Chapter 15: Firestorm Sky

Eat.

"What?"

Food is fuel to the human body. You must eat.

"I'm not hungry."

Your name be damned, druid—I swear, if you don't cease this display of childish depression right this instant—

"You'll do what to hurt me, exactly? You're a bird."

You leave me with no other choice.

And she leaned forward to wrench a lock of hair from the very roots of his head.

Saul yelped, reaching up to rub at the top of his head as he blinked the tears from his eyes. The hawk flapped her wings several times before coming to rest upon the barrel beside his bed—then gave him a look that said all too well that he'd deserved it. He scowled.

"It is at times like these, Ceres, that I realise precisely how vicious your kind can be. I ached a lot less before I met you." He grumbled.

She clicked her beak impatiently, and stuck a clawed leg out towards the platter of food beside her; bread, cheese, and chicken. Cordelia had brought it by earlier.

Eat, or I shall do it again.

Saul narrowed his eyes, but reached towards the platter. "I still don't see why a full-grown man should listen to one little bird."

Ceres pecked several times at her wing feathers. She did this often; and when she was bored. I'm highly persuasive.

Saul could hardly contain a snort of amusement; but she'd given him a stony stare, and he was obliged to fall silent once more. Instead, he picked up his fork, and had almost begun to poke into the chicken—but then decided against it. It seemed somewhat rude, what with Ceres beside him, so he speared a chunk of bread-and-cheese with his fork, and took a bite. It tasted like sandpaper.

Most men I know of don't lose their appetites no matter what the situation.

Saul made a face as he took a long gulp of water. "I don't understand why everyone is so troubled about this. It's not as though I've lost the ability to function as a human being."

Ceres blinked placidly at him for several long seconds, her dewy-jade eyes thoughtful and searching. Function how?

"I fought the demons within the Monastery Cathedral." He began.

With Cordelia's help.

"I cleaned—literally cleaned the Monastery Cathedral. It's spotless now. No blood." Saul frowned. He could see where the conversation was heading.

Again, with Cordelia's help. Ceres remarked. Ah, wait—It should have been the other way around. You helped Cordelia to wash the blood away, didn't you?

"What makes you say that?" Saul protested—but she gave him another look. Scowling, he took a hold of his fork, and with renewed vigor stabbed at a piece of chicken.

Women—they are better at cleaning, and other such household duties. The hawk shifted her footing mildly, clearly unconcerned of the fate of her airborne-kin upon the druid's plate. Incidentally, you're getting chicken all over your tunic.

He swore.

She seemed rather amused as she clicked her beak several times. What else have you been doing, then?

"I helped the rogues move their belongings into the outer parts of Monastery. Did you know that they were returning there?"

Ah, yes. I knew. But it makes sense. She ruffled her tail feathers slightly. It has been weeks since it was cleared out. And all that remains are the deeper levels of the catacombs, yes?

"And Andariel." Saul added, in an undertone. He didn't quite like the thought.

Ceres seemed to consider his words for a moment. If Andariel remains, still, within the catacombs, how is it safe for the rogues to return to the Monastery?

"Kashya has stationed several rogues on guard in the Cathedral. So far, none have strayed from the Catacombs. It is quite safe. Besides, the rogues will be cleaning out the barracks first—that is where they will reside for now. That is, until Andarial is—" Here, he paused. Somehow, he found it quite a chore to say the word upon the tip of his tongue. "—well, defeated, I suppose."

Are you quite sure you want to do that? Ceres watched him dubiously.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Saul countered—then leaned over to set his empty plate aside.

I suppose not. But I wish you well, druid.

Saul smirked. "Why? Do you suppose that I wouldn't return?"

Ceres flapped her wings briefly, lifting herself into the air and coming to land upon his head. Do not speak lightly of such things, you fool. But do return—I have become rather fond of you. I shan't have anyone else to torment, if you were dead.

"That really puts into perspective precisely how much you love me." Saul said, dryly—but he smiled. "Don't worry your pretty feathers, though. I'll be fine."

Good.

The walls were of khaki bricks; and they ran about the city in a perfect rectangle, enclosing its people in what safety it could offer. Minute beads of sands, gold and grey, surrounded these walls on the other side, ravaged into sandstorms by ruthless winds. The streets were of copper and grey cobblestones; yet they were empty. It was as if it was a city devoid of life; devoid of laughter and of love.

Most certainly it was devoid of love.

Her footsteps were but petal soft upon the ground—she could not hear herself walking. Someone, a man, was calling out to her, but she could not turn. Her hands seemed bound to her sides; yet her legs were mobile. And she walked, walked towards the edge of town—towards the harbour front. The seas were rippled with colours, blues and greens neath' the golden light of the sun.

He called out to her again—and with a pang, she found herself recognising the voice; and it was a voice that she did not wish to hear.

The waves came upon the city's edge in thundering crashes—yet they were muted to the sorceress's ears.

Cordelia!

She inhaled sharply—then shut her eyes. The winds of the sea whipped at her hair and tugged at her clothes.

Cordelia!

Without so much as a second's worth of hesitation, she lifted her hands—and dove headfirst over the edge into the watery depths below.

Someone was holding her.

How could that be so, when she was dead? Was this death's embrace, welcoming her into the realms of the afterlife? But surely, death's embrace was cold. Yet even as she stirred, the arms about her quavering form tightened, if just a touch—and they were warm as summer's night.

A dream.

Cordelia was only faintly aware of dawn's first light as she opened her eyes. The morning draft chilled the air about her, and she shuddered. Yet beads of sweat were trailing along the side of her cheek; or were they tears? She no longer knew.

But the arms about her were familiar. And the deep green robes upon which her cheek was pressed were familiar. It was Saul.

"Cordy—what's wrong?"

She inhaled sharply, shaking her head as she buried her face into the folds of cloth upon his chest. It felt strangely comfortable. "Its nothing." She murmured, her voice muffled. "Just a dream."

For several long minutes, he was silent; but he stoked absently at her hair. When he spoke once more, his voice was low. "You sounded as if you were scared."

Cordelia bit her lip. How much had the druid gleaned from her nightmares? What did he know?

The truth of it all was that she was scared. It was not the first time such a dream had haunted her sleep; and she had a vague feeling that it would not be the last, either. The city of Lut Gholein would haunt her for many moons to come—yet the city itself was but a ripple in the sea of unrest that was her subconscious mind.

"Perhaps I was." She lifted her gaze just a touch, then crooked a weak smile. "But it was just a dream, Saul. I'm quite alright, I promise."

"If you say so." He mirrored her smile—then made a face as he loosened his hold of her, lifting her chin gently. "Even if I can tell for a fact that you're lying."

Cordelia blinked several times. To find the druid in such close proximity brought about a fresh wave of butterflies to her stomach. His face was but inches from hers. She coughed. "I'm—fine. Don't worry."

He nodded; but something in his eyes told her that he didn't quite trust her. Cordelia supposed that he had every reason to mistrust—she was, after all, shivering with fright from so simple a dream. Yet she took several long and calming breaths. And with a small smile, pulled away from him.

She thought she could see a slight flash of—something within his deep grey orbs; but it was gone in a second. "I should—get dressed. The rogues are moving the first of their belongings today, aren't they?"

The druid pushed himself to his feet, nodding. "Yes. But you needn't hurry—the rogues have only just begun packing."

"That's the hardest part of the journey. Packing."

"Why's that?" Saul strode towards the exit-flaps of the tent; he turned to face the sorceress, and tilted his head slightly. His hair fell rather rogue-ishly into his eyes as he smiled somewhat, as though expecting an answer.

Cordelia could feel the increasingly rapid beating of her heart against her chest—but try as she might, she simply could not understand why. He often looked at her that way; and it had never before brought her to such lengths of breathlessness. Damned druid.

Nonetheless, it was with rather a careless cadence that she'd spoken. "Well—firstly, there's all the rogues' belongings to pack. And then there are the tents, which need to be collapsed. And let's not forget the livestock."

Saul chuckled quietly under his breath—he seemed mildly aware of her discomfort. Yet he chose to ignore it. "Then it looks as if we're going to have a busy day."

"Yes. And you standing there, preventing me from dressing isn't helping any." Cordelia smirked. She waved a hand impatiently towards the door. "Go on now—go look for Kashya. I'm sure she's got plenty of things for you to do."

He gave her a small, rather unfathomable smile, then turned to exit. Yet, he paused, and in a voice both quiet and solemn, said, "Thank you. For everything."

And then he left.

Before the doors of the cathedral within the monastery, there stood a tree—tall and thick-trunked, strong and deep-rooted. Its bark was silver, and its branches, slender. Many centuries had bypassed the old tree—and it had grown, and grown, and grown since its sapling days. It stood thrice as tall as the monastery gates, and was second only to the bell-tower of the Tamoe Highlands. It was a crab-apple tree, and was the pride of many a rogue sister.

The siege of the monastery had brought about an aura of sinister darkness—a never-ending shadow of gloom and darkness, destined to forever befoul the goodness of the cathedral. Yet the mere presence of the crab-apple tree was enough to cast light into the shadow—it, alone, had remained untainted by evil. Surely, in time, it would help to restore the goodness of the cathedral?

Saul found himself gazing in silent wonder at the ancient tree. Ivory petals, faintly tinged with pinks and reds drifted freely from its outstretched branches; they fell upon the ground as a blanket of summertime snow. The ground directly beneath the tree was red, still, from the blood—yet he could not help but feel that it would all eventually fade away. The evil would disappear; all in due time.

They made their way slowly into the cathedral. Saul could tell that Cordelia had little desire to traverse deeper into the catacombs—she had done everything in her power to delay the return into the catacombs. He found that he could not blame her; the gruesome sights of horror that had met their eyes was far too garish a nightmare to tolerate. She'd been pale the entire time they'd fought, and could not smile, even when they'd returned to the encampment.

Now, even as she walked, there was a pronounced lag in her step that told him all too well that she wished nothing more than to run away. Yet she took step after step, her face screwed into a mirage of grim doggedness, as though she was determined to see the end of that which plagued the monastery. The sight of her rather emboldened. He knew that which he needed to face—but he would face it fearlessly. For those moments in time, Cordelia was the very quintessence of his bravery.

It had been but three weeks since the cleansing of the cathedral—but the physical change, at the very least, was immediate. No longer did the mingled blood of rogues and demons stain the deep grey walls. No longer were the tapestries torn, and no longer were the windows soiled with mud and slush. The smell of blood, which had hitherto lingered strong within the air, had diminished somewhat; and it had been replaced with the sweet scent of crab-apple blossoms. The broken cathedral pews had been burnt, and the altar, throughly cleansed. It was true that the cathedral was a far cry from the perfection of its former glory; but in the light of such dark times, it was as best as it could be. The corpses, the rogues had removed—and they lay, now, in piles of light and darkness upon the vast grounds of the Tamoe Highlands.

Saul held the door open for Cordelia—then strode silently into the chamber. The bright summer sun shone through the stained-glass windows in shafts of prismatic hues. The pews had not yet been replaced; and within the vast emptiness of the cathedral, every single sound was magnified ten-fold. The druid could hear the soft echoing of his footsteps upon the ivory marble floor.

By the by, they found themselves once more within the dark, dank deep of the monastery catacombs. Many days had passed since they'd fought their way through the chambers beyond the first two flights of stairs; Andariel's demons were great in numbers as they were diverse in race. Demons and undead flooded the corridors, wielding both magic and blood-stained blade with deadly skill. But the chambers were silent now. Andariel's minions were gone—save for those beneath the next stairwell. Always, always, beneath the next stairwell.

"How many floors did the rogues tunnel through?" Cordelia muttered through gritted teeth. She seemed somewhat annoyed—and it was with rather a severe eye that she'd squinted into the gloomy darkness of the descending stairwells. "These are the third flight of stairs we've found—do you think she lies in wait for us beneath these steps?"

Saul shrugged. "I don't think so." He admitted blandly. He was rather loathe to admit it—but the never-ending darkness was beginning to wear upon him. The druid much rather preferred the warmth of the sun and the touch of the wind upon his face. The catacombs were merely—there was no other word to describe it, but dreary. "I should think that we'd hear some form of sound. But it seems quite silent down there."

Cordelia scowled. "That could also mean that they're lying in wait for us." She said, pointedly.

Saul chuckled softly, then shook his head. "I don't think so." He repeated. "Come, now, Cordelia—why the long face?"

Truth be told, the druid was somewhat concerned for her. She'd said very little since their morning prelude—and had not mentioned the nightmares of her sleep at all. In fact, she seemed all but determined to forget that such an incident had occurred.

To Saul, at the very least, such denial was unhealthy for the soul.

She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, her pupils contracting to form mere points. Clearly, he'd hit a nerve—and she was annoyed, now. "I've told you already. It's nothing." She snapped, tossing her hair haughtily over her shoulder. "Now, are we going or not?"

And, with a low, rather cat-like sound and a scowl upon her face, she turned her back to the druid, and made her way into the darkness below.

Spiders.

The chamber was filled with spiders; great, hairy beasts the colour of blood, with sharp, clawed pincers and legs of darkest black. They crawled from the walls, and from holes in the ground; and it was but mere seconds before they encircled the intruders of their dark, dark home.

Saul swallowed hard. His fingers tightened, somewhat subconsciously, upon his staff as the spiders clicked their pincers. They were hungry—hungry for blood, and hungry for human flesh.

Beside him, Cordelia's breathing was rushed, and her skin, pale. Her eyes were widened with unspoken fear, though her mouth was set in a thin line. She held onto the druid's cloak with her free hand, the knuckles of her slender fingers white with the force.

They had not encountered such monsters within the other chambers—and it was just as well, for they were clearly deadly in great numbers. Even without checking, Saul could tell that their pincers were filled with poison; dangerous, and deadly.

He swallowed again, then gave his staff an idle twirl. He both hated and feared spiders—but found himself attempting bravery, if only to bolster his companion.

"Don't be frightened. It'll be quite alright." He whispered softly into her ear—and was gladdened to feel the grip of his cloak slacken slightly. For a moment or two, her eyes met his; then she nodded, and straightened.

And just like that, the spiders scuttled forwards, their pincers clicking with bloodlust and hunger.

Her cries of fearful desperation were drowned beneath the sound of clicking pincers as the battle began. Saul swung his staff to and fro, his lips twitching grimly whenever he felt the hard wood connect against the spiders' bellies. But he held onto the sorceress, and she, onto him; and together, they swung to and fro, a circular pendulum of fastened hands and outstretched staffs. Yet, after several short seconds of mad flailing and hastily aimed fireballs, the clammy hand within the druid's hand shivered slightly—and without quite meaning to, he released it. He regretted almost instantly.

"Ach!"

Saul gasped, whirling around in position. He quite forgot to feel relieved, even when the head of his staff made contact with three spiders, one after the other. "Cordelia!"

The encompassing darkness of the catacombs made it almost impossible for the druid to spot her; yet he could hear her screams of fright. But he was almost certain that she was holding her own—for within mere seconds of their seperation, the tell-tale explosions of her fireballs rang loud within the air. The never-ending bursts of flames lit the chamber, and brought about an odd sort of warmth within the clammy walls.

It seemed half of forever later before the ground was littered with crimson corpses—and they were distinctly rubbery, and somewhat glossy in texture. Saul found himself wincing in disgust; he sidestepped the corpses, and the puddles of oozing, lime-coloured venom as he made his way over towards the sorceress.

She was shaking; literally quaking with fright. As Saul knelt beside her, she leaned forward, clinging helplessly onto his robes as a frightened child would. Had she not looked so fearful, he would have found it comical.

"Hush, Cordy. Hush. I'm here." He whispered softly, wrapping one arm about her as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Don't worry; they're gone."

She took several gulps of air, her eyes watering ever so slightly. "Spiders—" Her voice was low; almost a croak. "—not good, no. Spiders—spiders bad."

Saul bit down upon his lower lip—it was getting increasingly difficult to keep from laughing. But he held her close, and merely continued to stroke at her hair. Several minutes passed in silence—and Saul found himself gazing about the chamber. The walls were slick; covered in a mixture of water, blood, mud, venom, and an odd sort of slime that the druid could not identify. Several wooden torches lined the walls; and these illuminated the chamber, however dimly. There were dust-covered crates and barrels in corners, and fragments of splintered wood littered the ground amidst the leathery spider-skins.

It was then that Saul saw the crumbling doorway.

It led, without a doubt, into the final chamber; to the final battle, and to the Maiden of Anguish. For upon the deep grey bricks atop the doorway were etched the verses:

---

The end hath come for thee;

Ye mortal of flesh and bone.

Thou hath seen the end of thy life;

And thy destiny is written in stone.

---

For thou hath chosen to disturb;

That which festers within flame.

The Maiden of Anguish hath arisen;

And her anger, thou cannot hope to tame.

---

"—that's quite some verse." Cordelia had lifted her gaze; and her eyes were slightly bloodshot as she looked towards the druid. "Do you suppose this leads to her?"

Saul offered a small smile towards the sorceress, then nodded. "Yes."

She watched him silently for several long moments. But when she spoke, she was no longer shaking. "You want to go right now?"

Her eyes were steely, and somewhat determined; yet Saul found that he could detect traces of weariness within the pale blue depths. He chuckled faintly—then shook his head. "No, Cordy. Not right now."

She seemed rather relieved; for, with a faint smile, she'd exhaled, then shut her eyes. "Alright." She murmured.

Saul crooked a tiny smile, and then reached over to pat gently at her cheek. "Come on. Let's get out of here—this place is depressing."

They made their way to the surface in silence; Saul in the lead. He held Cordelia's hand as they walked, and she did not protest—her small, slender fingers were warm in his palm. Saul decided that he rather liked the feel of it.

Twilight had fallen by the time they'd found themselves within the relative calm of the outer cloister. The skies were cloudless; pinks, yellows, and oranges. It was a firestorm sky—a magnificent display of prismatic colours and nature's magic. For several long moments, they merely stood in silence, hand in hand; each absorbed within thoughts of their own, entranced by the Magic. And when the sun melted away into night, and when the Magic had faded away into nothingness, the warmth remained; and the hope remained. The world was all the brighter.

And perhaps, just perhaps, by the end of tomorrow, the Magic would become reality.

Author's Note: Whee! Chapter 15! AND, my exams are officially OVER! Which means, you guys, that I can now write as much as I want! So be prepared for a bombardment of chapters! I may update every few days, or every week. (Yes, I'm feeling that crazy.)

I am aware, however, that this chapter is not as… good as the other chapters. In fact, its probably one of the weaker filler chapters, because I had to jump a lot from timeframe to timeframe, and from POV to POV. I hope it wasn't confusing, at the very least, because I do like the chapter name. I'd attribute the relative crappiness of this chapter to the fact that I've been on hiatus quite a while. In that duration, I'd suffered from writer's block. Terrible, terrible. Here's hoping the block doesn't carry onto the next chapter!

Thanks go out especially to Ophelion, who's been nothing if not exceptionally kind to me throughout my exam/writer's block/artist's block period. This chapter, and Saul, in general, is dedicated to her. Thanks, Phyl. I owe you. .

Also, many thanks to Phreno! Who's returned to the Saul goodness after a long hiatus! And her reviews, and return made me giggle! Thanks, Phreno!

Next up: Virali, thanks for making the time to read/review my fic. You've no idea how much they mean to me. Really.

Thanks go out also to Harold, for the most insightful review and the fav. And NathanDavis; I hope this chapter wasn't too long! Also to BloodyFingersInc and FantasyFreak4Life for the favourites, and BloodHeron for the alert.

Christmas wishlist: REVIEWS! Thanks, darlings, and keep reading and reviewing, and look out for Chapter 16: The Maiden of Anguish!

Emmy