A/N: The hubby and I are about a week from moving across the country and so our lives have become this hectic mess. On top of it my body has mysteriously decided to betray me. My left foot and ankle are swollen and hurt when I walk and I have no idea why and the doctors in our remote area have literally no idea and no advice except ice it. I must have somehow injured the soft tissue but anyway. Suuuuucks. As a result I'm likely going to fail to proofread this to my usual standard because I'm just...rather uncomfortable.
More importantly for all of you...my updates will be affected. Hubby intends to return our rented internet router back to our ISP Monday. So I will have no Internet for my usual Tuesday and Friday updates. I may elect to put up a Sunday night update if it's desired, otherwise, just be advised we'll miss a week or so in the mess of moving.
Twenty-Three
The Prison Construct
As soon as Solas exited the eluvian his skin flushed with heat, prickling as though insects crawled over every last bit of exposed flesh. Blinking through the discomfort, he took in the prison construct and found it more intact than he'd dared hope. It was a black except for the beams of pale, milky light streaming in far overhead, through cracks in the ceiling. Gray stone walls stretched out ahead of Solas, covered in an inky blackness.
The mirror thrummed behind him, admitting Var. Solas strode ahead to make room for the modern elves that would follow. As he reached the wall of darkness, away from the beams of light cast from the cracks overhead, Solas murmured under his breath to summon an orb of veilfire. It lit up the space a meter ahead of him in green-white, illuminating a floor of stone covered by a layer of dust.
More elves poured in through the eluvian and many of them muttered under their breath, rustling as they scratched at their skin. "Blighted spiders," one of them grumbled. "Feels like they're crawling all over—"
"Silence," Solas ordered them in a low voice. His heart had started galloping in his chest. The Forgotten Ones would have sensed the eluvian activating and he had little doubt they were already nearby, perhaps drowsy and dormant to conserve strength, dreaming of better times and longing for freedom. But they'd undoubtedly stir for this.
The mages continued arriving, making the mirror hum unceasingly. Solas walked ahead, casting more veilfire orbs as he went, leaving them to float overhead. The prickling sensation continued over his exposed skin, but it was easy enough to ignore. The Forgotten Ones had always affected others this way. Their magic reacted to the physical form, causing visceral reactions in a way the ethereal energy of the Fade never could.
The Evanuris had dubbed themselves creators, physical beings who used their will and magic to shape the physical world. But the Forgotten Ones were the exact opposite—spirit beings who used their magic to destroy the physical world. It was inevitable that they would fight one another, of course, yet it'd been the Evanuris who broke the unspoken rules of the war by learning the magic of the Blight. They'd appropriated it from the Forgotten Ones, expanding on it, marring an already deadly tool of destruction into an abomination that could destroy all of Thedas.
It was that altered Blight that had infected the Tevinter magisters in the Black City and created darkspawn.
At the end of the long, empty corridor, now lit in white-green by veilfire, Solas paused at a square doorway. Var lingered a few steps behind him and the modern elves followed him, tense and pale with fear. The enchantments and wards they wore—in necklaces, bracelets, rings, anything small and capable of channeling strong magic—made them all appear dim and washed out.
Solas summoned another veilfire orb and with a slight wave of his right hand sent it flying through the stone doorway. As it passed the threshold, lighting the reddish glass set into the walls on either side, one of the modern elves asked, "Are we in the Deep Roads?"
"Can't be," another mage answered, a woman this time. "Feels like a construct."
"A construct meant to look like the Deep Roads," Var supplied in a quiet voice.
The Forgotten Ones had always enjoyed darkness and there were few places darker than the Deep Roads. Yet there'd been another reason for their interest in this place late in the war after Mythal's death. To trick them, Solas had shaped this construct with the help of dozens of others' magic, creating an exact replica of a real section of the Deep Roads, beside Dirthamen's slumbering dragon—what would later be called Dumat by the Tevinter Imperium. An Old God, what Solas knew to actually be an Evanuris' insurance policy against death by using dragons to house part of their powers and souls. Exactly as Corypheus had done with his own dragon.
Solas had promised the Forgotten Ones he would lead them to each dragon and help them kill it to cripple the Evanuris. And when they'd entered the eluvian they'd been deceived by the quality of the replica and a few well-hidden spells that disguised the feeling of the construct around them. It'd been a gamble, but the Forgotten Ones had been so eager for any chance to gain victory over the Evanuris that they'd been easy to trick. Solas had led them just to this doorway, far enough to trigger runes in the stones of the floor that activated holding spells, freezing each being for a few moments. And then, teleporting back to the mirror, he had fled and sealed it with his blood before they could follow.
Such a simple ruse shouldn't have worked so well. But it had because despite their terrifying powers, the Forgotten Ones were never the threat the Evanuris were.
The veilfire orb Solas had cast illuminated a wider space beyond the door. Solas hesitated, watching the shadows around the orb for any unnatural movement or clinginess. His senses strained, waiting for the moment he would feel the power of the Forgotten Ones' close proximity, which manifested in varying ways: a metallic taste in the mouth, or the stink of rotten meat. Nothing came, just the ongoing prickle on his skin like a thousand spider legs crawling. Behind him the mirror continued to thrum and the mages inched forward, a swelling press behind him as they filled the hallway.
Quashing the cold tremor in his guts, Solas Fade stepped through the doorway and into the space beyond. Beneath the veilfire orb he rematerialized and immediately cast three more orbs, slinging them out into the darkness. In the same instant he tasted the harsh tang of iron on his tongue and the rancid stench of decay hit him.
Daern'thal, he thought. Original creator of the Blight, a demon that fed on illness, suffering, wounds, and—like all the Forgotten Ones—death.
Erecting a barrier over himself with one hand, Solas spun to his right in time to see a vaguely bipedal shape lurch at him, hissing in a dry voice. "Fen'Harel," it said as wispy, tentacle-like limbs lashed against his barrier, sending blue sparks flying. "How good of you to bring us a meal after all this time."
Solas threw his arms wide, using a powerful veilstrike. Daern'thal fell back with another hiss, tentacles flailing. A fireball came flying out from the doorway as the first of the mages charged into the space to join the fight, their faces wrenched with disgust as they too tasted iron and smelled the odor of rot.
Flinging veilfire orbs out for increased lighting; Solas Fade stepped further from the doorway, searching for any sign of Geldauran as it tended to accompany Daern'thal. Sure enough he felt his tongue begin burning alongside the iron tang. That was Geldauran's influence, the taste of malice. One demon beget the other as Geldauran inspired violence and Daern'thal thrived on the wounds left by that violence.
At the edge of his farthest veilfire orb's greenish light Solas saw a black shape, roiling and frothing, formless and seething. It barreled down on him, splaying wide as it impacted his barrier, splashing like oil, viscous and tarry. Solas thrust a palm out, attacking with a wave of cold. Geldauran's voice was the crackling of fire, despite its liquid appearance as it growled his name, "Fen'Harel."
Yes, yes, Solas thought as he hurled more ice at it. Nice to see you again as well.
As Geldauran reared back, repulsed by the ice, Solas hurled more green vieilfire outward with a flourish and twisted observe the mages tackling Daern'thal. Dozens of them had come through, casting in a flurry of fire, ice, storm, and spirit. The air buzzed and roared with magic around Daern'thal as it writhed, a confused mass of black tentacles. Still more elves piled through the doorway, joining their magic to the fray. Daern'thal appeared overwhelmed by the assault, unable to right itself and return an attack on the mages. If they could hit it hard enough and long enough the demon would dissipate, its spirit broken.
Unfortunately there was a high likelihood that Daern'thal would not truly die. Its essence would return to the Fade and over time it would return as something similar, one or more spirits dedicated to balancing the physical realm. That was another reason why Solas hadn't killed them, though the primary reason had been he hadn't had the chance before erecting the Veil sent him into uthenera. Now he had little choice because destroying the Veil would further weaken constructs like the Crossroads and this one. Though the prison had seemingly weathered the Veil well enough all it'd take would be a tear just large enough that the demons could pass through into the Fade and they'd be free to destroy the world with Blight directly.
At least a reborn demon sprung from Daern'thal's will in a few centuries probably wouldn't be twisted with wrath the way its predecessor was. In death these beings could have a fresh start. Seeing Daern'thal's weak thrashing, Solas almost wondered if they'd welcome the chance to begin anew…
Then Geldauran launched itself at him again and Solas blasted it with more ice, the element it was weakest against. "You will die slowly," it said, voice gargling. "Daern'thal will lap the blood from your wounds. I will twist your thoughts, turn your hands on those you love and make you watch as they die."
How charming, he thought and his lips quirked in a smirk as he changed tactics, pummeling it with a powerful veilstrike. A blue circle formed beneath Geldauran and flared white as it went off—an ice mine. The mage who'd cast it charged closer, already preparing a mindblast spell. A woman surged forward with Fade step, stopping just shy of Geldauran and lobbing a fireball at it. Chain lightning crackled, flickering wildly against the dark expanse of the demon's tarry, blob-like form.
Geldauran gurgled, feeling the assault and shrinking backward. Solas pushed ahead, hurling ice with one hand and fresh veilfire orbs to light the space around them. The orbs illuminated pools of blackness left in the demon's wake and Solas shouted, "Do not step in its leavings!"
Too late one of the elves, a young Dalish man, did exactly that. He shrieked, the sound shrill with pain, then warped with rage. A blast of light emanated from him as he summoned fire and turned to the nearest elf at his side, flinging it at her. She cried out with surprise as the fire broke against her barrier but had no defense ready as he charged at her, roaring and frothing at the mouth.
Solas flattemed with a veilstrike that was hard enough knock him unconscious. Solas grit his teeth as he held back the desire to simply petrify the man because there was a chance they might kill Geldauran quickly enough to save the man. Redoubling his efforts, he flung fireballs at the black pools Geldauran had left, setting them aflame and making several mages yelp at the close proximity. Burning away the demon's rage mines.
Then a woman in the circle of mages attacking Daern'thal screamed with agony. Solas saw the demon had speared her through the gut with a tentacle and hefted her into the air. She kicked and struggled, but blood gushed from her mouth and dribbled down the beast's tentacle, dripping into the seething black mass of its body. Feeding it.
Solas' eyes flashed as he petrified her, ending the suffering and denying the demon her blood. Daern'thal hissed, in triumph or irritation, Solas couldn't be sure which. It thrashed that tentacle, lobbing the woman's petrified body down and out at its attackers. The stone body collided with three other mages, knocking them aside as the physical attack cut through their barriers with ease. They fell, crying out with pain as the impact shattered bones and crushed limbs. Solas heard the wet crack of bone.
"As you die, I grow stronger," Daern'thal said, laughing.
"Fen'Harel has led you to your deaths," Geldauran added in its gurgle. "He has betrayed you just as he betrayed us. Turn your fear, your wrath upon him. The wolf will suck the marrow from your bones at Daern'thal's side."
Daern'thal lashed out again, laughing as its tentacles flew in a frenzy. With so many mages now around it—how could it miss? Two tentacles managed to stab into mages, hauling them into its body as they shrieked in horror and agony. Blood splattered on the stone and the stink of voided bowels and urine joined the already overwhelming stench of decay. The mages around Daern'thal were nearing their breaking point, the moment when their horror would overcome their courage.
"Enough," Solas roared and summoned firestorm on Daern'thal in the same instant that he petrified the demon's latest victims. As brimstone and fire lobbed onto Daern'thal, pinning it to the stone, it shattered the bodies of the mages the demon had slain.
The elven mages yelled in triumph, surging forward again in their fury, taking advantage of Daern'thal's moment of immobility. Fire bloomed, lighting the stone walls around the fight, pushing back the shadows.
"You will not prevail," Geldauran's voice gargled, but it had backed into a corner, writhing and twisting as dozens of mages pelted it with ice, lightning, and spirit attacks. Already they'd gleaned from its reactions that fire attacks did little harm to it and altered their strategies accordingly. They could sense the demon weakening and pressed their advantage.
Solas joined them, standing between the two demons, casting ice at Geldauran while he kept Daern'thal pinned with firestorm spells.
Then Zevanni was at his side, letting out a high-pitched ululating cry from deep in her throat. With a fierce grin on her face, she summoned a second firestorm on Daern'thal, doubling the fury of Solas' attack. "Fen'Harel vir'enasalin," she shouted.
Fen'Harel's victorious path.
"Falon," Solas greeted her, also grinning. "Let us finish them."
"Fuck yeah," she agreed with a laugh.
More mages surged in from the hallway; so many that not all of them could fit into the space. Many of the newcomers could do nothing but cast barriers over those in front of them. Solas knew it was only a matter of time before both of the demons succumbed to their assault. They had lain in this first room, as he'd expected of these particular demons, but there were still three more Forgotten Ones. Daern'thal and Geldauran attacked physically, which was easy to understand and defend against, but the Anaris demons and Tua'verdhe were just as likely to use psychological tricks that could prove far deadlier.
Geldauran let out a gurgling cry then, bubbling and splattering as it grew desperate. Flinging off bits of itself, the black, tarry blobs struck the nearest mages. The mess bounced harmlessly from some barriers, but in three others the splatter struck with the perfect timing, right as barriers failed. Two others stepped on the puddles and chaos erupted as they screamed, enraged and wild as they turned on those around them. Fire flew—Geldauran's favorite element—and the other mages shrieked with alarm as their clothing burst into flame or their skin burned.
Solas petrified all five afflicted mages and then pounded the statues and Geldauran with a powerful, focused veilstrike. The force of it kept Geldauran pinned and shattered the petrified mages. The air clouded with dust and the chamber echoed with the chaotic din of the mages' shouts of alarm.
"Beware the tar," Solas yelled. "Burn it!" He launched more ice at Geldauran. "Do not waver! It is almost beaten!"
"I will make a necklace of teeth from those you love," Geldauran promised, gargling. "Then I will make you wear it. I will cut off your genitals and leave you in agony!"
"All bluster and no balls," Zevanni roared back at it, punching a fist into the air. Ice spears rained down into Geldauran. "Suck my icicles, Geldauran!"
Emboldened by their reinforcements and by Zevanni's taunting, the mages pressed ahead again, redoubling their efforts on Geldauran. Solas made sure the other group tackling Daern'thal stayed ahead by unleashing another firestorm.
And then, suddenly, Geldauran made a sickening, wet gurgle and collapsed into itself. The black of its tarry body lightened until it was a deep, putrid green goo. The mages gasped and scrambled back as the viscous fluid oozed outward from the corner, glinting green on green in the light from the veilfire.
"Ha!" Zevanni said, roaring with laughter. "Geldauran has fallen! Forgotten Ones, Fen'Harel ma halam!" Dread Wolf ends you.
Solas grinned as the mages around the rapidly evaporating green-black ooze cheered with victory and crowded closer to where the fight continued with Daern'thal. The black mass of tentacles hissed, writhing and flailing, but the dozens of mages surrounding it countered its every move. It shrank back, unable to make contact under the flurry of ice, fire, lightning, and spirit based attacks.
"Blight take you," it hissed, its voice like old, dry bones clattering together. "All of you." It let out a belching noise, producing a reddish mist that clouded the air. Solas paused, watching with his heart suddenly in his throat as the mist spread out, reaching the nearest mages. It bounced backward, rolling away as if it'd encountered a solid wall. Solas felt himself sigh with relief. The ancient wards against Blight had worked, barring Daern'thal's pestilence.
Apparently enraged when it saw the Blight could find no purchase on the elven mages, Daern'thal let out a high-pitched shriek. The mages closest to it cringed but none of them let up. Just as before, they could sense the demon was almost dead.
Then a cold wind whipped through the room, rank with an acrid smell that burned in Solas' nostrils. Unleashing a firestorm on Daern'thal and then lobbing a few fireballs at it for good measure, Solas pivoted away from the fight and Fade stepped deeper into the room toward a doorway on the far adjacent wall. He knew that acrid smell well.
Tua'verdhe. Chaos. Mother of mystery. Queen of cunning. Lady of insanity. To the Imperium she had been Razikale, the dragon of mystery that actually belonged to Sylaise. To Solas she had been a teacher, his first ally among the Forgotten Ones. For, despite her name and association with chaos and insanity, she had also been a creature of contrariness and not wholly unfriendly to him in the distant past of Elvhenan.
While the other Forgotten Ones manifested themselves as sexless and often formless, she chose the opposite of her nature as if mocking herself. She presented herself as a woman because only females created order from chaos—making children from the mess of male seed. In the natural world she had caused drought, flood, earthquakes, forest fires, and windstorms. And from the chaos of her wrath, life sprang anew. Floods fertilized fields, and forest fires cleared underbrush for new growth to sprout. But in war she had brought nothing but terror to the People, and so Solas had locked her away as well.
Now, after millennia sealed away, Solas had little doubt she'd be anything but friendly, and she'd never been predictable.
At the other doorway Solas cast several veilfire orbs, sending them ahead to light the gloom beyond. The wind continued rushing past him, stirring dust and bringing the sharp chemical smell with it. Every inhalation made Solas' nasal passageways and throat burn. Behind him Zevanni shouted in victory, declaring Daern'thal's defeat. The mages cheered, alternatively praising Fen'Harel and then the Maker, as if Andrastian faith and the elven pantheon weren't at odds with each other.
Veredhe would be pleased with the contradiction, Solas thought as he watched the green light of his orbs dart ahead into the inky blackness. The green light reflected from shiny, uneven stone and then shone off into nothing. It was a narrow path with a precipice to one side, just the sort of place Veredhe would favor with its contrast between nothingness and hard, stable stone. Taking the mages out onto the ledge would be disastrous. Veredhe could simple blow them from the path and into the void, slaughtering them all without lobbing a single blow.
The only way to deal with her would be to lure her into the confined space they were already within. Unlike Daern'thal and Geldauran, Tua'veredhe wouldn't be as simple or as patient—but she had to be hungry.
More mages had begun shuffling into the room behind him, their bodies warming the space and the smell of their sweat nearly overcoming the lingering stench of the Forgotten Ones. Zevanni and Var moved into place behind him, tense and alert.
"What now?" Var asked.
"Chaos," Solas answered in a solemn voice. "But she is also cunning. The way ahead is a path beside the abyss. If we venture onto it she will simply kill us."
"We're trapped here?" Zevanni asked.
"Only until her patience thins," Solas murmured with a smirk.
As if she'd heard him—and she probably had—the wind picked up again, buffeting them and making their cloaks and coats flutter and flap. A white light glowed outside the doorway, flaring brighter than the green of all three veilfire orbs Solas had cast out into the space beyond. It reflected from the rocks, making Solas' eyes tear with its intensity.
Speaking in the ancient tongue Veredhe had taught him all those centuries ago in Elvhenan, Solas said, "She comes in light because we expect darkness."
Feminine laughter, high-pitched and maniacal, echoed through the abyss and Solas heard the mages mutter quick prayers to the Maker for mercy and goof fortune. Their tension charged the air with the weight of magic, doubling the prickling sensation over his skin. The bright white light moved slightly, edging closer to the doorway. The shiny stone allowed Solas to see the reflection of a naked woman, her skin as pale as snow. But between one blink and the next the image had vanished, leaving only the bright light.
"How very expected, Dread Wolf," a woman's voice said, clear and clean. Nothing like the gurgle and hissing from Daern'thal and Geldauran. "You come to me exactly as you were when you left us here." She broke off, laughing again, more of a titter this time. "Oh—but it is not exactly, is it? Now your heart beats for another and you sow seeds of creation instead of chaos. Pity."
Ignoring her baiting, Solas said, "Meet with us, Veredhe. Do you not wish to return to the Fade? To your greater purpose?"
She laughed again, a sour note in the sound that made Solas' shudder involuntarily. "Why would I seek to leave when you have brought me a greater purpose, Fen'Harel?"
Then, suddenly, the brightness darted into view, blinding in its brilliance and scalding with heat. Solas hissed with pain and hurled spirit energy at her with a simultaneous veilstrike, hoping to knock her down or backward. A blast of air hit him and he sensed movement—a streak of something glistening and wet—and then water roared around his ankles and swelled up in a heartbeat to his knees.
"No," Solas snarled, feeling the magical, tingling caress of the fluid as it picked up speed, sucking at his feet. He hurled a mindblast into it, scattering the essence with a loud splash, but more of it rushed through and around his legs, coming from behind him.
"The bitch is flooding the room," Zevanni shouted. "Fenedhis, how can—"
"Chaos," Var reminded her. "At least it's not fire."
"I could put out fire," Zevanni yelled back at him.
The light outside the doorway had retreated, faded almost to nothing, but Solas could still smell the stench of her. Veredhe had cast a spell unique to herself—water. And now, before Solas could react or think with the water rushing up around his knees and the mages shouting with alarm as from nowhere the ceiling rained in a downpour, he felt a cold blast from the doorway. When he looked he saw a wall of ice form, sealing them off and blocking the water's natural escape into the abyss.
She was going to drown them all.
With her left hand still afire from opening the rift, Ellana clutched the simple bow one of the sentinels had give her and tried to think past the pain as she stepped into the Fade. Her foot landed in soft, squishy sand, sinking in to her ankle. Abelas, who'd walked in first with his head up and shoulders square, gripped her forearm to steady her, pulling her through.
"Thank you," she told him.
He nodded, his expression warm and yet solemn. "Tread carefully. The pools may be deeper than they appear and the sand may not release its grip."
"Quicksand," she said with a nod. "Got it."
Dorian stepped through next, grimacing as he looked around and hunching his shoulders. "Well, this place is certainly cheery, isn't it? I wonder who decorates it."
They'd stepped out onto a relatively flat plain. The raw Fade was dank and dotted with oily puddles, just as it had been when Ellana last walked physically through it. Slimy moisture dripped from a nearby stalagmite that hovered high overhead, landing with a plopping noise in the sand beneath it. Ahead, through the swirling green mists, Ellana saw an elven archer statue, coated in wet ivy that appeared out of place considering they were in the Fade. But, then again, the Fade did tend to reflect the physical world that corresponded to it, according to Solas.
And he would know, Ellana thought with a frown.
"Are you in pain?" Dorian asked, seeing her expression.
She raised her left hand, still clutching the bow, forcing a tight smile onto her mouth. "Nothing I can't handle."
A muscle in Dorian's jaw flared as he shot a glare to Abelas. "Was it really necessary for her to come here?" he asked, growling. "Hasn't she done enough?"
Abelas frowned. "It was indeed necessary. The runes to stabilize the Fade must be activated with very specific magic—Fen'Harel's Anchor."
"Of course." Ellana sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as she anticipated even more pain. "Let's get this over with then."
"Before we attract the attention of whatever filth lives here," Dorian added with a grumble.
They waited a moment as another two sentinels stepped through the rift, blinking against the pallid, grayish light. They were warriors, both male, and unfamiliar to Ellana. As soon as they'd arrived Abelas directed them to the right and left of the rift with a terse order. They obeyed, their boots squelching in the sand and splashing through the puddles. Then Abelas motioned to her. "Stay close to me. Should the Anchor flare I will intervene."
Clenching her jaw, Ellana nodded. With Abelas leading, they struck out across the empty, soggy plain, bodies tense and senses on alert.
"Is this really what it looked like at Adamant?" Dorian asked as Ellana while they walked, the sneer of disgust in his voice palpable.
"Just about," she answered, scowling as she noticed how winded she felt trying to breathe the thick, humid air. They skirted around the stalagmite and its dripping, slimy water. "Maybe a little less slime. And no elven archer statues or ivy, either. But otherwise, yes."
"Charming," Dorian muttered. "And your pet apostate with the affinity for wolves wants to bring this into our world?" He made a noise of disgust in his throat. "I'm trying to be supportive, darling, really I am—but I'm having trouble seeing how that would be an improvement. Nature is already filthy enough. I'm not sure how you look at this place and think 'Why, wouldn't that floating rock dribbling slime just add so much to the Dales?'"
Chuckling, she had to concede the point. "To be honest I'm not sure how returning the Fade to the waking world will change things. But Solas has said it will…" She broke off, searching for a vague way to explain it without revealing too much. Solas had been adamant that she not tell their friends, but she trusted Dorian too much to lie to him or hide the truth. "It will restore our people to their true nature."
"Which is…?" Dorian asked expectantly and then let out a little yelp, splashing and stumbling. He managed not to fall and had recovered by the time Ellana turned to him and reached out with a steadying hand. "Can you believe this shithole?" he cursed, brow furrowed and face bright red. "I almost face planted just now."
"It's not any worse than the Fallow Mire," Ellana said, smirking and glad to change topics. She tugged on his hand, noticing Abelas had gotten ahead of them and paused, throwing them an irritable look over one shoulder. "We're coming," she called.
Abelas reached a large wall of grayish-green rock and then reached inside a small pouch at his belt and produced a knife. Ellana couldn't stop herself from letting out a little gasp as he sliced his palm open. As the blood began to well up, stark against his pallid skin, Abelas rapidly sheathed the knife and dabbed a finger of the opposite hand into it. He traced shapes, whorls and lines, creating a rune that dribbled red down the surface of the wet stone.
"Oh goodie," Dorian said in a mock-cheery voice. "And now we get to partake in blood magic! My favorite." He groaned. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Blood magic is not the evil you believe," Abelas said without looking at them. "We must tie the physical world to this spot in the Fade. We are binding it. There is no harm in this magic." Clenching his fist, Abelas stepped back from the stone and motioned Ellana toward it. "Summon the Anchor and that will activate the rune."
Nodding solemnly, Ellana couldn't help but glance to his bleeding hand where blood dripped between his fingers. Following her stare, Abelas tucked it behind himself, out of sight. "Please, lethallan. We have little time."
"I'm starting to think that's your mantra," Dorian grumbled. "But I trust you will let us know when we have plenty of time, yes? I'd like to know when I can indulge in that brandy."
Smothering her laughter at the way Abelas glowered in Dorian's direction, Ellana stepped closer to the rune, written in blood with rivulets running in the grooves of the rock. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes, feeling the tingle and pleasure-pain caress of magic imbedded in her palm and the Anchor crackled, reigniting. Green shot out from it, hitting the rune and immediately the feedback cut off the magic. Ellana yelped with surprise, pulling her hand back and making a fist. The Anchor had dissipated, leaving her mercifully pain free. And on the rock the rune now glowed brown, then alternated to green, a melding of the physical and the spiritual.
"Well done," Abelas praised. "Come—we have many more runes to activate."
"Blighting blood magic," Dorian complained under his breath as Abelas started walking at a quick pace, circling the rift some meters away. "Are you all right?" he asked Ellana.
"Yes," she said, risking a glance at her hand as they walked over the difficult, uneven terrain. "It's actually not hurting at all right now."
"Well," he said with a small smile. "That's something at least."
They stopped at another rock and Abelas again used his blood to paint a rune. Ellana activated it, feeling only a brief and minor surge of poain from the Anchor as she did so. They continued on, eventually reaching runes that'd been painted by the two warrior sentinels who'd followed them in. Like Abelas they'd used blood and now held their bleeding hands clenched at their sides, dripping into the sand and muck of the Fade as Ellana activated these runes too. There were eight runes in total, one for each point on the compass when the between directions were counted: southeast, southwest, northeast, northwest.
With the last rune active Ellana felt a warm wave pass through her and she shivered reflexively. The air seemed to caress her. The men with her showed no sign they'd noticed it though so she didn't mention it.
"Now we must return through the rift," Abelas said. "We will make similar runes there and charge them in the same way. When that has been—"
"Pain, stabbing and hot," a voice said from behind them, making all three sentinels, Dorian, and Ellana all gasp and whip around, tensing. But at once Dorian and Ellana both recognized the young man standing a few meters away, behind the stone where their latest activated rune had been drawn in blood.
"Ah," Dorian said. "It's just you."
"Cole," Ellana exclaimed and motioned quickly at the sentinels, trying to calm them. "He's a friendly spirit."
Abelas nodded at the other two sentinels and they relaxed slowly. "If you say this spirit is a friend then we will not attack. But we cannot linger here. The runes must be tied to—"
"Wrenching us apart," Cole said, his voice strangled and his blue eyes wide. "Twisting in two directions, warping and pulling." He fell silent a moment and then said, "You're tearing this place away, like a blade cutting out a hunk of cheese from the wheel."
"We're restoring the world to how it was," Ellana explained. "Before Solas created the Veil."
"I know," he answered and then, abruptly, pushed his hand forward pas the rock with the rune. A wall of energy flickered to life, crackling at his touch.
Ellana gasped at the loudness of it, stumbling back. Dorian laid a hand onto her shoulders and gripped her forearm, stabilizing her. She shot him an appreciative look before speaking. "Cole? What was that? Are you all right?"
Cole's expression was pinched and unhappy. He bowed his head. "They sing a new song. It won't let me pass."
"The runes prevent spirits and demons from crossing," Abelas explained blankly. "Fen'Harel will not approve of his division between the wild Fade and the tame one we allow into reality."
"You mean to say you're bringing the Fade into the waking world but devoid of any spirits or demons?" Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes," Abelas answered, the mild curl of his lips revealing his disdain for the human mage. "Fen'Harel's solution is one of chaos. He would remove the Veil suddenly. The result would be—"
"Redcliffe," Dorian snarled. "Yes. I've seen the result wrought by another being claiming godhood."
"Solas isn't a god," Ellana protested, sighing. "He's never claimed to be one either."
"Yet his goals remain the same," Dorian snapped, brow knitting. "I'm really sorry, old girl, but I'm now absolutely certain I'm going to have to set your hobo wolf on fire the next time I see him. Is he insane? Have you told him about what we saw in Redcliffe? How can he—"
"Solas isn't that kind of wolf," Cole protested. "He cares, he hurts—an old hurt and a weight on his shoulders only he can carry."
"Enough," Abelas said with a dismissive wave of his hand at Cole and Dorian. "We must return through the rift, Ellana."
Ignoring Abelas for the moment, Ellana asked Cole, "Can you come through the Veil to where we are? You're welcome to join us but we can't remove these runes."
"Yes," he answered with a nod. "I can. I have to. He asked me to watch you."
"What?" Ellana asked, frowning in confusion.
"Solas," Cole answered and then, eyes scrutinizing her up and down, the spirit boy said, "You're bigger than you were before, brighter." He grinned, joy lighting his face. "Floating, warm, comfort, peaceful. Muffled sounds. That beat in the dark. Familiar—"
Dorian chuckled. "I think we've lost him. He's doing that word confetti, poetry nonsense."
Recognizing what Cole was referencing, Ellana smiled and laid a hand over her abdomen. "We're going to return to the waking world now, Cole. Will we see you there?" she asked.
Cole dipped his head. "Yes." And with that he vanished, leaving only the green ether of the Fade where he'd been standing before.
"Creepy," Dorian murmured.
Next Chapter:
"Traitor," Banal repeated, dragging the word out in that same bone chilling cry that echoed inside his skull. "Harellan. Monster. You will lose your lover as your enemies steal her away. She will curse you with her dying breath. Your child will never know you and deny its heritage in shame, bowed and broken as a slave in Tevinter."
Despite himself, Solas felt anxiety lick its way from the very base of his belly, cold and quivering with mild panic. Banal had no eyes, no face to tell him it watched him, but Solas knew that it did, and like Cole it read him beneath the surface. Like its far simpler brethren, fear demons, it knew just what to say to set its victims on edge. Solas quashed his reaction, focusing on the magic he cast.
Soon, minutes later though it felt like hours, Banal'anaris let out a long wheezy sigh and its black essence fluttered, shrinking as it entered its death throes. Its voice called out one last time, howling in its despairing wail. "She has already fled from you, Fen'Harel. Your loss is nigh."