There was plenty to be uneasy about
but oddly enough it was his own flippant comment that was bothering Chells
the most at the moment. “Did you know him?” No, but someone from
this day must have. By his count Kelloran and he had dispatched about a
dozen of the cultists as well as roughly the same number of the mutated
zombies. Lucky they had only come in small bands. If any sizable band found
them the two would have been overwhelmed. The only positive point was that
the two templars were able to start each fight healed of their injuries but
that advantage was over. They had only Kelloran’s first aid skills to
staunch their latest set of wounds now.
Chells gripped his blade once more
and listened to its inhuman voice. It continued to throb as it has ever
since they had beaten the first undead and their dark human companions. At
first Chells had assumed the warning signals DoomHerald was relaying meant
that more of the cultists were converging on him. Sure enough the sword
had pulsed sharply just before the next attack. Yet when he had dismissed
their impact on the past to Kelloran the blade nearly shook itself free from
his grasp. Thinking about it now he realized the warning sensations
DoomHerald was sending him had two very different feels. The undead attacks
felt much like the warnings he had come to know. This steady throbbing was
something else; something new and somehow far more ominous.
“We’ve got a problem, Kell.”
“What now?”
“I was wrong. Our killing these guys
has got to have repercussions.”
“But you said we can’t change the
past yet we’ve been fighting these guys all day. That makes no sense...
unless these guys were going to die out here anyway.”
“That is what I was thinking too.
The problem is DoomHerald has been warning me of something since this began
and I think we are fast approaching some critical point.”
“Like encountering whatever huge
monster killed all these guys?”
“I think more like crossing the line
where the past can’t accept our actions. At that point I have the feeling
something really bad is going to happen.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know but I think there is
something out there that actively watches history and makes sure no-one
screws around with it. I also think it would be capable and willing to wipe
out everything we have ever known and touched than take the chance we make
even the smallest knowable change to our past.”
“So by fighting back we could be
destroying FallenStar.”
“Yes and even worse I think we would
destroy it now not in our own time. Then all the good the heroes of the
town have done between now and then would be wiped out as well.”
“But that would be changing the
past.”
“No that would be changing the
future. It would happen now. The future does not seem to be bound by the
same rules otherwise divinations would not be allowed.”
“So what do we do? Can DoomHerald
tell us how to safely fix our presence here?”
“I wish. The sword is only barely
sentient. It can’t tell us what to do, only point out danger and it has
been humming steadily since the cultists first found us. We do need
answers though. I have an idea how to get them too that should be pretty
safe.”
“What?”
“Thought I’d try Spirit Writer. That
way we could ask questions of the spirits around here with out directly
interacting with them. The question is what to ask.”
“Well we can’t ask what would have
killed the cultists because that hasn’t happened yet and may not happen at
all now. How about ‘why are the cultists attacking us?’”
“That could be anything.
It could
point out what they are doing here but it could also be that they hate
townsfolk. I’d rather cast as few of these as possible. Not only is my mana hitting rock bottom but I’m getting very nervous about mucking around.”
“Ok how about this. The cultists are
definitely locking onto us somehow. Remember when the bearded one pointed
at us and yelled. He said something like ‘There they are.’.”
“Actually I think he said ‘There he
is’. But I get your meaning. They were after us before they even saw us.”
“So why don’t you focus on that.
‘Why are they after us?’ ‘How are they tracking us?’ Something like that.”
“Better. I wonder… Oh hell
DoomHerald just went off again. More are coming.” Chells quickly pulled
out a scrap of parchment and inked his pen.
“What are you doing? We should get
out of here.”
“We’ve never managed to ditch any of
the last parties once they got on our trail. The warning felt distant. We
have time.”
Kelloran watched Chells slip into a
trance and quickly began to search the woods for the approaching enemies.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered. Seconds dragged like hours.
All of a sudden the scratching of the quill on paper nearly sent the
Restorer jumping out of his skin. Who in their right mind enters a trance
when the guys who have been trying to kill them all day are coming right
for them. “Come on Chells,” he whispered. “Hurry it up.” The believer
continued to write as the first of the zombies came into sight. “Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Come on Chells.” He grumbled under his breath. The zombie
broke into a shambling run followed by two more. There was no cultist with
them thankfully but even so, if his partner did not rouse himself, three
zombies were probably more than he could handle. He scrapped together
enough magic to cast heroism on himself and put himself between the rushing
undead and Chells.
Though he was never the most deadly
of fighters in FallenStar, Kelloran had possible the best defense of anyone
living in the town in his time. He battered aside the raking claws and
forced his opponents to stumble over each other. He knew that if they
managed to get a hold of him he was done for but time again the zombies were
repelled. Unfortunately he could not land a blow on them and keep them back
at the same time. It was only a matter of time before one of the brainless
cannibals came at him from behind or went after Chells. He hammered his
fist into the one of the fiend’s face and gave himself some much needed
room. He saw a chance to even his odds as the next zombie raised its arms to
swipe at him. With all his might he drove his sword straight through the
rotting flesh of its neck. The blade split the undead spine, destroying it
but Kelloran, having had to swing down on an angle to make the blow, ended up
driving his sword deep into the corpse’s chest. His blade snagged as the
headless body crashed into him. He stumbled backward fighting not to fall
or loose his weapon. The two remaining zombies lunged for him. One of them
spun sideways as DoomHerald ripped through its face. Chells’ back-swing was
not much, just a simple rap to the remaining undead’s shoulder, but it
distracted the monster long enough for Kelloran to free his sword and finish
it off.
“Man! That was almost very bad. Glad
you were able to join me. Had there been a cultist we would have been
dead.”
“Sorry. I hope we got something
worthwhile.” Not wanting to attract any more notice Chells turned the page
toward Kelloran rather than reading aloud.
“Oh shit. I was afraid of that.”
Chells swore.
“Huh? How is that bad? I was
thinking there was some huge devil loose who was killing all these assholes.
This says he is one of the good guys.”
“I have been trying to figure out why
DoomHerald’s warning keeps becoming more and more dire each time we take out
one of these bands. If this Krenowan buttered every cultist and zombie sent
against him then our killing them would have no impact on the future. But
if the bands we took out had been fighting Krenowan this whole time,
weakening him until finally one group kills him...”
“Then without the previous battles
Krenowan wins and we have changed the past.”
“Exactly. As long as we only kill
those who were already supposed to be killed by him then we are safe but
when the group that was supposed to kill him falls to us or fails to kill
him because he is still too strong, we have crossed the line.”
“As soon as Krenowan kills one from
the band that came after he died then we have fucked up. Oh shit is right.
How do we fix it?”
“We need to find out where and when
Krenowan was supposed to have died.”
“How can we do that? It hasn’t
happened yet and if we divine about it now won’t we see his death possibly
to the wrong ones?”
“We need to go to the Lost God’s
Altar.”
“WHAT!”
“Shhhh. Q’plag is the old god of
time. I’ll bet he could lead us right to the crisis spot. It will cost us
a pretty penny but I can’t think of any other solution.”
“The Lost God’s Altar. In case you
had forgotten I get ripped apart there. No thanks! There has got to be
another solution.”
“But what? Anything we do could
trigger the Watcher raining fire down on us and our home. Even calling on
most of the Gods for help could get us into trouble. Q’palg is almost
surely the exception. From everything I’ve read about him he was pretty
much exempt from the rules. Even in his own pantheon.
Listen you don’t have to go to Altar with me. Once we get close, you hang
back. I’ll do the ceremony and then we see what we can do to get out of
this mess. Argue with me as we walk. I get the feeling we are running out
of time.”
“This is just fucking great. Ok, but
if you think of anything and I mean anything else, you spit it out.”
“Done. Come on.”
Moving as rapidly as possible, the
two hiked for the Satyr Woods when Chells stopped short in front of his
friend. “Mask Aura! It might work.” He breathed.
“What?”
“Mask Aura. If we cloak ourselves
with the spell it might fool the cultist’s trackers. That way we don’t kill
any more of them.”
“Good idea. I don’t have any. Do
you?”
“I can cast Detect Aura. We need to
change them to Masks Auras. They are the same sphere and level so it
shouldn’t be too tough. Prayers worry me though. It could be safe since
simple prayers are usually done by angels but still. What do you think?”
“It is a pretty simple request but
still if the God takes notice of us then we would be affecting now. I don’t
know as I’d chance it.”
“What about virtues? I don’t know
what drives them but they seem far more abstract than a direct prayer.”
“Any more cultist we encounter could
be the ones that blow it for us so why not. Virtue boons sound a lot less
risky than calling on a God.”
Chells called up two of his newly
returned spells and envisioned all those who would suffer if he and Kelloran
were to fail to set things right. He could save them from that if he could
complete his task. The compassion he felt for his home and the spirits who
had given their lived to protect that haven became a rush of energy. The
believer molded that force to the spells in his mind, shifting them subtly
from the ability to read auras to an enchantment that would create them. He
quickly loosed the newly altered spells at himself and Kelloran. As he
released the spells, he knew it had worked, for in his spirit he felt both
of the boons of compassion he held wink away.
“Ok it’s done. Now we just need to
avoid the patrols. If the mask works they won’t be finding us with those
stones any time in the next week.”
The closer they came to the Lost
God’s Altar the more nervous Kelloran became. This is exactly the kind of
unavoidable situation that would trigger a divine warning. Which meant that
this almost had to be the trip that meant his death. He knew he would not
abandon Chells at the outskirts of the Altar yet part of him nagged that he
might be endangering him more if he accompanied him. What if his being
there triggered the attack? Maybe staying back was really the right thing
do. Then again was this argument born out of fear not reason? For the
hundredth time Kelloran wished he dared to use his prayers to guide his
actions.
Whatever his decision was going to
be, the time for it had arrived. Chells rummaged through the few
possessions he had with him. Luckily the contents of his belt pouch had a
quite a few items he might be able to use to sacrifice to the Lost God.
“I’ve got five black gems but I doubt they are worth enough. The
Black Lotus incense
should work as well. You have anything of value? He likes black items,
things made of lead or ash and things very old or dead.”
“Pretty bizarre list. I don’t think
so, sorry.”
“Yeah remember they come from a time
when forged copper was worth more than gold. Hey I can add a dust of
disappearance too.” said Chells holding up a vial of black grains. “That’s
hopefully enough. I’ll be back as quick as I can. You…”
“I’m coming.”
“Kell, really, I’ll be fine. Why
tempt fate?”
“Maybe I’m supposed to go. Maybe it
was a warning to be prepared. It doesn’t matter. If I don’t go now I might
never go and right now I can’t think of any reason greater than this to
bring me to the altar. Let’s just get it over with.”
“You have any spells back?”
“I have three, You?”
“Just one. Maybe we should wait a
bit more.”
“Come on Chells. A minute ago you
were will to go with just the one spell alone. Now with my three and the
rest of me you are hesitating?”
“Rational impulse control has never
been my strong point. It wasn’t that I was thinking one spell was fine
before you were coming. Honestly it just dawned on me that I was down two
spells.”
“So what is your Doom sense telling
you?”
“It’s growling louder than ever.” the
believer replied looking down at his blade. “Ok let’s go do this.”
Climbing the last of the hillside,
Chells spied the altar dedicated to the oldest of the pantheons he knew.
The stone table looked newer that he remembered. The area had been cleared
recently and the light filtering through the leaves even reflected from it’s
surface. Odd how rough the stone had come in the span of years
separating then from his own time. It wasn’t until he had stepped up to the
artifact that he realized the stone had not been polished. The light was
glistening off a sheet of blood which coated the stone. In the center of
the seven ringed icon of the Lost Gods, lay a copper dagger and a few feet
away beyond the altar lay a corpse. Standing in the middle of the circle
drawn by the life blood of the sacrificed body, Chells knew he was too late
to back away.
“Kelloran!! Stay back!” Even as he
shouted his warning a red mist began to form above the ring of the same
color on the altar. From out of the bloody tinged cloud came a voice of a
hundred animals crying in agony. “I am Pazutheok, Keeper of the Infected,
the Plague-Spinner, the Rabid One. I have been called to slay thee Shaman.
You will find that your gifts are of no use to one such as I. Would thee
beg for thy life?”
“I would ask who hath summoned you
against me, demon,” Chells called while unbuckling his belt pack. He
flipped the pouches to Kelloran behind him who was looking quizzically at
Chells
“Hath” he mouthed. Chells
shrugged and whispered “See if there is anything in there we can use.”
“The blood sacrifice to Hdus, the God
of Power was performed to bring me from my home of bestial corpses. It was
said that next human to cross the blood line not sworn to the Shadow would
be you Shaman. Now that you are here I would hear you scream before I rend
your soul from your flesh.”
“But what if I am not a Shaman?
Would that not void your contract?”
“As if I would be tricked so? No you
will learn none such from me. Instead let us test thy claim. What be you
if not Shaman?”
“I am…”
“Be silent. I will taste for
myself.” The cloud erupted into a whirling kaleidoscope of blood red
animals. There were foxes and hawks, rats and deer and many many more.
Each stretched away from the core of the cloud, never fully breaking free of
it. Kelloran stopped in his search through Chells' bags for anything that
might help them and witnessed what Thomas must have seen in his vision. The
creatures were horrible to see. Disease had ravaged their natural beauty,
be it the insanity of rabies, the wasting of cancer, the pustulations of pox
or flesh consuming plague. Even the color of their coats was stolen as
every beast was shaded in the same bloody tones as the mist.
The swarm of dead creatures slammed
into Chells, clawing and biting through the believer’s armor. In seconds he
was lost to sight, covered by the demon’s attack. Kelloran dropped the belt
and ripped his sword out of its scabbard. As he stood, the contents of the
belt pack struck the ground and an object flew out. It was a coin. At that
moment everything seemed to stop. The coin hung in the air glimmering gold
in a beam of sunlight. The writhing red demon stood motionlessly entwined
about his friend. And over altar a form stood. Unlike the demonic servant
this Being was one of the seven who held sway over this holy ground. In an
instant the Restorer felt a deeply profound kinship with the golden God
before him and knew that He too felt the same. The love of life, in all its
simple and wondrous beauty race back and forth along the connection the two
shared. The God spoke not but Kelloran heard one word and the promise it
held, “ASK.”
Then everything moved once more in a
rush. Chells’ screams echoed off the hills as Pazutheok savaged him. The
coin began to fall. Kelloran snatched it out the air and leapt across the
blood circle. The demon’s attention turned to him immediately. A hundred
red eyes locked on the Restorer as claws and fangs and beaks gnashed the air
at him. “Who is this now? An extra feast for my hunger.”
Kelloran slapped the gold coin onto
the altar and cried out with all his heart “HELP ME, PLEASE!” The God was
with him even as he spoke the last word. A golden shield sprang up between
the demon and the templar. The vile thing’s scream as it slammed it the
barrier was deafening, as if every creature in the forest shrieked at once.
In its torment the demon recoiled so sharply it spat Chells out, dropping
him heavily onto the stone table. While it was stunned Kelloran watched as
the gold aura about him reach out and touch another of the circles on the
altar. He could hear the One beside him speak to
Another and felt an almost
brotherly love overcome him. From the second ring a spell of deep purple
magic boiled forth, much like the red cloud that had been the demon. This
mist flowed to the restorer and into him. It gathered in his lungs and
waited. As Pazutheok turned to snatch Chells up once more, Kelloran blew
outwards with all his might. The violet jet blasted into the fiend. The
magic ripped the demon apart. Even though it felt as if his ears would
burst from the cacophony of the monster's screams, Kelloran continued to blow
the God’s gift far longer than he could ever have exhaled normally. When
the last bloody remnant of the demon vanished, so finally did Kelloran’s
ability exhale.
Gasping he ran up to Chells. His
friend had managed to role over and had thrown his arm across altar.
Kelloran turned him onto his back and recoiled. Chells’ eyes were
completely black. Not just the pupil but every part of the eye was as dark
as pitch. As Chells lay still, Kelloran felt the last of the golden God’s
blessing flow into the gravetender. The wounds that covered Chells arms
began to leak streams of green puss. The stench made Kelloran gag and
almost release his grasp. One by one, torrents of disease poured out of the
cuts until they flowed cleanly. The blood flow slowed to a normal trickle
as none of the wounds were especially deep. Unfortunately there scores of
them. The blessing vanished with the last of the sickness so Kelloran
quickly cast his own healing spells to stop as much of the bleeding as he
could. The rest he bound, glancing over and over again at the ebon hued
eyes.
As he bandaged the last of the tears,
Chells stirred. He blinked once and then again. On the third his eyes
returned to their normal shade. The believer shook his head. “Whatever you
did, thanks Kell.”
“I’m not really sure what I did but I
saw one of the Lost Gods. He was the one who gave me the power to banish
the demon.”
“What color was he?”
“Gold.”
“Gevistah. The God of Life. Good
choice for you. Tell me about it later. We haven’t got much time.”
“I thought we had to make a sacrifice
to Q’palg to find out…”
“We already did. I made a gamble.
Q’plag is partial to dead things. I offered Him Pazutheok. He was a demon
of plague dead animals. I figured if you beat it, Q’plag could have the
demon or its victims, whichever He wanted. If you lost, I offered us
instead. I don’t know what it would be like serving the God of Death and
Time but it had to be better than being consumed by Pazutheok.”
Kelloran stared at his friend. A
jumble of statements vied for his attentions but after everything that had
just happened he was not sure which to utter. “Talk later. We have got to
hurry.” Chells continued. “Krenowan fought the demon and won but he was
really in bad shape afterwards. He had used up a lot of magic fighting the
battles we have fought for him and so Pazutheok nearly beat him. The next
band of cultist to face him finished him. I don’t think he would have had a
problem this time. Whomever summoned the demon seriously miscalculated how
powerful this guy is.” Chells exclaimed. “The cultists who killed him were
drawn here when the summoning trap went off. They are on their way. So is Krenowan.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“We are going to have to kill him.”
“What?!”
“Without the demon and the previous
fights he is surly going to survive. While he is engaged with the cultists
we are going to have to try and cut him down. I got the feeling that he can
sense evil so we should be able to surprise…”
“There has got to be another way.
You’re talking about deliberate murder. I understanding killing someone who
is attacking you or even killing someone sworn to evil but this guy sounds
like a hero.”
“A hero that was fated to die. A
hero that if he lives could mean the destruction of half a hundred other
heroes that came after him. If you have a better idea I’d love to hear it.”
“What happened after the cultists
killed Krenowan?”
“Well we are lucky there. None of
the cultists survive the fight with Krenowan. A zombie finally kills him as
he is finishing off the last cultist. The zombie wanders off looking pretty
ragged so I hope it falls apart before making any real impact on the past.
That part worries but … anyway a bit later the bodies are found by another
group of the dark guys. They cut one of his fingers off and strip him of a
number of icons he wears. Shit we might have to hide some of the items he
hasn’t used but should have by now.”
“You are way too calm about this.
Doesn’t it bother that we are talking about killing someone who very likely
could follow our own Gods.”
“The finger part bothers me. I hope
they do not use it to bind him into servitude but as for the dieing part,
no. Why should it? He died already. Everybody dies. I have never
understood why it is such big deal for most people.”
“Oh Gods! Not this argument again.
It is not him being dead I’m having a problem with. It is that we are going
to kill him. We are going to know that we killed a good man because we
fucked up. We are going to have to live with that.”
“Look at it this way. If we set
things right and we return to our own time we will do so knowing about
Krenowan, which we didn’t before. If he is trapped by these evil bastards
we might be able to do something about it. If his grave is lost somewhere
in the woods, forgotten and alone, we could find him and, if you and he
want, maybe even resurrect him. He might be alive and well in our time.
That is something else we could discover but not if our time no longer
exists.”
“You still don’t get it. I knew you
had a cold streak but I thought it was just your blindside when it comes to
death. You really don’t get that even though in end things are balanced
out, that this is just wrong. You know right… wrong. Forget it! I need
some air.” Kelloran spat and he turned and walked away.
He crossed the stream and climbed up
into the boulders that littered the hillside. After a bit he found a spot
hidden from the altar. He couldn’t tell which bothered him more; the fact
that Chells could be so callous about murdering a follower of light or that
he could see in some ways the gravetender was right. For the better part of
an hour he warred with himself until the sound of battle below alerted him
that his time had run out. He stood and peered over the top of the boulder
to see Krenowan for the first time. He was dressed in leather armor
decorated by beads and feathers. In each hand he wielded a weapon, his
right a long blade and in his left a small axe. Against him was by far the
biggest party he had seen so far. Drawn by the demon summoning a couple of
groups must have banded together. The shaman appeared to be having no
difficulty against the cultists. The feather talismans flared up and burned
away as they deflected the magic of the shadow casters. He dodged nimbly
around their physical attacks as well. Two zombies had already fallen and
it looks as though the first of the cultist would follow soon. As he
watched a figure moved at Krenowan’s back. Hidden in the thorny shrubs
Chells waited as Krenowan slowly dodged back towards him. Step by step he
moved backward killing one cultist after another, even after they had
managed to land a number of telling blows against him. Blood ran down his
left arm and his quick steps held a noticeable limp. Still it seemed that
unless some twist of fate occurred he would prevail. Kelloran watched as
Krenowan stepped ever closer to that disaster. Just as he came into reach,
Chells raised himself up behind the shaman, lifting DoomHerald for a
two-handed blow.
“Krenowan! Look out!” cried a voice
that only after a moment Kelloran realized had been his own.
The shaman turned and saw Chells but
before he could react the last cultist rammed his blade into the warrior’s
side. Krenowan buried his axe in the attacker’s neck only to be bowled over
by the only still animate zombie. Chells looked about to dispatch the
undead then instead stepped back. The minion tore open the shaman’s throat
ending his life. Only then did Chells cast an exorcism to destroy the
creature. He reached down and ripped a number of feathers and beads off
Krenowan’s still form, pausing time again to search his memory for which to
take and which to leave.
At last he climbed the hill up to met
the restorer. He had the good sense to avoid meeting his friend’s eyes but
that did little to cool Kelloran’s anger. “You could have killed the
zombie. Instead you let him die by one of the undead. You left him to
become a twilight zombie.”
“And if he was supposed to be one of
the twilight dead…”
Kelloran had never wanted to strike
someone he was close to more than in that moment. Chells walked past him
and began to search for a spot to hide the talismans. Unable to stand still
any longer Kelloran ripped the fetishes out of the believer’s hand and climbed
higher to where he had seen a deep hole. One by one he dropped them,
watching them spiral into the darkness. Before he had a chance to release
the last feather he felt as if a huge hand had snatched him from the
ground. Blue light swarmed about his eyes and finally dropped him heavily
onto the frozen earth. A bit dazed he sat up and shivered, then looked
with wonder at his hand. There clenched in his fist remained a single blue
feather.
|