This chapter is the prologue for the third year-book.
Chapter 34 - The long forgotten threat
The edge of the axe was coated in red, that of blood.
Instead, Ashram just ignored that familiar whisper which echoed in the deepest part of his mind. This was human blood he was spilling—magical blood, to be precise. Spilt so the magical race could live a far prosper future; at least, wasn't that the noblest of the deaths?
To his side, Peter Pettigrew went back to his human form. "Good job there," he said in a barely audible whisper as his eyes refused to look at the witch's corpse. The coward had not hesitated to step out of the battle, as he always did. The reason why this simple man had been chosen to live in Voldemort's new world was something Ashram ignored, yet he said and did nothing, for there were far greater forces than his persona.
The axe was summoned away, and that state of clarity it granted Ashram also went with it—such a fantastic relic was Kadir's axe, a true link to those wonders the wizards from the Ancient Times bestowed them. For the first time since the murder was committed, the man looked at the body of his victim. It belonged to some old witch—grey of hair and face full of wrinkles—who had worn, proudly and dutifully, the robes of the Hunter's Union. This poor soul had not been granted the choice to defend herself; instead, one axe blow to the back was all it had been needed to send her into the deepest of the slumbers.
"Bury her body," Ashram commanded in a cold voice. "And make the grave visible. I'm sure her comrades will come in her search once they realise something is wrong."
Hunters, some of the very few wizards and witches who still tried to honour the Ancient Times; whether they were aware of it or not was of no importance to Ashram. Under the orders and gold of lord Kovanen, the Hunters fought against those wild creatures that could pose a threat to the magical blood. It only made the murder worse.
"Why? I mean…" Peter's complaints were quickly shut down by one of Ashram's looks. "Of course! It is only proper, after all." Those words became a forgotten whisper after the Animagus walked away, dragging the witch's body across the ground.
This was the Amazonas Forest, one of the very few areas in the world in which the Union kept the most strict of the watches; especially, now that rumours of strange things happening around the globe were reaching every corner of it. A very dangerous place, indeed, let it be because of the Hunters or due to whatever the hell they worried so much about.
Still, it was the place Helena had led them to.
Ashram still felt shivers down his spine at the mere thought of that woman—so beautiful and mysterious its mere existence was an enigma to him. However, she held knowledge about the Chosen One's whereabouts, or so she had sworn—oaths Ashram had believed to be true. And so, here they were, lost in the middle of this vast forest, in search of her and her promises.
"Do it faster, Peter," the wizard said aloud, instead. Yes, they needed to move now that another life had been taken there; a third one. "So far, we've been fortunate enough to only have encounters with not-so-powerful Hunters, but we must not push our luck. I do not wish to meet one of those Guardians." Indeed, a battle against one of the four best beast-slayers in the world could only be an obstacle to them; a fatal one, perhaps.
As soon as the grave was finished, which took another five minutes of wait, the two wizards resumed their search. To say it was a hot day was to put it short; very, very short. Inside the forest, it was the most humid weather Ashram had ever felt, so much his usual robes had been discarded long ago. Instead, it was some cargo trousers and a black shirt that he wore, that along with some cloak with the same colours as the trousers, allowed the man comfort and stealth in equal measures.
Still, sweat flowed down his face like a river, and so did it for Peter, whose head moved in every direction at the faintest of the noises. On their way through the dense vegetation—so much Ashram had to use Kadir's axe to cut through it, even if he hated to do so—nothing disturbed them; the snakes and other reptiles ran away as soon as they came close enough; insects stood still as a rock whenever their footsteps became audible; and, of course, there was no trace of humans nor of magical creatures.
At some point in the forest, the ground became damped, like a swamp; its muddy water reached past Ashram's ankles with each step, which only added to his bad temper. The wizard had his magic shut down since the moment it became obvious that they were not alone—he felt defenceless and sturdy, but how could he not? Ashram chose to walk when he had wings—Ashram chose to starve when the most succulent of the meals stood at his finger's reach. Well, at least, Peter had noticed about his bad temper, for he did not open his mouth once.
Helena, who the hell are you? And most importantly, what the hell are you playing at? His stride suddenly came to a halt, so suddenly that Peter crashed into his back with a surprised whimper. There, impaled into a thick tree by some spear of dark wood, was the body of a human. Its skin, muscles and tendons had been peeled away at the skull, where only a mass of broken and splintered bone remained—after observing it carefully and moving his robes apart, it could be observed the rest of it was in better condition; rotten due to the passing of the time, but not vandalised.
Suddenly, Peter pointed at something Ashram had not seen—whoever this person had been, he or she had been part of the Hunter's Union, for its sigil could still be seen at the back of his green cloak. "This isn't the work of another human," Ashram began, almost talking to himself. "At least, so I think." It was far too strange—people could kill for many reasons, no matter whether they were justifiable or not, but this was none of them.
This was an act of pure savagery.
"We keep moving forward. This is a good omen." Of what, that was something Ashram ignored—however, it was a first step.
And to move forward is what they did—just to find nothing. In fact, it took them almost three hours to find another corpse. That of a wizard, this time; one which had also belonged to the Hunter's Union. Its state was almost as bad as the first one; almost, for it was even worse. There also was that strange spear of black wood which, now, impaled the body into the damped ground. Moreover, the flesh was far more rotten and there were a pair of limbs missing. Though it was the same work of savagery.
Ashram had trouble keeping his magic contained—he needed to feel safe, to feel alive.
Despite that ever-present anxiousness, his plan had yet to change; to move forward was the only way to go. Until some words from Peter altered it. "I-I think someone is following us," the Animagus whimpered, so low Ashram had trouble understanding him at first. However, his emotions were crystal clear—Peter was scared. "Or something, I don't know," he added with a second look at the rotten corpse. "But I felt it, Ashram. His presence tickled my bones like a swarm of ants!" This coward had the talent to avoid death and danger. In these kinds of situations, it was better to trust his hunches.
An avalanche of possibilities stormed through Ashram's mind. Could it be a Hunter, in search of his lost comrades? No, it made no sense; it was way too soon for that. Could it be whatever had killed those Hunters? Now, that was way more plausible; after all, at that moment, they were the intruders, just like those impaled Hunters had been before them.
"It disappeared," Peter whispered, suddenly, as his eyes scanned every direction. "Gone; just like that. As if taken away by the wind."
"In what direction did you last feel it?"
For a few seconds, Peter did nothing but stare at him with a puzzled expression. Then he went back to his usual self; to that of a scared rat. "There."
To the west, he pointed. "Follow me, then. And be ready for the unexpected." It was a trap, a very evident one—it had to be. Otherwise, why had this presence announced itself to them just to disappear in a matter of seconds? Someone skilled enough to fool Peter so easily could not have been discovered by a silly accident. No, this was done on purpose. To let them know they were not alone.
The walk continued, although his feet and knees roared in pain as a complaint; it had been long since they last stopped to rest, and it would be even longer for that to happen once again. Finally, the damped ground came to an end, replaced by that of dry grass, of a brownish shade, that cracked under their steps. The path became wider as the trees seemed to move away from them. To their sides, bones started to appear, embedded into the ground; some rounder and short, while others sharper and long. Just another warning, for they had been strategically placed there.
At last, after thirty minutes of long and restless stride, they reached a long, wide clearing; atop of it, the sun, like a shining, golden beacon over the dusk, still was hot enough to swelter the two wizards; more than ever, thanks to the stress, his robes felt heavy with sweat. There, all over the round clearing, many skeletons had been hung from the trees; some were missing bones, while others looked perfect as if their flesh and muscles had been peeled off them; some were human's bones, while others had belonged to animals of many types; some had been deteriorated by the passing of time and the environment, those of a yellowish shade, while others were of a milky white.
Yet all of that was not what took the breath away from him.
Between two large trees, which stood out among the rest as if they delimited some kind of area, and before a dark passage through the vegetation, there was a tall figure, one almost as thin as a broomstick. What little could be seen of his skin—because it looked to be a man—was very pale, a feeble shade of pale, and it looked as stiff as hardened leather, with dozens of darker scars all over it. In his hands, a spear of dark wood was firmly held. His black robes, sliced and torn at many points, gave him a very sombre appearance, yet it was his eyes, two dark, endless pits that observed them, what set all the alarms in Ashram's mind.
Peter took a few steps back as he let out a scared whimper, but Ashram managed to regain his composure after a few seconds of surprise. Finally, the wizard allowed magic to fill every inch of his body—oh, to feel alive once again, strong and collected, surrounded by a cold calm. He was stronger than that strange creature, which was not a man. True enough, there was magic inside it, but it felt different; maybe, contaminated was the adequate word. Contaminated and nauseating.
"Step back," Ashram commanded. His wand had already been drawn; unlike the axe, for he refused to stain its magnificence with such a filthy scent. On his behalf, the Animagus did as told; he transformed into a rat and ran towards the dense vegetation.
The creature just took a few steps forward, its eyes not leaving Ashram's frame for a second. Then it said something, crude and hoarse words which made no sense to the wizard, as it impaled the spear into the ground. It took no further action; the figure just stood there, some metres ahead of those two tall trees, as a soft, warm wind made its robes flap as if the silk was alive.
Ashram observed it, carefully, yet he chose to not act in a violent way. The wizard just took a few steps forward, tentatively, as he waited for the creature's response. It just extended its arm towards the spear in a silent threat, and it all made sense to him. Whatever this humanoid beast was, it guarded the dark passage through the trees behind it—of course, it had also killed those Hunters it found in the way.
Ashram just went for it—he hated losing time, and loads of it had been wasted that day already. However, the creature reacted faster, way faster, and the spear was thrown at him. The wizard just conjured an invisible barrier in front of him, one which carbonised the spear as soon as the weapon crossed it.
In situations like these, filled with magic and with his life at risk, Ashram truly felt blessed to have been born in this world.
The creature did not falter nor hesitated in its charge, and it ran, way faster than a human could, towards its enemy. From inside its black robes, a pair of shorter spears were pulled out, no longer than a regular sword. With a flick of his wand, Ashram tried to immobilise it as the air condensed around the humanoid figure, yet it paid no result. That contaminated magic he had felt when the creature was first spotted now filled the place; his spells were broken like some beginner's curse.
Fortunately for him, although different, its magic could still be felt as that of a human would, and that allowed Ashram to survive the next attack. From its mouth a beam of energy came; one too akin to a spell he knew, the Solidum Lux and its different variations. He was left stunned, yet his body acted on its own—the creature's spell was powerful, there was no doubt about it, but also extremely simple and rudimentary, and because of that, a simple Finite was all it took to dispel it. Yet both the wand and the hand which wielded it felt hot, more than they should have; he had misjudged the power of the attack.
Ashram could hear some faint whisper at the back of his mind."Do it." The voice said. "Use my powers." No, this was his battle, not Kadir's—those whispers were nothing but a product of nervousness and lack of sleep.
The wizard stood still in the middle of the battlefield, and the creature, fueled by his lack of response, lunged at him with either spears upfront. Ashram just had enough—of this creature, of Helena and the forest, and of all the time he had wasted in these past weeks. No wand was needed for the next attack, just magic and his body to conduct it; as it only should.
It all happened in less than a second. A jet of Sacred Fire—condensed flames pale and bright enough to dispel the deepest of the darkness—appeared in front of the wizard, casted in the palm of both hands. The creature did not even have time to groan in pain nor surprise—as the spell impacted, it just ceased to exist. There was nothing of it to retrieve; no ashes, nor a piece of cloth and neither one of those short spears. Moreover, that contaminated magic had also disappeared; maybe that was the best part of it all.
However, there was a slight setback, and that was the sudden exhaustion which hit Ashram. After all, the Sacred Fire was one of the mightiest spells Kadir had ever taught him; powerful enough to consume all that stood in its way, and volatile enough to consume whoever was foolish enough to cast it without extreme caution. The wizard just took a calming breath as his rushed breath became normal; he focused his eyes on his surroundings, like the fertile ground which resembled a sea of grass, so different to the dry one he had stepped over on the way here, or the dark passage at the end of the clearing, and just waited for the clarity to take over his mind.
No sound came from around but that of Peter embracing his human form back. "So, it is finished?" The man asked with a tentative voice. "I don't really like this place; it's giving me goosebumps. Oh, and by the way, what the hell was that creature?"
"I have no idea, but it must be the reason why Hunters have always kept a strict watch over this forest; one of the reasons, at least." The humanoid creature had been guarding the dark passage, of which Ashram harboured no doubts. And yet, it was the beast itself that brought them here by announcing its presence. Maybe, it had tried to take them out, just like it did with those Hunters whose bodies hung around the clearing. More questions to which he had no answers, as it always happened; just conjectures. "We will reach the end of this today. I will find Helena, and I will ask for answers—I will ask for those promises she swore to me."
"I'm not sure about this, Ashram," Peter began. He even dared to grab his arm! "I know I am the most cowardly man who has ever lived, but it was my cowardice that kept me alive when many others died, when mightier and much more powerful wizards died. Please, you rescued me for a reason. Allow me to save our lives before you can sentence us."
Even if he hated to admit it, Ashram doubted; just a little, of course, but doubts made an act of presence.
Then a sudden coldness took over his mind and body—through their Link, the wizard felt Kadir's emotions, to be precise, Ashram felt his fear, and, over all, his shock. At that moment, far too late to do a thing about it, that sensation of contaminated magic filled the place; it poured from everywhere, and it was strong enough to dazzle him. Earth itself seemed to laugh at him, for this aura was far greater than his would ever be.
And then the world turned black as a wave of heat burned every fibre of his body.
The wave of that strange magic came from the dark passage—a faint and barely visible threat of a red colour went from one end of the cleaning to the opposite in less than a second. It hit Ashram, and the man did not even emit a sound when his body fell to the ground.
Peter tried to adopt his animal form and run for his life; to run away from this foolish wizard who rescued him from Azkaban and away from Lord Voldemort, who would kill them all one day. Yet when the Animagus tried to reach his magic, he found nothing; just a solid wall around his magical core. He almost fell unconscious on the spot, but fear gripped his mind with such a force that he could not even close his eyes.
Not when another of those humanoid creatures stepped out of the darkness from that passage into the forest. Its figure, taller than two full grown men, walked towards them with a calm stride; time itself seemed to mould to its pace. Its body was hidden under a heavy robe of a shade darker than a moonless night, while his face could barely be seen under a large, three-cornered hat of a paler black, and yet, traces of that hardened and milky skin could be observed from afar. The monster—because that was the only word which could describe him—carried a long scythe in his right hand; longer than the creature itself, with a handler made of white wood, it all paled when compared to the crimson-red steel which formed the curved blade.
It was, without any doubt and only second to Lord Voldermort's, the most terrific aura Peter had ever felt.
"Siebah odotam a Gaanjer." A loud voice, hoarse and crude like a whipping, and carried by the echo, spoke to him some unintelligible words. "Anu'zev'sam artseum ergnas se adam'arred rop sartseuv sonam."
It was the last sound Peter heard before the world turned black—the darkness swarmed his senses as a hawk would fall over its prey, fast and certain, yet it felt like a long slumber.
Then traces of light came to him, far and distant like a solitary star amidst the night, but a spec of clarity still. The face of a young James Potter came next; his confident smile that often charmed the girls with ease was the same as Peter remembered, just as his loud laugh which echoed all over the place. Why was he laughing? Next came Sirius´and Remus´faces—right, they were all together at the Great Hall, listening to Sirius´ ramblings about the Slytherins and how low he thought of them. This felt right, but, at the same time, it sickened him.
After all, Peter had betrayed them all, his friends, so he could survive the war. And no mistake was to be made there; if necessary, he would do it again with no hesitation. True enough, he would, maybe, try to not get James and Lily killed, which would prevent the framing of Sirius and his later sentence at Azkaban. If he could do it all over again, Peter would try to save them unless it proved to be fatal for him. For his life was above all.
At the back of his mind, some giddy whisper laughed at the confession—to whom did the glorious laugh belong? "Oh, Peter Pettigrew, you are such a simple yet interesting man!" It mused, mockingly, though he did not care the slightest, for he had recognised its owner. It was Helena's.
When Peter opened his eyes he had to shield them with his hand from the sudden light before he could truly observe what was around him. He had lied over a thin yet very comfortable bed of white and plan sheets—when the wizard looked around, he noticed the room was as austere as the bed was; of wooden walls with a single window carved on them, through which the light seeped, and a floor of short and green shoots of grass, even the Weasley's household looked like a palace when compared to this place.
"Where am I?" The raspy words came out of his throat before he could stop them. It hurt him to speak; he needed water.
"This is Daendyll," Helena answered with a soft, melodic voice; it was a faint yet perfectly audible whisper.
Peter sat up with a sudden jump, then he proceeded to make an elegant bow to the woman; at least, he hoped for it to be elegant. "Rise your eyes, wizard," she said. "I am no royalty." The man did as told, just to remain in silence until she said otherwise. Royalty or not, Helana's presence demanded total obedience from him—she stood as beautiful as she did the day they met. "I must apologise, for it was my fault you and Ashram got attacked. I was held captive by my own people, and so I could not stop Gaanjer from attacking you. Though Ashram killed him, which greatly angered Exados." Held captive, her? "Unfortunately, he got Ashram before I could meddle in, yet I was on time to save you."
Those names made no sense to him, but the mention of Ashram woke Peter up. After all, he had seen with his own eyes how the man fell to the ground. "Is he…?" The answer still a mystery, Peter did not know what kind of words he did want to hear. Ashram had saved his life, that could not be denied, but he also controlled it with an iron grip. To him, Peter Pettigrew was no more than a mere tool, one to be sacrificed for the Dark Lord's glory.
"His heart still beats," Helena replied. "Though his condition is unknown to me, unfortunately. The attack he got hit with is a kind of magic that escapes from my understanding. He will live, I think, yet I ignore what kind of future awaits him."
If there was something Peter got from her words, it was the fact Helena did not care much about the wizard's fate. And the realisation brought another point to his mind: she had also confessed that it was her intention to use them, though Ashram would get what he desired for in return. Was this what life had planned for him, perhaps? To get passed from one hand to another, like a gold coin, so more powerful people could use him as they pleased?
No, I refuse to believe that. It just could not be possible—all he had sacrificed to extend his life just one more day could not have been in vain. James´ life deserved better than this horrible future. I will survive, like I always do, and then, once all those who want to use me are dead, I will finally stop and rest. Peter was a coward—a spineless rat of the worst kind, if he may add—but he was no bad person. At least, he had never wanted to become one of them.
Although, when necessity arose, it was mandatory to go as far as it took. It was a primal reaction, that of survival. No one could blame him.
Some soft words pulled the wizard away from his relentless mind. "Come with me, Peter," Helena mused. "It was promised to Ashram and you that I would take you with the Dark One. And my blood, though tarnished, is no that of a deceiver."
The Dark One; that was the name Helena used to refer to the Dark Lord. A cold shiver went down Peter's spine, which did not stop there and froze every one of his bones; and all of it under the watchful eyes of the woman. Because of that, the wizard put all his might into regaining his composure; there, surrounded by unknown people, he could not doubt. If playing their game was all he needed to do in order to survive, then he would become a master of it.
In the end, Peter just nodded his head in response; it was better to not emit a sound here, not when the slightest of the decisions could risk his fake resolve.
Finally, Helena deviated her dark eyes from the wizard and led the way outside. This was an area of lesser vegetation, both in terms of density and number, and with a hundred roads carved into the ground which deviated in every direction. There were some little houses like the one he had rested in here and there, some atop the trees, like vigilance posts, and others on the surface, under the shadow of some tall and thick trees of dark wood.
And although there was not a single soul around, Peter felt a hundred eyes on his back.
As they progressed through the village—if it could even be called so—the first traces of humanity became evident; though, maybe, humanity was not the correct word here. Atop of the trees, standing over branches as thick as men, three of those humanoid creatures watched each of his movements. Their skin was as pale and leathery as the one Ashram had killed hours ago, yet none of them carried those short spears. Still, their eyes felt sharper than those weapons. Remnants of campfires could still be seen, their embers yet to extinguish, over which large, steel pots emitted a disgusting smell; mental images of those hanging skeletons came to Peter's mind, with their flesh and skin peeled off, and he refused to even think about what had been cooked on those pots.
"Even if Ganjaar had not died, they would have never trusted you," Helena began, also looking upwards, as an amused smile formed on his face. "They hate your kind as much as a human being can despise something, for the wrongs committed against them in the past cannot be forgotten."
Much to his surprise, Peter managed to deviate his gaze from those humanoid creatures. What if they resented the wizarding world so much? He had not moved a finger against them! They, for sure, would understand it. "What are they?" He asked, instead. It was always good to have as much information as possible; especially, if it was about a dangerous element. These were the kind of questions which could save a life.
However, a melodic laugh was all he obtained in response. "That is not a question to which I can answer," the woman said. "To which I should answer, better said. I cannot betray them like that; not after all these many years of company. Exados and only he is who can provide all the answers you seek."
Exados; there it was that name again. The one who had defeated Ashram, a wizard who had an aura of invincibility around him, with a single attack, and the one who, most likely, had held a woman like Helena captive. Peter was no believer, yet he prayed—to God, to Magic and even to the Dark Lord.
Suddenly, a certain movement caught his eyes, just as the cracking noise of a dry branch did the same with his ears. Hidden behind a tree, with her head popping out of it so her eyes could observe the wizard, a little girl stared at him with sheer curiosity written on her irises. So bright and of a purple shade which left Peter speechless, a girl with long, white hair jumped back in surprise after getting caught. What the hell is a kid like her doing here? This is madness!
A sudden force obliged his head to look upfront, so fast his neck cracked; then his eyes met Helena's, which flared with the intensity of a firestorm. "Do not deviate your eyes from the way," she just said while turning around. "This is a dangerous place to lose focus, Peter Pettigrew. It would not be the first time someone disappears here, and it certainly will not be the last."
Just like that, his brain erased all the thoughts which had anything to do with that girl of purple eyes and white hair—obviously, it was someone who Peter was not supposed to know about, much less to inquire about.
The road continued ahead of them, of soil so compressed no step could raise dust nor gravel from it. To their sides, the vegetation became less dense, to a point in which the sun seeped through it with no trouble; also, trees of a lighter wood surpassed in number those of darker. And, at the far horizon, some kind of red flashes danced through the air like some fireflies; they caught his attention, for it was a very beautiful spectacle.
And then, an enormous hole into the ground was all Peter could see; so large its diameter should have surpassed, both in width and depth, an entire kilometre. Though it was nothing to what it contained—with its roots at the very centre of the hole, so thick not even the mightiest of the hurricanes could have torn them out, a giant tree of reddish wood reached all the way to the surface, with tens of thousands of branches, as long as trains, which extended in every direction like the hands of a madman who tried to reach the sky, and crowned by a sea of leaves, an entire forest of them, that went from a light shade of pink to a crimson red.
"Behold the Flower of Heavens," Helena mused to his side. Even she looked to be in awe, even though it could not have been the first time she observed the tree. "The pride and bane of the People of the Forest—the pride and bane of the Lady of the Forest."
A soft streak of wind softly moved the leaves from side to side, as if answering the call, and Peter realised it conformed to the spectacle of red lights he had sworn to observe a few minutes ago. It carried to him a strange scent; at first, it felt tempting and fascinating, but then it became too sickly-sweet, to a point in which the wizard took a few unconscious steps away from the Flower.
"Far stronger wizards than you also took that decision," Helena snorted. On her, it was a strange reaction. And Peter did not know what to make of it; better said, he did not know whether he should feel ashamed or mocked. Probably, it was both of them.
He was about to speak in his defence, emboldened by some strange sensation of courage, yet another voice surpassed his. "You broke the oaths, Lanphael." It echoed all around, up to the skies and down to the Flower, and also, into Peter's head—hoarse and crude like no other, he recognised it with ease. "Two times you were punished for it, yet three times you betrayed us."
"I betrayed our oaths, yes, and yet I stand proud of it, for I have never betrayed our people." Those words, emitted by Helena, felt powerful and regal—she had not raised her voice, yet they filled the entire place. Still, her face betrayed her; it did not look like a mask she fully controlled to change from one emotion to another anymore. No, she had hesitated and her lips had trembled, a proof of how human she really was, for no person could escape from fear. "I never have, and I never will."
Still, Peter refused to look upwards, where he would find the figure of a man taller than two of them combined—where he would find the creature that struck Ashram down with a single spell.
"Allow me to take this man to the Dark One," Helena insisted, her confident and cold mask back once again. "This is the future, Exados. You know it as well as I do. If you are not strong enough to take the next step, to take the only step forward we need, allow me to do it. Please, both for your people and mine."
"Your mother warned you, Lanphael," the creature said; its voice remained the same, without a single trace of emotion.
"My mother never was the kind of woman who could do what needed to be done." This time, Helena sounded obfuscated.
"Then be at ease, for she is not here to listen to those words. I did not raise a single finger of mine when you broke our oaths, not for the first time and neither for the second. However, today one of my friends died, killed by a wizard who had no business here; a wizard you brought here. I know how hard it is to walk forward through a slippery, thin rope, Lanphael—I know how hard it is to make the correct decision. Go down there and meet that pitiful shadow so your dream might become true one day. Although be very careful, for I will destroy every trifle which could become a danger to my people.
Helena just nodded her head in response, and it went a bit lower, to a point in which it almost became a little bow. "I consider your people as mine. Moreover, I thought you would find my dream of interest."
She got no response, but Peter did not dare to look upward to see if the creature still lingered around. Exados, the name of a force that could make a woman like Helena to lower her head and obey like a puppy. "One day, he will understand. They all will understand." With a simple gesture of her hand and without looking at him, the woman raised some reddish vines, thicker than Peter's legs, from the ground.
She grabbed one of them and jumped forward, into the giant hole. On his part, Peter hesitated, but after gulping down the knot of his throat and cleaning the sweat from his forehead, he followed her. The vine coiled itself around his arm just as he grabbed it, and so he jumped and the descent began; much to his surprise, it was slower than he first thought for it to be. In fact, a soft, cool wind made his robes wave; the air also felt fresher there, purer, and it got more evident as the more metres he ventured into the Flower's pit.
It gave him plenty of time to observe the pit, and it was both breathtaking and terrific in equal measure. On the walls, countless of those branches which reached so far had penetrated them, and made it look like a pile of veins which opened in every direction. At some points, the solid rock had been eaten away by the bulbs and their colourful leaves, while at others it still resisted. Back to the Flower, some areas of the tree were so large and so covered by a dense thicket that entire villages could have been hidden there; certainly, Peter felt observed as the descent continued. This thing looks alive. No, it feels alive!
Definitely, the Flower of Heavens terrified him.
Finally, after an entire minute, his feet stepped on solid ground— needless was to say he lacked the time to hop away from the vines. Down there, Peter made the mistake to look upwards. The pit looked to reach up to the skies, mostly, due to how endless the Flower looked. Then he realised something else; the sun could not be seen, yet the place was well illuminated with a strange light. Just like its leaves and wood, a reddish light, which came from the gigantic log and the thousand roots which coursed in every direction, allowed him to observe Helena's face; she looked at him with interest very well expressed in her eyes. Also, there was a faint mist all over the place, like a cloud of purplish pollen, which brought back to him that sickly scent he had previously smelt.
"Not many wizards can say they had the honour to behold the Flower of Heavens," she began. "And much less to say they reached its very roots. Rejoice in that honour, Peter Pettigrew, for you must be the lesser man to ever take a step down here." That fact seemed to amuse her, but it was quickly replaced by her usual cold mask. "Come with me. Your lord awaits."
There, surrounded by powerful forces he could not understand and on the verge of meeting the Dark Lord, Peter was about to kill himself. It would be the best outcome for him, probably; a painless and quick death. No, I will survive this. I just need to gain the Dark Lord's favour. He will protect me from these people—he will if I'm useful enough.
That train of thought allowed Peter to take the next step, and also the one after the first and those which came later. However, he was unprepared for what came next—who on earth could be prepared to meet the Dark Lord? To meet his shadow? It floated there, totally still in the air, like a solid cloud of black smoke. It made no noise, and nor did it seem to care for their arrival. Still, when a raspy, cold voice came out of it—one Peter had feared since he had memory—he could do nothing but throw himself down, on his knees, to bow in the presence of the Dark Lord.
"Out of all the people that would find me, I never thought of you, Peter Pettigrew." There it was, his unique aura. It was incredibly weak, to a point in which it should be considered an insult to compare it with that of the man who almost conquered the Wizarding World, but, deep inside him, Peter knew it was his—it was Lord Voldemort's. "Ashram found me long ago, or so I think, for time does not affect me in this form as it should. Thus my plan failed, stopped by Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore's plan. Then I roamed the world for so long it felt like centuries, yet another ally, one of which her existence I was not aware of, found me. Yes, Helena was the name she gave me, and she brought me here, to this place where magic feels strange yet fills all of it."
Helena had not kneeled; she just bowed her head a little, though her voice sounded much more respectful. "I am just an honest woman who shares your ambitions, Dark One. We must change the world, we must clean magic, before those who are too weak to use it as it should be done destroy it."
"So you say," the Dark Lord mused. Just a cold whisper, and it terrified Peter more than anything. He had come prepared to meet his rage and endure his torture, and to find this calm shadow paralyzed him. "I know I am being held here, yet it is true you treat me with respect. However, I have felt hundreds of different auras here. I am not foolish enough to think they all share your commitment, for, otherwise, they would have come to visit me." Helena just stared at the shadow, not faced at all—how could she do that? "And I also know this is what I deserve. I lost myself, I lost my mind and my sanity, in a storm of rage. And because of that, I failed at obtaining the Stone of Life. I acted on rageful impulses and it cost me greatly. That is not proper of Lord Voldemort. I shall not commit that mistake ever again."
Those words almost made Peter lose his mind. He could, maybe, deal with a rageful and senseless shadow, and once the Dark Lord destroyed himself, he could hide from the world and live in peace. However, what he had just found was his worst fear come true—Lord Voldemort would never allow an asset like Peter to escape. No, he would be used until there was no trace of use in him. "I live to serve," Peter said, instead. "Ashram also found me, my Lord, and both he and I have travelled around the world in your search. We never faltered, although many tried to stop us. Your name still commands a lot of respect and fear, my Lord, and even those who consider themselves mighty would kneel the moment your return becomes public knowledge."
"One day I shall see how true those words are, Peter Pettigrew, but we must focus on the present. Helena wants me back in power, and although her motives might not be on the same line as mine, she has shown me nothing but true loyalty. There might exist a way to, somehow, bring me back, but for that to happen, her people need to aid me. I have one more task for you and Ashram, Peter Pettigrew: find a way to heal this poor state of mine and you shall be rewarded with a seat among my companions once the world is rebuilt. The same goes for you, Helena."
The woman accentuated her bow, while Peter pressed his forehead to the ground until it hurt and black was all he could see. He sweated like melting ice, yet coldness was all the Animagus felt. He had just been tasked with the impossible, to bring a shadow, a dead wizard, back to life—he had been tasked to bring Lord Voldemort back. Maybe I could turn into a rat and escape this hell. Now that Ashram is out of the picture I might make it. However, those foolish ideas were quickly discarded. There were hundreds of enemies in the forest—in this very village, even—and Helana's protection was all that could keep him alive.
Once again, it was time to bow down to another wizard and do the impossible to survive.
Many emotions stormed through him at this moment, though some of them rose over the rest, like confusion, anger and even relief. Still, none mattered to Kadir as he glided through the forest of tall trees in this pathetic yet human form of his. Oh, he had been given a second chance, but what a pitiful one!
He had lost his touch, now he knew with certainty. Surrounded by the pathetic wizards and witches of this age, his senses had decayed; there was no other explanation. If not, how could have he been deceived by so many elements in these past hours? That Hunter which Ashram killed had been the spark that lightened the fire—and the fire had turned into a sea of flames. There were Nightmares here; it was so evident! Nightmares and Hunters in the same place without tearing each other apart! This was madness; there was no other word to describe it.
Nightmares and Hunters of the Ancient Times—how could it be possible? Both sides had been wiped out after the War for the Dawn, that was a well-known fact. The Alazthi, led by the Citadel and under the consent of King Nalend Khol, made sure of it. And yet, that familiar magic of the Hunters, of a very repulsive nature, and the cold fear Nightmares arose in every man could not be mistaken.
And overall, there was the aura of a man who once ran away from him. That coward of Niklos was also here. They both had felt each other at the same second, once the pathetic forms they took in the real world were close enough. Many centuries had passed since the last time Kadir met one of his kind, and out of three who once refused to die—of those he was aware of, at least—Niklos was the one who could affect his plans the least.
Still, the bastard ran like some scared dog from the streets.
What was that bastard doing here? This forest was a lost, remote place in the middle of nowhere, and there was nothing Niklos hated more than remaining away from those events which changed the course of history. Pride and ambition were his fatal flaws; friends of his had said many times that not even his brother, Herpo, could compare to him in that regard. Perhaps, just like it happened to Kadir himself, could Niklos have changed so much? Was this the price of eternal life? To lose their own selves? Or maybe, was it their true nature which rose up to answer those new hardships?
Suddenly, Niklos' aura disappeared, and Kadir was left stunned. Then an idea came to his mind. It was a reckless move, the one he pulled out, but intelligent nonetheless; just maybe. Kadir put his mind blank, ignoring his weakened Link with Ashram, which rumbled in protest, and embraced Scala ad Caelum with open arms.
Such a mysterious and intriguing world this was. Almost colourless, both beach and forest, and also the high yet crumbling tower which rose at the end of a far cliff. Their world; that one world created for this new nature of theirs. Kadir's world, but also Niklos', Kayle's and Gerdnyaram's.
A soft wave made contact with his feet, and Kadir rejoiced in that feeling—here, in Scala ad Caelum, he felt human once again. He looked exactly as he did before his last breath got exhaled. And so did Niklos, who stood in front of him, with the grey water caressing his knees.
A tall man, he was; taller than Kadir yet much lankier than him. Since they first met, Niklos had looked to him like a nervous mess of bones and skin, with barely any muscle, enough to perform the most basic things without magic. Of dark, short hair, almost grey in many points, and even darker eyes surrounded by wrinkles, the man still wore his favourite robes—a pristine, white tunic with the golden staff crowned by two golden wings sewn on his chest, the emblem of the Citadel. The robes that presented him as a Sage from the Citadel.
No words were shared between the two old comrades who, despite their many differences, once were members of the same Order. Then, as it could only be, it was Kadir's lack of patience which broke the silence. "You surprised me." That was all.
Niklos deviated his eyes towards the endless sea. "It was you who came into my territory, Kadir, not the other way around. It was you who surprised me."
Niklos was one of those men who spoke many words yet said nothing. "Yours was not the only aura I felt. There are dozens of Hunters in the forest, Niklos, and I am not talking about those frauds from this present age who took the name of the noble warriors who saved the world during the War for the Dawn. I talk about the Hunters of the Ancient Times, like the one Ashram, the wizard I linked, killed. Moreover, I felt the Nightmares; vaster in both numbers and strength. What are you playing at, Niklos? What is this place?"
"Time changes people—death changes them even more." Another cryptic answer. And the bastard still refused to look at Kadir eye to eye. Then his head suddenly turned. "You also changed. If not, why would you come here, obedient like a puppy, as you followed Lanphael's games?"
Lanphael, so that was the woman's real name—Helena had been a false identity, of that he had harboured no doubts since the very beginning, yet her aura had felt very familiar, enough to scare him. The last memories he had about that woman came from many centuries ago, when she was nothing but an infant. "I was given a promise." Kadir could also give cryptic answers; his honest nature protested, but much weaker nowadays, supplanted by that of Kadir, the Essentia who swore vengeance.
"You came here in search of the Dark One, who is called Lord Voldemort." Niklos' words came out coldly, with the force of an even colder truth above them. "Tell me, Kadir, who of us two changed the most? I, who hid in one of the deepest confines of this world, or you, a noble warrior who once fought against all forms of evil and now pursues the greatest of them all like a lost puppy in search of a master who would feed him?"
For the first time in many years, Kadir laughed—he laughed until there was no more air in his lungs, maniacally, with a faint touch of madness, he laughed under the watchful gaze of Niklos.
"I am not aware of what you intend to obtain with your actions," Niklos said, interrupting the crazy laughter. "And neither do I care about how much damage may you cause to this world. However, you came to the wrong place, Kadir. In the present, this forest means home to me, and its people are dear to me."
"Indeed, you changed a lot," Kadir hummed in response, still a bit out due to the strong laughter that had possessed him. "Perhaps just as much as I did. Well, I will be honest with you, my old friend; to honour the hardships we once faced shoulder by shoulder. I want to use Lord Voldemort. That is the sole reason why I came here. In fact, it is the ambition I have been pursuing for more than one decade."
"Why?"
"Say, don't you feel a strong desire to burn this world, to reduce it to nothing but ashes?"
Niklos stared at him, calmly, yet his eyes betrayed him, for they gave away his surprise. "No."
"That is a shame, because I do." Kadir took a moment to enjoy those words—yes, it felt good to finally admit how gone he was. "As you said, when I was alive, I used to fight all forms of evil. First, it was criminals I fought; for the sake of those who could not defend themselves. Then came the War, and when all the nations rose together as a united front, I fought against the Nightmares, side by side with the Alazthi, the People of the Forest and the Maidens of Hecate. I felt good, like a hero, but, overall, I felt loved and full. We won the War and that united front crumbled. Then the betrayals started. To negate them and save the world, we formed the Order of Precursors, and hope came once again; just a fickle spark. But, oh, how brief it was! Herpo went mad in his search for glory and power, and he killed my sister and a woman I loved as a daughter—then we, just the two of us, confronted him, and he killed us both. On the verge of death, I knew Herpo had sentenced the world. A new war would come, and all we had built would be destroyed. Because, in the end, that is all we are good for: to destroy, not to create. Never to create."
"I died and was reborn as an Essentia," Kadir continued. "You also did it, but you went your way; just as Kayle did. For many generations, I roamed the world. I found beautiful and prosperous civilizations, though they all crumbled because someone tried to reach too far; just like it happened to us. More and more destruction was all I found, an endless cycle of it. The so-called Dark Lords arose; some destroyed themselves while others were stopped by heroes. Yet it happened again and again, yet more people died and died. Power corrupts us all, Niklos. We are not worthy of Magic. Tell me, were not the Hunters betrayed by us? Tell me, were not the People of the Forest, innocent and neutral people, slaughtered without mercy? The wheel of power spins and crushes everything under it. Now it happens again, stronger than ever, and I plan to spin it one last time."
This time, Niklos did not bother to hide his emotions—the man opened his eyes in surprise just as some words were sputtered out of his mouth. "You… You want to destroy the world?"
To destroy the world? No, that was a sin not even Kadir could commit. "I want to destroy Magic, my old friend. We are not worthy of it, of that I am certain. Power, gold, knowledge; we all are drunk on something, and we use magic to get what we desire without sparing a single thought on others. I am tired, though not as much as I am saddened, for none can give humans more chances than I did. However, I will not stop until I spill the last drop of magical blood, mine included. That is the reason why I came in search of Lord Voldemort. I will not break the wheel of power, no, I will spin it for the last time."
Niklos regained his composure; instead, he just took a few steps away from him, a guarded look very well expressed on his face. "You have lost it, eh? Eternity and solitude made you mad."
"Maybe you are right," Kadir just sighed. After all, it was a thought he had pondered about on many occasions. "But, to me, this feels right. Throughout history, very few wizards can say they protected the defenceless more than I did, but even the weak step over those weaker than them—I have seen it many times. Perhaps I am wrong, mad, as you just said, or maybe I am on the right. All I know is that only time itself will tell. Once I am done, I will look back at all I did and either rejoice in my success or cry about my last and gravest failure."
"If so, just leave me and my people out of your schemes. That is all I ask you, Kadir—as an old friend and comrade, hear my plea, or else, I will act against you."
Kadir hesitated, yet he nodded in the end. For the time being, at least. It would be a grave mistake on his behalf to make an enemy of Niklos. No, the Hunters and the Nightmares already were too much of a problem. Though they could be the key to my plans. There were no beings in this world who harboured as much hatred and resentment towards the wizarding kind as they did.
Suddenly, as Kadir readied himself to leave Scala ad Caelum, another voice echoed around; a feminine voice. "Alas, you have returned." Kayle came out of the forest with a calm stride; her proud and regal bearing could not be changed even by death. Just as the golden armour she wore, with the Flower of Heavens carved onto the breastplate and its thousand roots going down to the pelvis; she wore no helmet and armbands, but there was a long, white dress under the armour. "It's been centuries since I last saw any of you, yet I wish that had not changed, for what I heard almost made me vomit. Look at you, Kadir; once the proud and noble warrior you were, and nothing I see of him. Just a man who lost his head."
Those words angered Kadir; much more than he first thought they would. How could this half-elf be so condescending to him? To him, one of the very few people who stood up for her and the People of the Forest when the Citadel turned its backs on them. "Tell me, Kayle, what have you done in the past centuries? When I left this place, the future still confused you—once a proud and wise woman you were, and a shadow of it is all I see in front of me." They had been given a second chance, as Essentias, for a reason. Kadir had found his, and so it seemed for Niklos. If she could not find her reason to live, maybe it would be better to disappear, to finally die; though who could know if they could die? "I do not care about your plans; if there is one, in the first place. All I know is the fact I will not stop until I accomplish my goal. Then I will rest."
Kayle had the nerve to look at him with a disgusted look; the same one those bastards of the Citadel had used on him many times. "I see," she mused. "I am afraid there is no saving you from that madness. Many times I dreamt about this encounter of ours, yet not even my worst nightmares could have terrorized me as much as your words did. We stand on opposite sides of this forthcoming war, now I know." She turned to look at Niklos with a pleading look. "Please, Niklos, you've always been a very logical person. Under any circumstances, do not follow the path Kadir has taken. There is still a chance for us to rest, of that I'm sure. Herpo also roams this world; we need to find and destroy his anchor to this world."
"If that's the case, then I will also crush Herpo with that last spin of the wheel of power," Kadir said before Niklos could think too much about her words. He had always been weaker than the rest, and a man who sided with those who had more chances of winning. "I will avenge all the blood he spilt—our blood, do not forget that—and I will fix all the wrongs he committed when alive. Then he will fall into oblivion along his legacy. That is the most fitting punishment for him, I believe."
A sudden gleam illuminated Kayle's eyes. "So that is all you seek, isn't it?" She almost huffed. "Justice is not what you want, and neither does it have to do with that madness of yours about the wheel of power. No, it is revenge for the wrongs Herpo committed against you and those who you loved. Resentment has eaten you away, Kadir. I now see it as clear as water. You were stripped of your right to live in this world, and trust me when I say no one understands you better than I do. Yet I know yours is not the answer; not the correct one, at least. Many years have passed since the Ancient Times, and this age isn't as cruel as ours, although cruel people will exist until the end of the times. However, when I look at the present, I see hope. Not for us, but for them. Our duty is to find Herpo and prevent him from causing any damage to the people of this age, and then we will finally rest along with our loved ones. That is our one and only duty towards this world."
Could that be right? Was there any other way, any other path to follow rather than despair and death? No, he had tried it many times, to see if people could change, and just like it happened in the Ancient Times, humanity was not worthy of magic. Because he had tried enough times, right?
"That's the idealistic nonsense I used to believe in," Kadir said, coldly, instead. There wasn't any reason at all to continue this conversation. Kayle had found her purpose, indeed, and no one would convince her to join Kadir's venture. Thus she had become another enemy. "One day, you will see the world for what it is worth, and you will also see humanity's true colours. Let them start a new life in a world without magic, Kayle, a world in which a few cannot abuse the weaker just because they aren't powerful enough to fight back. That's my last chance of creating a better world." That last point painted a crooked smile on his face—how ironic could life be? "See? I have not changed in the slightest. My goal is the same as it was when I was alive. All that changed is the way to achieve it."
With a quick look around, Kadir realised Niklos was long gone; another one sent at Kayle told him he would find no answers in her. Well, not as if he needed to know more about her—as she had said, it was water clear they now stood at opposite sides of the field. "I am afraid this is farewell, Kayle. Please, reconsider your purpose. I respected you a great deal, more than anyone else, perhaps. Do not make me do something I will regret."
That being said, Kadir just left Scala ad Caelum—the last thing he saw were Kayle's cold, green irises glaring holes through his skull. And the last words he heard were hers, venomous and hateful, in the last attempt to change his mind; a futile try. "If only Gerdnyaram was here to see how low you fell, then she would cry for the man he loved as a father has died."
War would come, and Lord Voldemort would spin the wheel of power one last time.