Chapter Twelve
Aric allowed himself to slowly drift upward until he was floating level with the Mazoku, Dolf Zoke blade in one hand and formless Astral-Shamanistic power flickering around the other. Once the blade itself was formed, maintaining it didn't require a great deal of power and concentration--it was initially wresting the power of one of the Five Subordinates of Shabranigdo under his command that required the most effort. In truth, the spell was normally meant to be thrown upon formation, but in spite of his usual philosophy Aric was not unaware of the virtues of melee weaponry, and a "weapon" the likes of this was easier to keep track of than a typical sword--and was capable of harming some Mazoku, while at the same time not being a target of theft or confiscation. Thus had been born his judicious modification--hardly a feat of magical genius, but one he was rather proud of nevertheless.
Like Galamoth, the Mazoku he came to face within moments was deceptively human in appearance, with flowing green hair and outlandish clothing that suspiciously resembled an adventuring sorceress--complete with somewhat oversized black shoulder guards holding a flowing violet cape in place. In terms of color, if not style, her attire was the negative of Sylphiel's; the shirt, leggings, gloves and boots in varying shades of greens, while her flowing mantle seemed to shift into different hues of purple as it fluttered in the breeze. Even her shoulder-length hair was a deep, lime-green, though it was cut less severely than the shrine maiden's, bangs hanging a little lower over one eye than the other. Her most noteworthy feature was her blindfold, however, which looked to be of the same "material" as her cape and shielded her eyes from view. Nevertheless, she faced him perfectly, as though utterly unhindered. Likely that was the truth, since Mazoku "clothing" was a part of their Astral substance anyway.
"Who are you?" he demanded, brandishing his water-sword in her direction and drawing the magic-charged hand back.
"You don't know by now?" She was oddly softspoken, her hands demurely folded in front of her, though the corner of her mouth curled with the tiniest bit of faintly-malicious amusement. "How disappointing. You wound me. But you'll know, soon enough." For a moment, he thought that was all she would offer and he tensed in preparation...but then she startled him, lifting a cupped hand palm-up in a gesture of offering. "For now, a name." A tiny curl of black flame appeared in her cupped palm, dancing, flickering, drawing in what little light was present from the new-risen moon. "Merlya."
Suddenly, the black flame in her hand flared up, spreading outward to either side to form an amorphous shaft of dark fire. Aric darted backward, bringing his weapon defensively to bear as the Mazoku substance congealed into a solid form in Merlya's now closed fingers. It appeared to be a kind of staff weapon--though perhaps a spear was a more accurate term, since either end of the shaft was surmounted by a wicked golden blade. A single back-curved fin extended from each spear-head, sweeping back toward the center on opposite sides of the polished black length like miniature scythe blades. A spiral of gold braced the black material between the two spearheads, connecting them and providing better grip.
Merlya twirled the staff-weapon in her hand, bringing it around behind her as her empty palm faced him. "Since you came so boldly to face me alone, I will even fight you on your own level, as a warrior. For what it is worth to you, you have my word there will be no powers other than flight. We Mazoku do keep our word, when it suits us."
"We'll see..." Aric murmured, but for the time being he let his Astral spell flicker out and instead took a two-handed grip on the blade. He had no delusions that this Mazoku's word was any more binding than her supposed "blindness"--and that apparent handicap, itself, was nothing he was about to rely on, though he admitted to curiosity about that particular personality quirk, as characteristic as Galamoth's strange choice of a "warrior" aspect.
Proving that her blindfold was largely for show, Merlya even attacked first. Darting through the air easily as a firefly, she twirled her spear-weapon at him in a very direct sort of strike, no guile nor trickery to the swing. She seemed true to her word, and she even recoiled when he deflected the swing with his magically-formed water blade. Taking his cue, Aric slipped through the air to pursue, slashing downward with both hands. Aric seldom used this spell, and was by no means the swordsman Emilio was (personality quirks aside, Aric could not deny his would-be nemesis' skill), but he wasn't quite an amateur either. His middling sword-skills would hardly last against a masterful sword wielder, but hopefully the different combative styles of the moment would give him half a chance of victory. And of course, when the Mazoku inevitably broke her word and began hurling black power at him, he could take the fight to his own medium of choice.
But, stranger and stranger, Merlya seemed to be honoring her informal pledge, catching his stroke on the shaft of her weapon and holding it at bay with the same, tiny smirk curled at the corner of her mouth. Aric struggled to ignore the building sounds of combat below, fought to keep himself from worrying over the fates of his companions, for he knew the demon would only prey upon such a moment of weakness as a doorway to a feeding fest. He could worry later, after he had taken care of this.
Pushing him away, Merlya jabbed at his middle with one of her weapon's points, and even when he batted the swing away she simply reversed the ends and jabbed a second time. That one came entirely too close, grazing a tear in the fabric of his beige shirt, though thankfully not his stomach when he spun away from it. Taking the opening, he made a thrust of his own--and came just shy of impaling the Mazoku's collarbone, the shaft of her implement rising just fast enough to push his blade upward. It impacted the black "metal" of her shoulder guard, rebounding off and jarring his arm painfully...but he could see the notch in the shoulder armor, tiny sparks of blackness flickering about it before it smoothed itself over. Even such miniscule damage was a sign that his spell could have some effect.
Floating backward a short distance, Merlya began to laugh softly. "Mm...It's been awhile since I've had this much fun. Perhaps Galamoth is right to have such an interest in you."
"What do you know about Galamoth?" Aric demanded, backing off as well, trying to buy time so he could catch his breath--and hopefully fish out a few answers, as well.
"Aside from the fact that he's an ambitious fool, not much," the Mazoku admitted with a shrug, her demeanor suddenly slipping from combative to quietly conversational again. "Mazoku are not Dragons, little human. For the most part, we are not close-knit and unified. Even the Subordinates of Lord Ruby-Eyes are not above sabotaging one another, when not in His dread sight."
"...fine, then," he muttered, fighting back his disappointment. "Then what do you want with me? You had no obligation to fight fairly."
"Of course not," she replied offhandedly, the small smile flowing across the length of her bow-like mouth this time, still bearing that faint hint of superior malice that contradicted her soft tone. "What do I want? The answer is simple, little human, and I have no reason to lie. What I want...is to provoke a reaction."
Aric blinked, for a moment. Something was wrong, suddenly. She had shifted position, ever so subtly, during that last sentence...and it wasn't until precious seconds later that the pain caught up with him, forcing him to look down.
Moving in the space of a literal eye-blink for him, The shaft of her spear-weapon had pierced through his left shoulder, dangerously close to the heart. His eyes went wide, and he wobbled just a little as his Dolf Zoke spell fizzled. The water-blade lost its cohesion, and subsequently its form, falling as an oblong mass to splat against the rooftop far below. The only things holding him aloft were the tattered remains of his Levitation spell and Merlya's unorthodox weapon. Dimly, from below, he heard what he could have sworn was Ellisia's voice, crying his name with mingled shock and disbelief.
His own voice failed him, at first. At least, until the Mazoku twisted her weapon, which brought forth a sharp yelp of pain. She seemed faintly irritated when nothing further happened, and twisted again. "It seems Galamoth was wrong," she murmured, when all that she elicited was another sharp, brief cry.
But then it happened again. Stark, blinding crimson flooded his gaze, time and space bending and blurring into an incomprehensible mishmash of reality. It was an eternity and at the same time only a heartbeat before it was over and he could see again...and somehow, the circumstances had reversed. His shoulder was whole and new, even his clothing untouched, and his own hands were closed around the shaft of the spear...whose opposing head was lodged quite firmly into Merlya's own shoulder, right through the half-shattered guard plate. He couldn't see her eyes through the blindfold, but her mouth was agape and her fingers were limp over the weapon. It dissolved from her grasp, but strangely left her shoulder punctured, and she lifted an emerald-gloved hand to staunch the flow of inhumanly dark blood as she floated back.
After a moment, though, her shock turned to a little smirk again. "...perhaps Galamoth isn't such a fool, after all." Then, her head tilted slightly, cocking an ear toward the ground. "But I think it's time for me to leave. I'll see you again, ruby-eyes..." With only a slight shimmer, like a mirage, she was abruptly gone as though she had never been. Struggling mightily, Aric regained control of his Levitation spell...but this took most of the force of his will, and as he slowly looked down he felt his eyes going wide.
The circle of clear rooftop around his friends below was distressingly small, Ellisia and Selaena fighting for all they were worth to knock undead villagers back and send them sliding down off the roof...but Sylphiel had raised her hands high over her head, and even Aric could feel the intangible White Magic power gathering around them. Even from this far above, he could hear her voice lifted, ringing like chapel bells as it echoed across the city.
"Holy Bless!"
Whiteness exploded from the center of the rooftop, expanding out in a flash, covering ground at an exponential rate. Aric could only stare in awe, until whiteness enveloped his vision...
Ellisia was the first to meet him on the street, bounding down off the rooftop in a single, effortless drop and sprinting across the distance, while the two White sorceresses above kneeled and spoke their prayers for the dead. Sylphiel's last spell, amazingly enough, hadn't even left the bodies; the wretched undead had simply been swept away, dissolving into nothingness under the power of her holy magic.
(Author's Note: In other words, a cheap device to avoid having to contrive a way for four people to bury hundreds of dead bodies or leave them to rot. Shameful, yes. Lazy, yes.)
The half-Dragon was clearly winded as she stumbled to a stop, panting for breath, and her clothes were stained with ichor from the rather savage manner of combat to which this form of hers was suited. It had clearly been a long, hard fight, especially without her magic to rely on. But, instantly, the first thing she did was reach for his previously impaled shoulder, dark eyes staring dumbfounded at the whole and unstained fabric. Claws fumbled with the folds of his cape and the material of his shirt, as though seeking some hole that he had attempted to cover up, and then she looked up at him in confusion. "Aric? I thought...I could have sworn..."
He frowned just a little, at this uncharacteristic side of her, and his hands lifted to carefully pry her scaled ones from him before she could accidentally scratch him with her claws. "I'm fine, Ell. You must have, ah...just seen things from an odd angle. She never touched me." It wasn't...entirely untrue, some part of him was sure. Whatever had happened, it was as if she had never struck him. He couldn't feel any pain in the place she had stabbed, not even a lingering itch or tingle that even White Magic couldn't wholly eliminate. "Did you guys do okay?"
"Uh...yeah," she murmured, disconcerted, stepping back and folding her arms to grasp her elbows. "Yeah, everything went fine." A small smirk stole its way onto her face, and she lifted a golden hand to primp at her hair. "What else did you expect?" Unfortunately, her claws ended up getting tangled in her hair, and she flinched as she struggled to free them without causing herself more pain, glaring at the traitorous extremities. This form was getting more and more problematic, Aric couldn't help noticing--but hopefully, now they finally had the solution to it at hand. Still...
"Ell, we should probably wait and let Sylphiel rest before we ask her to fix your curse," he said, couching his words carefully. "She's been doing a lot of heavy magic tonight, and we owe her at least that much. Especially since we're still broke."
"I suppose..." the half-Dragon girl said, a little reluctantly, but she did at least nod acquiescence.
In short order, Sylphiel helped Selaena down from the rooftop. Both White Sorceresses were unharmed as well (thankfully, zombies didn't really have much in the way of attack methods except "grab and bite", so fighting them tended to be more messy than bloody unless one became overwhelmed, at which point it was more or less over anyway), and while weary, Sylphiel was more than happy to lead them out of town and to her campsite in the woods. None of them was eager to spend the night in an abandoned inn where undead villagers had been previously crawling, magical purification or otherwise. Some things simply didn't escape the subconscious mind.
At said camp, all four of them were too exhausted to do much more than curl up in their respective cloaks and sleep, none of them with much of an appetite to speak of, nor the energy to eat even if they had. Thus the next morning, breakfast was large (at least, as campfire fare goes), served by Sylphiel herself and startlingly sumptuous for a simple stew. They discussed as they ate, Aric and his two companions keeping their story short and concise...and careful to omit certain details, like being chased out of Atlass City by the militia, and the apparent significance of these three Artifacts they sought. The latter was easy, since they themselves barely comprehended it--Ellisia's guess was the closest any of them could come to, and seemed the most likely assumption (especially since the half-Dragon all but refused to accept any other), but in spite of Selaena's reluctance they omitted that as well. Sylphiel seemed a kind sort, and unlikely to become an outright enemy herself, but even knowing could be dangerous.
"And you say this..." Sylphiel gestured hesitantly to Ell, trying not to be rude, "happened when she donned the armor you speak of?"
Aric nodded slightly, as not to disrupt his consumption of the stew he had been served. It was times like this when he felt he came closest to emulating a certain red-headed sorceress' legendary appetite, and it was a good feeling in spite of his knowledge that he was in truth nowhere close. "I mean...it's normal enough, because she can change herself at will, but now she can't change back and can't remove the armor." Forcing himself to pull away from the meal, he exchanged a glance with each of his two companions...then, slowly, looked back to the shrine maiden and asked the fateful question.
"Can you help her?" If anyone could, there was little doubt that it would be this woman. Her power and control of White Magic rivaled that of many a high priest, in history texts and fanciful ones alike.
Sylphiel Nels Lahda chewed on that for a few moments, sat back and mulled over it, digested it...and then began to ponder in earnest. Finally, at long last, she took a deep breath...and let it out with a hesitant nod. "I...I think so. I can't promise any definite results, but I will do the best I can."
The three traveling companions exchanged a glance and a small sigh of relief, before turning back to Sylphiel. "When can you start?"
The sun was over quite some distance, and in spite of the shade and relative cool of the forested campsite Sylphiel lifted a gloved hand to wipe perspiration from her brow as she sat back again. Frustration abounded on all sides, though more muted with the two White Sorceresses, and none so pronounced as Ell's own. She sat with her legs crossed, in what had begun as a meditative pose. Now, however, her fingers were curled tightly around her ankles, her shoulders hunched and wings arched aggressively. Her tail lashed irately behind her, scattering dead leaves and broken twigs and the like, and she was grinding her teeth audibly.
"You can do a big spell like Holy Bless, powerful enough to wipe out all the spooks in an entire town..." she began with deceptive quiet, her tone faux-conversational, "...but you can't remove this stupid curse? What kind of shrine maiden are you?!"
"Ell!" Aric started to reach for Selaena's staff with which to bonk his friend on the head, but then thought better of it and instead settled for using a nearby stick from the firewood pile. "She's been trying all day. It's not her fault." Selaena nodded emphatically, looking as though he had only just beaten her to chastising the half-Dragon. That in itself surprised him somewhat--she seemed to distinctly look up to this wandering White Sorceress, though, perhaps as an ideal considering their similar personalities and styles of magic.
Ellisia sighed, raising her hands to her temples, before lifting her black eyes again. "I know, I know...I'm sorry, Sylphiel. Thanks for trying..."
Sylphiel had only just caught her breath again, and she bowed apologetically (as best she could from a seated position). "I'm very sorry. Some curses can't be broken by a generic spell, no matter how much power is invested in it. Sometimes the only way to reverse it is very specific--but no curse is ever irreversible, and that is something you should never forget."
Aric and Ell exchanged a hesitant, thoughtful glance...then returned their attention to Sylphiel, and all three companions nodded.
Then, suddenly, Aric pushed himself to his feet. As the three women turned to look at him, he took a moment to bow respectfully to the shrine maiden. "Thank you for all your help, Sylphiel Nels Lahda. Without you we would have all died, or worse." Getting a glimmer of where he was going, Ellisia slowly pushed herself up to her feet and strode to begin donning her retrieved disguise. Selaena was last, using her staff as a crutch as always. "I wish there was some way we ccould repay you for everything you've done."
Sylphiel smiled a little, nodding slightly in return from where she sat. "I'm glad I could do as much as I did. I'm only sorry that I couldn't remove your curse for you, but I know you'll find a way somehow." She remained seated, making herself quite comfortable.
"We'd love to stay for lunch, but we should really go," he continued, shifting to a more casual stance. "Sooner we start looking, sooner we'll find a way to uncurse Ell, right? Will you be okay on your own?"
The indigo-haired shrine maiden nodded, smiling appreciatively. "I'll be fine. Because of the local curse, robbers and bandits vacated this area long ago. Thank you for your concern, and good luck. Perhaps we'll meet again."
Aric nodded, looking to make sure his friends were ready. They nodded in turn, first to Sylphiel and then to him. Final goodbyes were exchanged, along with further pleasantries, and the three travelers set off again.
"May I ask why we vindicated so early?" Selaena asked over the soft, rhythmic chime of her staff's bells, which sounded every time it struck the ground among their footsteps.
"You mean 'vacated', right?" Ell asked.
"That's what I said."
"Right. Well, if even a priestess can't uncurse me, then that must mean that the key to reversing the curse must lie with something more specific."
"Yes?" Selaena frowned, trying to piece it together.
Aric took up the torch. "You've seen how the Staff and Armor react together, right?" A nod. "Well, there's still one piece missing."
The light clicked on. "Of course! Why didn't I surprise it myself?"
"Surmise?"
"That's what I said."
Aric groaned.
"It makes perfect sense," Selaena went on, oblivious. "Even if unifying the three Artifacts won't disconcert the curse, perhaps the runes themselves contain some salutation that might provide a key to restoring Ellisia to normalcy."
"Is 'normalcy' a word?" Aric whispered in an aside to Ell.
"Who knows? I'm willing to bet it wouldn't be the only word she'd made up."