Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

14

Battling visions of terror and death, Valerian edged his way along the shifting coils of a great, damaged sigil. Worked to repair the thing as he went. This got harder as the rune gained ever more freedom to move. Intersections, especially, as he had to forge the right path, up, down or sideways; sword blade to glowing line, collecting small, torn-off body parts on his way. Leaping, ducking those roiling magical lines and staying on course.

Didn't have room for revulsion or horror. Not while backward-chanting an evil summoning rite… but it hurt. What he saw. What she threw at him.

And, the gods-cursed sigil seemed never to end. Val's universe shrank to the words on that memorized scroll, seeming to burn as he read them. To Frostbite's tip, blazing and screeching through blots of smeared gore.

The goblins had fastened five points with the sacrificed little one's torso and limbs, forming a five-sided hole in the spell-web. They'd left the boy's head at dead center, floating face down in a vortex of swirling, spilled blood. Val had to reach all of the gate-points. Had to concentrate, no matter the visions, the words…

"You were never meant to succeed at this, Sweet Child. He means you to die here, sparking the rise of chaos. You are bait to him, nothing more."

Pushed it aside and kept going, because he had no other choice. Bit by bit, first one torn arm, then the other. This ragged leg and that one. Finally, a poor, curled up body and staring-eyed head. Val gathered them all, putting the parts away in a shimmering cloud of life-force and blood that trailed him like a puppy.

Time passed. The Mother kept talking, showing him bits of his friends' final moments. At last, Valerian found himself weary and tottering, his voice just a whispery rasp, at the sigil's vibrating center. Surrounded on all sides by a rune cage of shifting magical lines, he was shaken and drained like… like Pretty One's water pouch. But… she was dead now, wasn't she? Like he expected to die. Gutted, burned, dismembered, drowned… Dead, like everyone else. Doused like the sun and all life.

Unless, whispered something (his grandfather's spirit or Firelord, maybe) he could finish this unsought-relations, cursed-to-the-nether-realms rite. Ended the chant, un-saying "Enter, Arise", and almost fell down.

That five-sided gateway disappeared with a ringing flash, but not the Mother, part of whom he could sense coiled outside like a serpent; first daughter and herald of chaos.

Right.

He wanted a drink, and not the family honey-wine, either. Something with fangs, hair and actual kick. Sorted through his faerie pockets while catching his breath. Found only the sea-folk drinking horn, which… he had apparently earned. The hollowed tooth of some massive beast, it was brimful of glowing blue liquid, and carved all over with fishes.

No one could possibly drain the thing. That wasn't the point. The point was to drink as much as you could, leaving a fresh "low tide" mark for others to grasp after. That the horn had appeared here and now seemed important; as though Father Ocean himself had seen fit to step in.

Valerian rubbed at the back of his neck with one hand, trying to ease pent up tension. He'd begun the drinking challenge what felt like a lifetime ago, back at the Open Casket with Naldo, Marlie and Sherlon. Seemed right to finish things out, the elf-lord supposed.

"May my effort honor you, Greath Lord of the Depths," he said, taking hold of the horn by its twin golden rings. Next, Val inhaled deeply and started to drink.

There was everything in it: the first beginnings of life; volcanic heat and cold, crushing depths; lost, flooded cities and toppled statues of vanished gods; schools of bright fish and slow-piling coral; treasure and knowledge and bones. Tasted like time. Never cloyed, never sated, for the ocean links everything, connecting all peoples and realms. Never ending, never still.

And, yes, Valerian drank it down farther than the last challenger; setting a new, lower tide mark. Pride wouldn't let him do anything else. Then the horn vanished and… just like that… he had the challenge reward. A wish-globe that he instantly shoved into his deepest faerie pocket, accessible only to someone worthy, after his death. (Well out of her corrupting influence, for certain. He'd read all the epics. Knew the havoc that a wish gone wrong could create.)

On the bright side, his voice had healed.

"Marlon owes me money," was the first thing Val said, followed by, "Past time to finish this business, whatever its end."

Very carefully, very gently, Valerian drew forth and arranged those bloodied small limbs, head and body. Next, fetching forth one of the scrolls of life and a flask of forgetting, he read off a short chant. Poured out the flask's glowing contents just as that small boy came back together. As the glittering cloud of life-force reentered his twitching, healed body.

The child was naked, so Val wrapped him up against terror and cold with… not what… not the shirt he'd been looking for… couldn't recall… Found a different one, put that on the weeping boy like a gown, then sat down tailor-fashion to just let him cry.

"All is well now, Elrin," he said. 'Elrin' wasn't an actual name. Just parts of 'youngest' and 'dear one,' melded together. But, that's what his parents called him, so that's what Val used. "Your mother and father miss you very much. Would you like to go home now?"

The boy rubbed his dark eyes, gulped and nodded. So young a child wouldn't understand very much, thought Valerian, but it felt important to try. Outside of their whipping and glittering rune cage, the Mother's cut-off remainder raged and howled like a storm. Not the whole monstrous goddess, but trouble enough and probably death… for later.

Now, Valerian handed the baby a battered toy owl-bear, and then placed on his small, chubby wrist a certain cheap joke bracelet, bought from Serrio's fair a lifetime ago. Paused, before tapping it, though. Sought Galadin's boon once again, saying,

"I do not know how much magic remains, nor in which direction the trick will work, this time. Wrong way, I think. But, Granddad, if the remains of your boon are enough, I would align it to send this little one to safety with Mirielle. So may it be, Milord."

The sniffling child scowled. Nudged him, whining,

"Hungry!"

Valerian gave him a sliver of apple. Very small, to prevent choking. Then he tapped the bracelet and said, "Together," one last time.