Sword and Sorcery, a Novel

17

Out on the surface of tortured Ilirian, Ashlord-as-Reston battled his way through an endless tangle of chaotic spawnlings. Rather than slowing with time, that torrent of dark things had increased to a mighty jet, rising high in the cloudy and reddened night sky. Composed of twined, shrieking monsters and demons, it split at its horribly fountaining top into separate entities. These rained down like burning-dark meteors to crater the shuddering earth; feeding on blood, life and innocence.

Holding aloft Reston's sword, the Silent One shone like a star. He sent wave after wave of blistering heat, poisonous fumes and smothering ash; struck repeatedly with branching lightning and rumbling earthquake.

The horse had gone nearly mad, by this point, kept alive and under control by Ashlord's grace, alone. Reston's body had been torn and punctured in so many places that it looked like a fractured vase pasted together with lightning. The Lord-Warden fought on, though; kept in motion by divine will and manna.

At last, having blasted and tunneled his way through a solid wall of writhing, interlocked dark-spawn, Ashlord-as-Reston reached the cracked Sky Stone. With a signed word, he pushed forth a bubble of godly power, nearly incinerating the tattered body he wore like a garment.

For a mile overhead and countless leagues on each side, his bubble of light was compressed by a fist of living and gibbering, tight-woven monsters. Only within, all was holy-silent and shimmering-bright; the fountain of darkness temporarily blocked.

Ashlord-as-Reston did not dismount. Nor did he abandon his mortal Sword-arm. Instead, he forced the terrified mare up and onto that split, fizzing altar. Calling upon Lady Flame, he summoned more power, then signed a brief phrase in High Empyrean ('Be made whole, return to what was'). Next, he focused his borrowed might on that festering, bubbling gap in the rock.

Divine light shone from Reston's nearly-severed right arm, out through the blade of his sword and into the wounded Sky Stone. Chaos fought back, using the Mother's power, and that of the slumbering Serpent to push up and out toward Ashlord. But he fought not alone. Karus the Forest Lord added his strength, as did She-of-the-Flowers, Frost Maiden, Hyrenn the Huntsman and all of the keening Tree-Shepherds.

It was a very near thing, even so. Came so very close to rousing the Serpent and gathering all the great gods into One, that prophecy was nearly fulfilled… but Alaryn Firelord was detained below, and Lord Ocean unwilling. The critical moment flickered and passed. No greater One arose to shatter chaos, end time or release Oberyn.

Instead, divine light and manna surged forth, driving the Mother and all of her remaining creatures far underground, burning away every trace of the dark ones, above. The altar was healed; pulled back together and welded whole, with only a silvery mithral vein to show where it had been breached by Whinn's cursed dagger.

Darklings exploded in puffs of foul ash, except for the dusty, spore-riddled forms of Slagerd and Whinn. Those, the embodied god took up and tucked away, as they would be needed soon. Reston and Dancer he calmed and healed. Would have done more, perhaps, but then She-of-the-Flowers turned to confront him.

The damage done to Ilirian was horribly mirrored in the goddess's shimmering flesh, leaving her torn, scorched and partly dismembered; her lustrous dark hair burnt nearly down to her bleeding scalp and tear-streaked face.

"Enough!" she commanded, holding a hand, palm-outward, to ban him. "Cease your rampage, Silent One, or battle me and all of us gathered here."

Frost Maiden swayed a bit, hollow-eyed and pale from the death of so many animals. She whisked up to stand beside She-of-the-Flowers, though, as did a ragged and staggering Karus. Ilyris the lake god manifested, as well; sterile of life after having been boiled, but able to fight. Hyrenn half drew his sword, whistling up the Wild Hunt to circle on snorting, cursed steeds, spectral hounds growling.

Ashlord bowed his grey head and signed: 'Peace. It is ended.'

Then, he dismounted, leaving Dancer to make her way over to Karus, who nuzzled her neck and flank. Frost Maiden discorporated briefly, reforming herself beside Dancer and Karus, seeking shelter and strength from their presence. There was not much left alive in Ilirian, now, and this goddess, too, was suffering.

Ashlord-as-Reston next leapt from the healed Sky Stone, air-walking over to She-of-the-Flowers. Taking the injured deity's hand, he bowed very low and signed:

'If you will it, Life-Bearer, I can help to bring healing and increase, once more."

She was bleeding divine ichor from many deep wounds, ravaged and scorched nearly beyond recognition; mauled and left desolate by all the destruction around them. Yet, after a moment of proud, angry silence, she agreed.

"It is fitting," she said. "Let us quicken the land once more, bringing hope where you have sown only fury and death."

The goddess sagged a bit, then, half-collapsing into Ashlord-as-Reston, who gently and carefully drew her close. The other gods busied themselves with this and that; looking away as that which was needful took place on the healed Sky Stone.

A first, faint blush of green began to appear, starting at the altar and Sacred Grove, then flowing outward to all of ruined and smoking Ilirian. Like ice forming at the surface of a lake, so life and new growth came to tortured ground and burnt stump. Lichens, mosses and ferns shot up, to begin with, but very soon grasses, as well. Land and goddess healed as one, though there was still battle, below.