Ferrian's Winter

The light that holds the wondrous dead

A final chance for words unsaid.

The White Dragon glided across the depths of the night, following the trail of the vanished moon like an adoring little sister. Her scales and spines rippled with starlight, bright and scintillating once more, all trace of consuming shadow gone.

Her silver eyes were enigmatic and watchful, reflecting the stars.

Ferrian was astonished and grateful, and more than a little baffled. He had misunderstood the Watcher, it seemed, had assumed that corruption and death were the Pyramid's only agenda.

It was more complicated than he had thought.

The Dragon had spoken to him little, only to express her pleasure that she was healed and that Ferrian was safe. She seemed as surprised as he was; she told him vaguely that the Watcher sought to feed, and that trigon was a source of energy for it. But she had not expected it to spare her life.

The Watcher had some respect for Dragons, it appeared.

Humans, it seemed conflicted about, especially those possessing magic.

Angels, on the other hand…

Ferrian glanced to his right and below, where the two remaining members of the Sky Legion flew. The Dragon carefully controlled her pace to allow them to keep up, and kept a close eye on them. They had refused to ride upon her back like the rest of the party; or at least, Nix did, and Tander would not allow him to fly alone.

Both of them had become very quiet, glum and ill-looking. It had taken Ferrian and Flint a long time to coax them into the air at all, and then only because Tander still had a little reason remaining.

Ferrian's insides churned. What had been done to them made him feel sick. He hoped that Mekka managed to track down Reeves, before the Commander did anything stupid.

And then there was Li.

She sat in front of Ferrian, silently, between the double row of crystalline plates lining the Dragon's spine. The little Angel girl had not spoken at all, and had only partially returned to herself, but was aware enough to do what she was told. Ferrian didn't like the absent look in her eyes, as though she gazed still at the Black Pyramid, long after it had gone.

He wrapped his arms around her, partly to prevent her from falling off, partly to reassure her, and partly to comfort himself.

The future was crashing down around him like an invisible avalanche, and he was scared.

A significant, uncomfortable part of him did not want to reach Bridgetown, did not want to find out what awaited him there, and his shoulders hunched unconsciously, as though to shield himself.

His Sword hung on his back, no longer a light weight, but made of lead.

He tried not to think about it.

Everyone else rode upon the Dragon behind him; Lady Araynia directly at his back, then Flint, then Ben, each expressing differing levels of alarm. Flint had hardly stopped cursing and holding on to his hat since they had taken off.

Ben was ecstatic, whooping for joy and messing around, pretending to push Flint and then laughing at the Freeroamer's reaction.

Araynia sat quietly, uncomplaining, though had gone quite pale. Once or twice, she attempted to tell Ben off, but her voice was soft and slightly shaky, and either the boy didn't hear her, or ignored her.

Ferrian stared fixedly ahead at the Dragon's glimmering horns, trying his best to direct his thoughts away from Araynia, too… but failed. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her yet, with everything else going on.

He had seen for himself, through his own Sword of Mirrors – or as he thought of it grimly now, the Godsword – that Lady Araynia carried the Sword of Healing. He had watched her try to use it, unsuccessfully, to save Lord Arzath.

And that pendant she wore…

The sparkling blue stone invaded his vision, uncomfortably.

It wasn't him, Ferrian told himself forcefully. I don't know what that apparition she summoned was, but it was NOT HIM.

It could not be.

He gave his life for me!

He is dead!

A few hours later, a pale blue glow spread across the horizon ahead, the first sign of the oncoming dawn. A craggy dark line of mountains was outlined against it; lower than the Barlakks, this was an outflung arm of the sprawling Red Ranges, which extended to the north, the east and the west, spanning the outer edges of both Daroria and Siriaza. The latter was a much more rugged country than the former, almost entirely comprised of hills, valleys and mountains, save for a large central plateau, forever scarred by a blasted wasteland known as The Grey – the site of a great and terrible battle with the last remaining Dragons, which led to their imprisonment on the Middle Isle and subsequent escape.

But between here and those distant foreign mountains was an immense gouge cleaving right through the centre of the world:

The Unforgivable Chasm.

And though this mighty red scar ran for a thousand miles, there was only a single bridge across it.

And upon the bridge was a city.

And within the city…

It was as though the sun had already risen, though she was still a couple of hours from showing her face. The tall mansions and towers upon the bridge were lit up from below with a fierce golden-white glow that glanced off windows and beamed between ornate railings, parapets, alleyways and every chink in every building, sending rays in all directions out into the darkness of the Chasm. The western portcullis was closed, a hundred spears of brilliant light shining through, casting its cage-like shadow over a deserted cobbled highway and a vast sprawl of lifeless bodies – Humans and Griks; merchants, soldiers, refugees; men, women and children. Vehicles and goods stood abandoned everywhere, pack animals bleating forlornly, the only sound to be heard, echoing off the canyon walls.

Ferrian's group stood upon the ridge overlooking Bridgetown, stunned into horrified silence.

The carnage was worse than any of them could ever have imagined.

The Dragon had announced their arrival at the border quite suddenly, with a wailing, musical shriek. Landing long enough to allow them all to disembark, she had taken off again immediately, circling away over the desert behind them.

Lieutenant Tander had ushered Li and Nix straight away into the sheltering shadow of the forest, fear on his face, recognising the light for what it was.

Even at this distance, Ferrian could feel its effect; a terrible, alluring desire to see what lay at the heart of that marvellous radiance.

"Don't look at it!" he warned the others, taking his own advice and lowering his eyes to the ground in front of him.

The heavy weight that had gradually attached itself to him throughout his long journey finally crushed him, threatening to send him to his knees. Only by a tremendous force of will did he remain standing, though he couldn't keep the tears from running down his face, and snowflakes danced around him in a stiffening breeze.

That light was Hawk.

Sergeant Devandar Hawk.

His friend.

He had promised Ben and Mekka that he would find a way bring Hawk back, to cure his trigonic infection, even knowing that such a thing was impossible without the Sword of Healing. It was a foolish, desperate promise, and he had, inevitably, completely failed, but not in a way that he had anticipated.

This was not the twisted, shadowy monster he had expected, like Carmine had become, but death of a different kind: a ghost of beauty that broke souls into pieces with wonder and love.

It was over. Hawk was gone.

An awful cocktail of grief mixed with relief rushed through him.

Slowly, he reached back and drew his Sword. He began to unwind the cloth from around the hilt.

Ben stepped up to him in alarm. "Wait, what are you doing?!"

Ferrian did not look at him. "Wait here," he said simply. "All of you. Don't follow me."

Without another word, he started walking.

"Ferrian!" The others called after him, imploring him to stop, to reconsider, to talk it through. He ignored them. Ben rushed up behind and tried to catch hold of him, but was thrown back by Ferrian's magical shield.

The frayed edge of Ferrian's grey cloak swirled the snow in his wake. The Sword in his hand was a bright, liquid gleam in the unnerving light from the city, which fell upon the dusty, empty road and the steep cliff of the hillside. The Line bent sharply in a series of hairpin turns leading down to the rocky plain below.

He had reached the second bend when he caught sight of someone running after him, in his peripheral vision.

He did not look at them or slow his pace.

"Ferrian!" the voice drifted down to him.

He kept going.

The Winter rapidly gathered in strength around him, the temperature plummeting, snow piling up on the rocks, ice making the cobbled decline treacherous. Wind whipped his hair and cloak, and raced gleefully down the curves of the road, over the plain and down through the maw of the Chasm.

Something huge and bright and cold touched his mind.

Ferrian.

It was the Dragon.

Wait.

Ferrian's thoughts hardened. Don't bother trying to convince me not to go, Dragon, he told her. I have to do this.

"Ferrian!" the voice came again, nearer this time.

Finally, Ferrian paused, a spike of cold anger surging into his free hand. He whirled in agitation.

"I told you—"

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was Lady Araynia. She slipped on the corner but got to her feet again at once, though she was breathing heavily. "Please!" she gasped. "This is important!" She shook her head, dark hair flying about her, snow whirling into her face. "This is not about Hawk!"

She took her pendant from around her neck, and held the stone out in the palm of her shivering hand.

Ferrian stared at it, dumbstruck.

She took a few steps forward. When he did nothing, she reached out tentatively and took his free hand, and pressed the stone into it, covering it with her own. "Please, Ferrian," she repeated, meeting his silver gaze with her own deep blue eyes imploringly. "Let me show you!"

He stared back at her for an endless moment. "Now?" he whispered.

She nodded, not breaking her gaze. "If something happens to you…" Tears glistened in her eyes, and she swallowed. "You must know."

Ferrian looked down at her small brown hands clasping his own, at the snowflakes speckling them. He closed his eyes.

Finally, he nodded.

Araynia took a deep breath, composed herself as best she could in the storm, and blue light flared between their fingers.

The space was peaceful, quiet, and lit by undulating pale cerulean light, like gentle reflections of sunlight off the surface of water.

The remains of a castle rose about them, made of alabaster stone, broken into a thousand pieces. Chunks of masonry, large and small, hung suspended in the air. Sections of wall, vaulted ceilings, and whole towers were connected to nothing but disintegrating fragments.

The floor was a shattered mess of white marble tiles and blue and gold glass. Broken furniture and a diamond chandelier lay splintered and collapsed.

Throughout it all, a gigantic tree grew, roots and branches entwined amongst the rubble as though it had sprouted there. Immense, spectacular white flowers bloomed all along the arching limbs.

Ferrian and Araynia stared around in wonder and trepidation.

The noblewoman shook her head. This place is… not how I left it, she said, looking confused. What has happened here?

Ferrian said nothing, eyes lifting to the ruined white towers.

It looks like Castle Whiteshadow, Araynia observed.

It's not, Ferrian murmured.

There was a light up there, at the top of the highest tower.

Araynia stared at him, then followed his gaze. After a moment, she took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the broken, sweeping staircase.

Ferrian didn't want to go up there, but in resignation allowed himself to be led.

They followed the stairs up to a wide balcony strewn with debris, then Araynia hesitated, unsure where to go.

Ferrian forced himself to raise an arm, pointing to a nearby arched doorway, where another, narrower staircase spiralled upwards.

That way.

They climbed the stairs. Large parts of the wall were missing, exposing a drop to an infinite blue void. Ferrian wondered if it were even possible to reach the high tower, but they always found the next step, somehow.

They emerged onto a roofless corridor, lined with tall, diamond-paned windows along one side, and nothing on the other, save the upper branches of the giant magnolia tree.

It grew out of the herb garden, Ferrian thought idly.

They followed the corridor, now and then having to jump across gaping holes in the floor.

They continued up further floating staircases and along precarious bridges of stone, and sometimes the thick branches of the tree, until they finally reached the last tower, and climbed the long spiral stairs to the top.

A fine, gilded and polished oak door stood there, closed, on one side of a broken landing that had fallen away into nothing.

Araynia paused, then gave Ferrian a small smile, squeezed his hand reassuringly, opened the door and went through.

Ferrian followed.

On the other side was a homely round study room, the walls lined with curved, glass-fronted bookshelves and cabinets, with patterned blue and white carpets softening the floor. To one side was a white marble hearth, crackling with a cheerful fire; to the other stood a large, ornate oaken desk, strewn with papers, scrolls, ink pots and feathered quills. A high-backed chair upholstered in blue velvet stood behind it.

At the far end of the room was a large round window. Sunlight, bright and pale gold, like a summer afternoon, streamed in a haze through it, warming the entire room.

Within that beam, gazing out the window as though crafted from brighter motes of light, stood the figure of a man. He was tall, with flowing robes, a long cloak and white hair falling very long about his shoulders and down his back.

There was no colour to him. He was made entirely of misty, glimmering light.

One glance at him and Ferrian spun on his heel, walking back to the doorway.

He was brought up short. The landing and the stairs had disappeared.

You may leave any time you wish, a soft, mellifluous voice said, from behind him. If that is what you want.

The familiar voice turned his insides out. He gripped the doorframe to keep from falling out of it.

Ferrian, Araynia placed a gentle hand on his arm. It is all right.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, thinking that nothing could be further from all right, but didn't say so. Slowly, he forced himself to turn.

Requar stood there, arms folded, looking at him. His eyes were holes of white light.

Ferrian could do nothing but stare back.

After an age of the world had passed, he spoke, voice barely more than a whisper: You're… you're not dead.

A familiar, enigmatic smile crossed Requar's face. I am dead, he replied. Very much so.

Ferrian shook his head, suddenly angry. His fists clenched. Then what is this? A trick? Some kind of sick illusion?! He whirled on Araynia.

The Lady looked scared. No! N-no, of course not—

Ferrian. Requar turned his attention back with a sigh. My body is gone. You witnessed my death: that was not a lie. I gave my life force to you. I channelled it through the Sword of Healing – all of it, or so I had intended.

He shook his head. But someone interrupted the process; I assume it was Arzath. I was pulled away at the very last moment, my connection with the Sword severed prematurely.

He hesitated again. A… fragment of my soul remained inside the Sword. He placed a hand against his shining chest. What you see is here is all that remains of me.

Ferrian stared at him, incredulous and devastated. His voice broke when he spoke. You've… you've been trapped inside the Sword of Healing this whole time?

Requar nodded.

Araynia sank down onto a chair to one side, putting her face in her hands.

Stumbling over to the desk, Ferrian leaned against it and threw an arm over his eyes. He began to cry. He couldn't help it. He was falling apart and he couldn't put himself back together, any more.

Requar came over and sat on the edge of the desk. He put a shining arm around Ferrian and drew him into his shoulder. Come now, he said gently. Hush, both of you. Shhh. No tears for me, hmmm?

Taking Ferrian's chin in his hand, he lifted the young man's face. I would change nothing, he said, holding Ferrian's tear-streaked gaze. I would do it again, a thousand times over. You are my son, Ferrian, and I love you. I regret only that I neglected to tell you that.

Ferrian could not speak.

It is done now. It has happened, and I am not in any pain. He looked away, shaking his head. Not any longer. I… regret to say that I have not yet told you all of it.

They both stared at him.

His eyes closed. I had… a visitor.

Slowly, he got back to his feet. A young lady by the name of Carmine Vandaris.

Both Ferrian and Araynia came to their feet as well, in horror. Araynia put a hand to her mouth. Oh my god…

She was a demon-wraith, Requar went on. An extraordinarily powerful one. She very nearly corrupted the Sword.

He turned and walked over to the window again, then went on:

But part of her was stubborn, and clung to life. She was still Human. She locked herself away in her childhood, forgot her adult self. She was lost, with few memories left. She did not know who she was.

I managed to protect her until she was able to defeat the wraith herself. Do not fear – the Sword of Healing is cleansed now, it is safe to use. Carmine is healed and whole. She will likely not remember me, or anything that happened here.

He hesitated. However…

He fell silent for a long moment, staring out the window. She attacked me.

Araynia gasped. Ferrian stepped forward. No…

She discovered my weakness and destroyed me, mercilessly. Or at least, a part of me. A fundamental part. That half of me that feels pain, sadness, fear.

He closed his eyes. What I exist as now is the final flicker of a dying candle. I am the spirit of unshakable faith in myself, the spark that I discovered in this castle, the light responsible for curing trigonis. The wraith did not expect that. It could not consume everything that I was, and so it perished.

You cannot feel pain? Araynia whispered.

He gave her a smile. No. It is a relief, to be honest. You need not mourn me.

They fell into a hushed silence. Ferrian went over and leaned on the desk again, wiping the tears from his face. How… he found his voice again, finally. How is it that Lady Araynia can use the Sword of Healing? If you're dead, your magic should have died with you.

Requar folded his arms. Araynia came into possession of a pendant that I created many years ago. It was filled with empathetic magic. It was intended for you, Ferrian. The white light of his eyes shimmered.

When I fled Sunsee with you, I left everything behind, including several magical artefacts. He shook his head. I had completely forgotten about the stone. I had no idea what became of it, and was not aware of Lady Araynia's existence until I heard her cry for help.

Araynia looked at him. You led me to your castle.

Requar nodded. You must understand, I had not expected to ever hear a Human voice again. I had resigned myself to a bleak and lonely eternity inside the Sword of Healing. No one knew I was there, not even Arzath.

He looked at Araynia. When I heard your voice, I knew that something had happened that I had not expected. I attempted to communicate. You were the only person who might be made aware of my existence.

He shook his head. That was all I was hoping for. But when you touched the Sword, I realised that you were something much more wondrous: that you had actually inherited my magic. I could not let such an opportunity go to waste. The Sword of Healing is powerful; it can deliver much good to the world. If there was a possibility that someone else could wield it… I had to try. I had to encourage you to take it up.

And that was why I gave you the Sword.

Ferrian looked up at him. And what about you?

Requar regarded him. Ferrian. I know what you are thinking, and I—

Ferrian surged to his feet, striding towards him. You resurrected my Dragon from a scrap of her soul.

The two sorcerers stood bathed in the warm beam of sunlight. It passed right through Requar, almost making him invisible, but his figure could still be seen faintly, as a brighter sparkling outline. Their gazes locked for a long, profound moment.

That is not what I want, Requar replied finally. That is not why I gave Araynia my Sword.

Ferrian refused to look away.

I… know why he gave me the Sword, Araynia said softly, and they both turned to the noblewoman.

She lifted her eyes to meet Requar's glowing ones. He wants me to purge him from it, she continued. Not restore him to life. He was searching for someone to erase the lingering remnant of his essence.

Ferrian turned a glare on the dead sorcerer. And you weren't going to reveal yourself to me or Arzath, were you? he accused. You wanted to just… disappear without ever letting us know that you were here!

Requar's expression glimmered, unreadable. He said nothing.

Ferrian's grief swarmed inside him, mingled with anger. He was starting to understand how Arzath had lost his mind – Requar was insufferable.

Araynia took a deep breath. Ferrian, she implored, please. This is not the time to argue about such matters. There are more important things at stake.

Rising from her chair, she came forward. My Lord, she said, addressing Requar. I understand that the Sword of Healing is capable of curing trigonis, although I know it is difficult and dangerous. But… she hesitated. What of a silvertine wraith?

Ferrian whirled on the noblewoman incredulously. What? Araynia, no! I barely survived an encounter with one myself, there's no way that I'm going to let you—

Requar lifted an elegant hand, in a gesture for silence. His eyes were closed.

A silvertine wraith, he murmured, after a long moment had passed. I have never encountered such a thing.

Turning, he paced slowly away, circling the room, his long cloak and hair a shimmering misty waterfall drifting after him. He stopped, staring absently at the bookshelves, then at the floor. Then he continued pacing.

Silvertine and trigon are not natural substances, he commented, as though half to himself, as he walked. They were created by the Seraphim, by unfathomable Ancient magic. Both may affect the body and mind in extreme ways. It stands to reason that silvertine could be just as much a corrupting force as trigon, in the correct circumstances.

He paused, gazing at the ceiling, then went on: The Sword of Healing does not exist to transform a thing into something it is not. It will not grant strength beyond a person's original ability, or remove healthy emotions such as grief or fear. It is simply meant to heal what has been damaged, and to restore an equilibrium. If there is an abundance of positive energy that is not part of a person's natural balance, then… yes, I believe, theoretically, it could be used to heal a silvertine wraith.

Leaning upon the desk, he closed his eyes, putting a finger thoughtfully to his lips. Trigon may only be defeated by one with supreme self-confidence; a perfect lack of doubt, a rejection of all forms of negativity that may be used as weapons against them.

Silvertine, therefore, must be vanquished in an opposite manner: a total immersion in deepest despair, void of all hope; a resistance to happiness, a hatred of love. The wraith may only be defeated by one not caring enough to defeat it.

He opened his eyes, frowning. A further complication: the Sword itself is made of silvertine. The magic may work, should you become wretched enough to do so, but there is a high likelihood that the blade itself would be subsumed by the wraith, and utterly destroyed in the process.

He looked up at Araynia seriously. This person you wish to heal. Are they worth the loss of both the Sword of Healing and yourself?

Araynia had gone bloodless. She looked down at her hands, swallowing heavily. I don't even know him, she whispered.

I do, Ferrian said, and shook his head unhappily. This is NOT something that Hawk would want. It's not something anyone wants! It's too horrific.

His expression was bitter. I have no choice but to use my own damned Godsword and banish him. I'm the only person alive who can get close enough. My Sword can resist both trigon and silvertine, and…

His voice trailed off.

A wild thought had occurred to him.

Wait a minute. He spun back to Requar. What if Lady Araynia DOESN'T need to ruin herself? What if… someone, or something can protect her, while she uses the magic? Like a… a shield, or something?

Requar frowned uncertainly. I do not think such a thing is possible. Even if it were, the shield would have to be immense, and made of trigon. He shook his head. No such construction exists.

Ferrian and Araynia looked at each other.

A slow smile crept onto Ferrian's face as, for the first time in a long, long time, the tiniest ember of hope ignited within the darkness of his heart.

Yeah, he said, turning back to Requar, silver eyes fierce. Yeah, I think it does!