the Avengers, anger was a tool, to be honed and sharpened like any blade, not an emotion. Only afterwards would they feel.

~*~

Dusinane strode down a hall of the Temple of Dust, her feet clicking hollowly on the stone floor. The smooth obsidian walls gave one the feeling of being trapped inside the deepest dungeons of hell. That fear was precisely what Cayn had intended to inspire: fear of the Order, fear of its leader, and of its god. Even Dusinane was not immune to its effects, for she, unlike many others, was fully aware of the obsessions and madness that inspired Cayn's actions. For he was insane, perhaps not originally, before the Great War, before Dilandau and Dornkirk, but now...

Before, Cayn had simply idolized Dilandau, as a child idolizes an older brother, but from the moment of his death in the final battle, this hero-worship became as warped as his hero had been in life. Now he sought no less than to become and surpass Dilandau in bloody deeds and mad actions.

Dusinane shuddered. She remembered Cayn telling her the story of his life, how the flickering torchlight fell upon him, his porcelain face transformed into a skull, his red hair blood streaming from an open wound, alternately wildly impassioned and utterly impassive. It had struck more fear into her heart that anything ever had before.

But this did not stir unease or rebellion in her, but rather solidified her devotion to Dust and the Order. The merest whisper of discontent was overpowered by the remembrance that she, as a Forsaken and a wolf, was destined to wander Gaea totally alone until her death. Cayn welcomed her despite it, or perhaps because of it, promoted her, and gave respect to her that he gave to no others. His acceptance of her more than made up for any fear of his madness.

To her surprise, her feet had carried her to her destination without any direct commands. There was a small doorway cut into the obsidian directly facing her that led to Ashes' cell. She bent over a bit, her shaggy head still brushing the doorsill, and entered.

The captive was sitting on her cot, her legs pulled up to her chest, her forehead resting on her knees, almost trembling with apprehension. Beyond her, through the single window, the aurora blazed. It was almost as if it leeched it's color and brilliance from Ashes, leaving her drawn and pale while it grew in glory by the moment.

She looked up at Dusinane as she entered but did not stir from her spot on the bed. Her blue eyes, usually bright and piercing, were dull, and her skin was almost the color of the new white robes she was wearing. She gave the wolf a ghost of a smile.

Ashes always made her uneasy, Dusinane wasn't sure exactly why. Maybe it was because she was of the divine, or maybe it was that lately she seemed to look through you instead of at you. But she didn't care to speculate too deeply on the matter, she was a soldier, not a philosopher.

That sense of disquiet was worse than usual today; she looked like an earth- bound spirit with her silver hair and white skin. The only color in her was the blue of her eyes, eyes that gave a new meaning to the saying that they are the windows of the soul.

"Hello, Dusinane," said Ashes, attempting to mask her anxiety with composure, "Have you come to take me over already? It's still early,"

The wolf nodded brusquely, "The prisoners have organized a revolt and Lord Cayn wishes to keep you from harm,"

Ashes seemed to straighten up slightly, "A revolt?" she asked, outwardly only casually interested, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes now.

"Yes. Lord Cayn managed to root out the leader, but there is still a risk."

"The leader?" she asked, almost failing to conceal her concern.

"A warrior from Daedalus, one of the prison guards,"

"Oh," Ashes said opaquely, the worry gone as well as any other traceable emotion.

There was a long moment of silence. The wolf knew that she should be taking her charge directly to Cayn, but something, perhaps a sense of pity, kept her from moving from her spot in front of the door.

"Why are you afraid?" asked Dusinane abruptly, surprising herself with words that were not hers. Ashes' eyes flickered, as quickly as lightning, from blue to gray and back as they widened in shock. She looked down at the blanket she was seated on, collecting her wits and her words.

"I…I don't know, exactly. I could say it's because I die today, but that wouldn't be true," she answered. It seemed to be taking all of her control to keep her limbs from shaking, "I think that I'm afraid of losing myself. That once Ashes takes over, Crow will be lost forever. I have no family, you know. You were there when they were killed. So there's no one to remember me, me as I am now, or was before. No one. I will vanish into the river of time without even a ripple. That is what I fear."

She stopped short, the only signs that she was crying a slight sniffling sound, muffled in her knees. Dusinane didn't know what to do. She was a soldier, and unaccustomed to people pouring their hearts out to her. So she stayed where she was, standing stiffly at the door while the girl sobbed quietly into the white folds of her robes.

But it seemed that a supernatural force had taken hold of Dusinane's tongue, because she began to speak, and more eloquently than she had ever before and ever would again; "You, you are a truly brave woman, for you do not fear your ever-approaching death. I, however, fear it above all things, but still yearn for the closure that it brings. Even as I am, a soldier and a warrior, facing Dust in the face on a regular basis, the thought of standing in front of the Judges makes my blood run cold. You have no sins upon you, or you might fear judgment as I do. Only sins such as mine inspire the mark of the Forsaken.

"For you see, I am a wolf who slips into a killing Rage, where friend and foe are one and the same and all are to be obliterated, as easily as you may slip into a dress. I went into Rage first when I was fourteen. The moment I awoke and discovered that I had slaughtered my family to the last was the moment I became Forsaken. The scar on my face may heal or fade, but the scar on my heart will be with me beyond death. I still hear their screams in my nightmares.

"Fear is overcome by those who deserve absolution. You are one such person, but I – I will remain Forsaken even after death. Forsaken by my gods, Forsaken by my world, and Forsaken by my self. This cannot, and will not, be changed. And that is what I fear."

Dusinane was released by the voice that had seized her. She felt weak in the knees, and if it hadn't been for the rigid armor, she would have fallen to the floor then and there. As unexpected as those words had been, they had all been true.

Ashes had gotten up from her bed and was now standing with the purest expression of understanding and sympathy that Dusinane had ever witnessed. That was all that was needed to ease the newly awakened pain in the wolf's heart, nothing but a kind expression. What was it about this woman that could inspire such eloquence from a soldier like Dusinane?

The solemnity of the room was cruelly broken by a noise from the hallway. Dusinane's sharp ears immediately identified the sharp noise as that of a shoe slipping against the smooth obsidian floor.

The Avengers had arrived.

~*~

Laesha swore an oath that would have made milk curdle, she was supposed to be silently creeping, not squeakily slipping.

She was scouting the maze of black hallways looking Crow and avoiding being discovered by Cayn or his cronies, or at least trying. Owl was checking out another hallway, but it was unlikely that either would find her on this level. But still, Owl insisted on thoroughness.

Stupid thoroughness.

It was equally unlikely that any of the Order would be in the Temple at this hour of the morning. Most of them were sleeping, until very recently at least. So the curse was unnecessary, she decided, and so were all the stupid precautions.

But, unfortunately for her, she was most decidedly disproved by the arrival of Cayn's lieutenant, the Forsaken, out of the doorway directly in front of her.

She couldn't even muster a swear this time, all she could do was unsheathe ten very sharp claws and hope.

~*~

Dusinane relaxed slightly, she had been expecting legions of prisoners armed and angry, only to be confronted by a girl, hardly five feet tall to her own six and a half with nothing more than a set of sharp fingernails.

She was a soldier, and a damned good one, and knew when exerting herself would be unnecessary. The tranquility that she had so recently found had been left in the cell with Ashes, she could keep it there for all Dusinane cared. War was in her blood, and she liked it that way.

The girl had begun dancing around, lashing out with her claws, trying to meet the target easily dodging her. It was really rather ridiculous. The wolf smirked, and simply backhanded her, disregarding finesse in favor of pure force.

And the fight was over before it could be begun, the girl, now unconscious, victim to her own overconfidence.

Dusinane, while muttering something about fools digging their own graves, picked her up and draped her over her shoulder. She was a surprisingly light burden, even for one so short.

Ashes stumbled out into the hallway, to see what the noise was about, but stopped when she saw the girl. She said something that Dusinane couldn't catch, but it was plain that the prisoner was an acquaintance.

"Go back inside," growled the wolf, "I'll be back in a moment once I've put her someplace secure,"

"Is she – dead?" stammered Ashes

"No."

She let out a sigh of relief and slipped back into her cell to await Dusinane's return, surprisingly obedient. The wolf sighed herself, but in resignation, shifted the limp girl over to a more comfortable place on her shoulder and set off.

~*~

Owl froze, hearing footsteps echoing down the obsidian corridor, they were not Laesha's and they were coming towards him. He leapt back to the relative shelter of a side hallway just before the wolf-woman came within sight. He held his breath in the panicked hope that if he were very still he would be invisible.

She walked up to the side corridor, and past it, her view of Owl blocked by the body slung over her shoulder. He let out his breath, the comprehension that the body had been Laesha's barely registering. Crow must be down this hallway, that's where the Forsaken had come from. He briefly glanced down the expanse of the black tunnel before going down the corridor at a quick jog.

A calmly dangerous state of mind had overcome him. It was as if the organs for feeling had shut down, and his entire being was concentrated solely on finding Crow and rescuing her. Cayn didn't matter. Revenge didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Crow. He would find her and save her and apologize. The gods could hang themselves, and so could everyone else.

He made it down the corridor quickly, spurred forward by the thought of his mission. There was an open door marking the end of his road. He could see Crow sitting, her back to the window where the aurora was blazing brighter than ever. She looked up sharply when she heard him enter, but didn't rise from her place nor utter a sound.

"Crow, come on, she'll be back any moment," urged Owl, taking her limp hand and trying to pull her up.

She looked at him calmly, emotionless, and did not move from her spot.

"Crow, they're going to kill you!" he shouted, his mission veering off from its expected path in a frightening way, "Don't you realize that? If I don't get you out, you'll die! I can't let you die, I won't!"

She withdrew her hand from his, still infuriatingly serene, "You're wrong," she answered quietly, her voice taking on an entirely new tone; one of quiet and illuminating majesty.

"What?" he stuttered. How could this be happening? Everything was slipping from his hands. His calm focus was quickly unraveling, his emotions being reawakened when they would be of the least use to him. "Surely you don't want to die!"

"Owl, I have no choice," she said.

"Yes you do!" his voice cracked, "You can leave with me and we'll go away from here!"

"Owl," she said, staring him in the eyes. He calmed, "No matter what you try to do, I will die today. It is not something that mortals can alter."

"But…" he interjected weakly. He had never noticed before how pale she was.

"You must leave here. Free Laesha and take the other prisoners and go. My fate is out of mortal hands, and there's nothing you can do." She stared into him, the pure force of her gaze and words making him give in to her requests.

"Leave," she continued, "Dusinane will be back any moment,"

Still struck speechless, he complied and left the room, and began to run. He cast one last glace back at her; she was looking out of at the aurora now, her back to him.

As he ran, the spell Crow had cast over him faded, and a sullen anger replaced it. Neither the icy calm of before, nor the burning rage he felt when his family had been killed. His anger smoldered, hot but controlled and more dangerous than anything else.

Crow was wrong. He would save her, and Cayn would die. She might turn her back on him, but he wouldn't turn his back on her.

Once out of the Temple, he turned without pausing to the barracks, now gutted with flames and thronged with cheering Avengers.

The most potent force in war is hate, and Owl knew just how to feed the fire.

~*~

About thirty miets later, Owl found himself running through corridors of obsidian once more, but this time with a handful of the fittest, and angriest, of the Avengers trailing behind him.

Each footfall closer to his goal.

Cayn had ceased to exist in his mind; his crimes were in the past and could not be changed. But he could still save the last of the family that had departed, and that was all that mattered now.

Owl would brave the fires of hell and the tortures of the mortal world to replace his shattered peace and finally accomplish his purpose. And that, to him, was more than enough to triumph over the wishes of the gods.