The Tears of Kas̆dael

"What about the storm?" Jasper asked bluntly, pointing up at the cracked dome where the blacked tendrils had broken through. The gilded glass was hard to see through, but judging from the near-complete absence of light, the storm raged on. "You might be able to fight those off, but I doubt we'd have much success against them."

"The mimmûl cannot maintain its fury much longer. We can wait here in safety for the storm to quiet or, if you do not wish to wait, we can take the Other way."

"When you say it can't hold on much longer, how long exactly are you talking about?" Jasper asked cautiously, well aware that 'much longer' might mean something very different to a star than to a squishy mortal.

"A few moons, or a few turns of the sun at most," Dipāru replied serenely.

Does that mean years? He wasn't familiar with the turn of phrase, but either way, Jasper was fairly certain waiting was not an option. "We need the portal closed as soon as possible," he admitted. "What is this 'other' way you spoke of?"

"The path between the stars remains open, but it has dangers of its own."

"Worse than the mimmûl?"

"Perhaps," Dipāru rumbled, "but less likely to harm you. If you are determined to leave now, it is the only option."

"Anyone opposed?" Jasper asked, turning back to face the others. His eyes instinctively darted to Iha, but she was still unconscious; he was relieved, though, to see that the black streaks on her body were continuing to dissipate.

"Not like we have much choice, do we?" S̆ams̆ādur replied gruffly.

"No," he admitted bluntly, "I don't think we even have enough food to sustain us for more than a few weeks-"

"And General Ardûl's forces are counting on us to close the portal," Tsia reminded him. "If we don't do it soon, who knows how much damage will be done?"

He glanced at the last member of the party who hadn't spoken up, and the scout shrugged. "It's not like we'd actually be safe staying here. I don't know how long it took those shrine maidens to lose their mind, but I'd rather not join them in cuckoo-land."

"Then I guess it's settled," Jasper turned back to the star. "What do we need to do?"

"Close your eyes," the star commanded as the air around them began to tremble.

Jasper obeyed the instructions, but was a touch too slow. A brilliant beam of light exploded out of the star, turning the whole world white and blinding him in the process. He blinked rapidly, the dark spots dancing across as eyes, as the white began to fade and a bone-chilling cold reminiscent of the void stole over him.

But as his vision cleared, he suddenly realized that the 'path between the stars' was anything but figurative. They stood in the black void of space, suspended over nothing, nothing save an endless darkness in all directions, broken up only by the pinpricks of light from unfamiliar stars and a massive, burning torch standing directly beside Jasper.

"Holy crap!" Taken by surprise, Jasper jerked to the side and tripped over his own feet. He hit the ground (or, rather, the invisible force suspending them) with an oomph, and a small portion of his hand passed outside the radius of the torch's light.

He wasn't aware he was screaming until the torch fired a beam of light that encompassed his hand, thawing out the flash-frozen flesh and healing the damage.

"Careful," Dipāru hissed. "The cold shall not kill you as long as you remain in my light, but wander into the darkness and you will be lost."

"Sorry," he mumbled, as he accepted a hand up from S̆ams̆ādur. "I wasn't expecting you to be standing right beside me." Or to have changed shapes, he thought, but didn't say.

"There's no need to lie," the Torch scolded him, as if he had read Jasper's thoughts. "You were surprised by my appearance, but, as I told you, Lord Nur is dead. I am all that remains of him, not the Divine Warrior, or the Life-giving father, but the Torch that lights the way to the netherworld. Here amongst the stars that is all I am."

As it spoke, the torch began moving, and Jasper was forced into a brisk walk to stay in the radius of its light. "But you were a hypostatization of Lord Nur originally? How did you survive when he did not?" he prodded.

"My…" the Torch seemed to struggle with the next word before finally labeling him, "father was not prepared for the arrival of the mimmul. The dark gods of our world had long been vanquished, and his role as the Divine Warrior all but forgotten in the years of peace that had followed. He was weakened, taken by surprise before we knew a foe existed."

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"Those like myself were cut off as he fell to the darkness, severed from the unity we once were and yet possessed of enough divinity to survive on our own. We fought on for many years, striving to stem the tide of darkness that consumed our world, and as the others waned in power, I grew stronger."

"Stronger?" Jasper asked.

"Death, so much death," the torch replied simply, and Jasper remembered he had described himself as a chthonic guide. And as he finally understood the hypostatization's rule, the Torch's image changed again.

A giant of a man walked beside him, half of flesh and half of bone. A crescent sword hung at his hips, with an obsidian edge and a milky-white hilt that Jasper hoped was made of ivory, while he held a long, black staff in his other hand. He was a regal half-zombie, shockingly handsome despite the bare bones peeking through the withered flesh on his left side, though Jasper couldn't help but be concerned by the dark streaks discoloring his torso.

"But you'll be able to fight off the mimmûl now?" he asked cautiously.

"Aye," Dipāru grunted. "Without continued exposure, I shall be able to shed it on my own in a few years, though I could recover faster with aid, if your gods see fit to grant it. But-" The Torch came to an abrupt halt, a finger raised to his lips as something stirred in the darkness. "Be still," he muttered, his light dimming until it was barely stronger than the glow of a firefly.

They huddled against him, bodies shaking and teeth chattering as the cold stole over them, but none dared to complain as they saw the source of his warning.

The creature resembled a Mwyranni more than anything else, with the body of a giant and four blue arms that hung limply at its side, but its form was warped and twisted. Its skull was turned inside out, with its teeth and brain matter exposed to the open air, while its tongue was ripped free of its socket and dangling so low it brushed across the unseen ground. It shambled across their path, mumbling incessantly in a language he did not recognize, and yet each word struck him with the force of a physical blow.

They trembled at the god's feet, clinging tight to the faint embers of warmth he still gave off, until the creature had disappeared from view.

Jasper rose stiffly, casting a healing spell on himself and the others as he stared into the darkness after it.

"Twas once a guardian of the paths," Dipāru rumbled, as he fanned the flames of his torch and warmed them up. "Now, tis only waiting to be put out of its misery, as the world grows old. I had not thought we would run into one, but it is best to remain silent, lest he return."

His command was entirely unnecessary, as none were in the mood for talking as they resumed their walk.

What followed then felt more like a dream than waking reality. Jasper could not say how long they walked - days, months, years - nor could he describe aught of what they passed. They paused more than once as creatures like the first shambled past them, and ever the cold grew stronger. Their bodies turned blue, their movements grew stiff, but the light of Diparu's torch kept them just alive enough to keep moving, and so they did - walking and walking until they were barely better than the shamblers themselves. And then a door appeared before them.

"Ah, good, we have found the portal. I was beginning to fear we had gone the wrong direction," Diparu muttered as he bent over and brushed his skeletal hand against the runes embedded in it.

"You-you didn't know where we-we we're going?" Jasper forced out through chattering teeth.

"The paths between the stars are forgotten for good reason," Dipāru replied distractedly. "I would have preferred to wait myself, but since you insisted. Then again," he brushed the protest aside as he pressed his hand to one of the runes and began to pump his essence into it. "Who knows how long you could have lasted back there before you joined the ranks of my fallen maidens? Perhaps this is better in the end."

And on that cheery note, the god activated the doorway.

The wind and rain whipping around her were worse than even the fiercest of the summer storms that swept unchecked against Stryn's open plains, but Nissilat was hardly complaining as she hauled the last of the chimeras onto the altar and slit its veins. Blood and water pooled on its surface, a black sea that struck her fancy as a dark mirror of Oblivion, and she hoped the goddess would see it likewise.

She moved deliberately, adding the poison first, then the gems and scales as she chanted to Belet-Imtu. She wasn't sure if it would work; the ritual she was using hadn't been dedicated to the goddess, but as she felt the power of something more stir within her, she knew the Mistress of Poisons was listening.

Raising her knife high in the air, she added the final ingredient, and as her blood dripped down her wrist to mingle with the waters of oblivion below, the ritual took hold.

AS̆QÛ ARITŪKUNŪS̆I!

As her voice bellowed over the storm, the soldiers hurried to obey. Dropping to their knees, they sheltered beneath their shields and began to pray, and as their voices mingled together, the heavens took on a green hue.

Hope you're paying attention, Ardûl.

Nissilât dove for cover, dragging herself beneath the shoddy altar they'd prepared as the rain turned to poison. The chimeras were the first to succumb, thousands of bodies raining down on the huddled ranks as the poison seeped into their flesh and paralyzed them.

But the wyrm was a tougher nut to crack. The light show ceased as Ardul fled, leaving the wyrm to its own devices as the poison burned at its flesh. Its wings grew stiff, beating too slowly to hold it in the air, and it plummeted from the heavens.

The earth shook as it hit, a tidal wave of mud flung in all directions, but as Nissilat dared to peek her head out from beneath the altar, her heart sank.

Slowly, painfully, it rose from the muck, its black eyes gleaming with hate as it stared at the huddled army. She yanked her head back, cursing as she wiped away a drop of poison that had struck her face, and began to pray harder, but as the creature approached, the ground shaking with each step that it took, she feared she had failed once again. Did I all do this just to get another army killed?

And then, something entirely unexpected happened as the portal above the ruined castle exploded in a ball of flames.