I can't stay away from writing! Wanted to let you sit with the cliffie a while longer (meanie that I am), but I have to continue writing ;-)
05.09.2005: Answers to reviews removed. See chapter 3 for reason.
After I am done with this fic, I might write another multi-chapter fic for the Eddings section, after that I'll have to see where to go on... I have this Star-Trek-Story scraping at the back of my mind, and there are a bunch of other things I'd like to write about, too, so most likely, you'll have to search for new stories of mine somewhere else until I read the Belgariad and Malloreon again (After all those stories about Elenium and Tamuli, I'd like to work with the characters of the other cycle a little more)...
Current Music: X Japan – Various Albums (Now Playing: "Crucify my Love" – hmmmmmmmm!)
DISCLAIMER: All but plot and original characters belongs to David Eddings. I do not intend to make money off this fic.
CHAPTER 25
Before the searing energy could reach the startled Styric woman, Aphrael lifted an arm, and the lightning bounced off an invisible wall not two hands' width above Sephrenia's head. Furious, the Goddess began to weave her own spell, the sound of her pipes a menacing staccato.
At the same time, the rest of the group saw themselves confronted with a whole army of unspeakable creatures. The stench of their enemies, their empty eyes, oversized teeth and impossible body parts made them flinch back. There were so many of them...
Then, the two parties clashed into each other. The mighty broad swords of the Church Knights, however, were not able to do more than to keep the monsters at bay. The small gashes they managed to inflict on the demons spurted some black fluid that hissed when it touched the ground. They seemed to genuinely hurt the creatures, but that was all – it seemed impossible to do more but scrape them, and that would not suffice to get rid of them. In short, they were caught in a stalemate.
Sephrenia, who had paled at the sight of Zalasta, stammered: "But... how is that possible? The Troll Gods set you on fire, to burn for all eternity! How is it that you..."
Zalasta laughed; an ugly sound, teetering on the edge of insanity.
"That I am free of the Flame now? Somebody mightier than those pathetic brutes extinguished Khwaj's fire. I serve him now, and my service is dealing death to all of you! How convenient that my goals are the same as his for the moment, don't you think, Sephrenia dear?"
Then, he leveled a stare at Vanion. "I see you brought your pet, as well. He shall watch you die before we take care of him."
While the two parties stared at each other, Khalad, who had been busy with his crossbow while the others were wielding swords and axes, silently armed the weapon with a bolt, hoping that his friends would keep distracting the Styrics from paying attention to him.
Hewas not disappointed. Aphrael, who had her own special bone to pick with the old Styric, screeched and unleashed her magic, a fireball which would spell death for Zalasta.
The renegade, however, lifted his hand, and one of the dark creatures stepped in the way of the spell. The compact energy exploded at the demon's exoskeleton – and did next to no damage.
There seemed to be no way the group could survive this encounter.
But then, a crossbow bolt whirred through the air, striking one of the Triplets of Doom in the throat. Gurgling, the ugly old woman fell to the ground and breathed her last – and some of the demons suddenly appeared rather disoriented. They sniffed the air, whined and vanished – undoubtedly to go where they had come from. Khalad, who was in the process of reloading his weapon, shouted as loud as he could to be heard over the cries of rage from the Styrics and the hissing and spitting of their now advancing creatures.
"Attack the humans! The demons are controlled by them – they will flee if not held here by their will!"
The knights did not question the squire's advice. Three more Styrics fell under Khalad's bolts and Ulath's hatchets, which he had hastily dug out of his saddlebags. Then, the remaining men and women grasped each other's hands, starting to chant in unison. A greenish glow developed around them, and the air began to shimmer, like it would on a hot summer day on top of a hill.
Sephrenia blanched. "They are weaving the 'Thousand Demon's Night'-Spell! This is the end..."
Aphrael's face had gone pale as well, but her expression was grim. "Not quite yet, sister. We Younger Gods cannot do anything against those demons – it is prohibited, and it would most likely kill all of you, as well. But there is still one thing we can do."
She turned toward Sparhawk.
"You have to talk to Bhelliom, Sparhawk. Ask it to give back the powers you once possessed. It's our last chance."
Meanwhile, something started to manifest in the shimmering air, red eyes glowing in shadows which would turn into demonic fiends any minute now...
Sparhawk drew a deep breath, casting his thoughts out toward the spirit who had willed him into existence, half of him already wanting to despair. He did not know where Bhelliom was by now – how was he going to contact him?
Bhelliom, Your son Anakha has need of your attention!
For an infinitely short amount of time which seemed like eternity to the Elene, there was no answer.
Then the familiar, booming voice of the World Maker resounded in his head.
What is it that you want, my son?
Sparhawk hastened to explain the situation to the spirit, concluding with the words:
I know I have rejected the powers bestowed onto me by thee, father, but I have dire need of them, lest my group be defeated.
Silence. Then, Bhelliom answered, his voice carrying a strange sadness.
I cannot do what you ask, Anakha. You were given the power, rejecting it. I cannot change thy state at any of thy whims, even if it should mean thy life.
But Sparhawk wasn't about to accept this answer.
It does not only concern mine life, Maker of Worlds. Thy daughter's existence is at stake!
That got the spirit's attention.
How is that, my son? Tell me, and do not attempt to lie to me.
Sparhawk, noticing that time seemed to have stopped around him, told him about Zoltach and the danger he posed not only to this world, but to that of another realm, as well, careful not to leave anything out. When he had finished, there was another period of silence.
Finally, reluctantly, Bhelliom's voice sounded again.
I feel you have spoken the truth, Anakha. Very well. I will bestow the power unto thee again. You shall keep it until the Snake God is no more. However, know that this is the last time I shall bestow this power onto thee. Afterwards, I shall converse with the spirits of the other side, to decide how to keep this incident from happening again. Go forth now, and fight the enemies of my daughter.
Then, Sparhawk felt a surge of power flowing into him, dizzying him with its force. He had become Anakha once more.
Time had started to run again; the shadows the Styrics summoned manifested in front of them, screeching in unearthly malice.
Anakha's voice rose, chanting in a tongue that was neither any human language nor the idiom of the Gods, but the tongue of the World Makers. Outstretched hands began to glow, spreading fire among the demons who howled and vanished, burned to ashes, obliterating the darkness which was about to spawn more creatures.
That was when most Styrics broke the chain they had built with their hands, trying to scramble for safety. But there was no safe place from Anakha and his rage. The fire reached the fleeing people and disposed of them in a similar way. Minutes later, the mighty demon force designed to kill them all was gone. Only Zalasta was left, staring at Sparhawk in disbelief.
"But... how is that possible? You don't have Bhelliom anymore!", the Styric blurted out.
Anakha gave him a grim smile.
"Foolish man. The spirit who created me is never far from me, no matter where it is."
Then, he turned toward Sephrenia, Vanion and Aphrael.
"I feel it is your place to dispose of him, Sephrenia of Ylara. The last time, the Gods tried to punish him, and failed to keep him safe. Please, go ahead."
Sephrenia nodded, a smile on her face which could only be described as wicked. She nodded towards Aphrael and Vanion, who had similar facial expressions, then her gaze came to rest on Zalasta.
"Zalasta, know that this is your last hour," she intoned, voice cold and steady. The man started to shiver and beg when he recognized the ancient ritual.
"Your crimes have been grave. Thus, we banish you forever out of this world. Your body shall be obliterated, your spirit cast into shadows, for this realm does not wish to suffer you anymore."
Then, she began to sing in what the knights supposed was ancient Styric, accompanied by Flute's pipes. As her voice rose, a red aura enclosed the stammering Renegade, and his skin began to bubble like hot wax. Zalasta screamed as the air around him grew hotter and hotter, until a true inferno, hotter even than the Fire of Khwaj, enclosed him.
Finally, his body exploded with a wet noise; the remnants of him crumbled to dust, which was scattered in all directions by a sudden breeze. It was over – Zalasta was gone forever.
Sephrenia slumped in her saddle, sweat pearling on her forehead. Vanion hurried to stabilize her, lest she fall off Ch'iel's back. Aphrael nodded sternly towards Sparhawk/Anakha, as the group rode on down the path in silence.
Zoltach wailed in anguish as he felt Zalasta being destroyed. The plan he had developed for so long had failed! And he was still restrained in his prison. What could he possibly do against Anakha foiling his scheme?
His never-sleeping eyes fell upon his servant. Ctuchik had not really been a worthy priest. Even now, he was blathering something about everything being alright. As if Zoltach would believe him if he repeated it often enough – foolishness!
Then, a thought struck him. He would be stronger, if he was out of his dimensional prison. Of course, he could not simply break free – but he could channel himself into his servant! It was like trading his prison for a different one, not like emerging from the darkness he had been cast into. The Younger Gods would not realize it!
Ctuchik's body stiffened as his God took over his body, erasing the personality of the Grolim out of the brain. Then, fingers flexed and brows met above the deep-set eyes. There was still a lot to do until the knights reached the lighthouse, and the focus point. He would see to it that they received a worthy welcome!
There you go, chapter 25!
Comments appreciated!