Semester of the Wolves-Editing Progress

I've finished the first phase of editing. Everything I want to change/improve so far is colorfully marked up. Now comes (I imagine) the first rewrite. I'm very excited. I haven't really got this far in editing solo.

I'll continue to keep readers updated on the progress of this project.

I promise there will be more actual writing soon, probably in the next few posts.

The Writing Life-A Large Update in Which No Story is Posted, but Much is Told

I wanted to take some time to update any readers on how my work has been going, talk briefly about the shape of my writing experience and explain the circumstances that have prevented me from posting for a whole year (plus a few days).

First of all, I'm currently in full editing mode. I've pulled out Semester of the Wolves, a novella I wrote in seventh grade, and am in the process of giving it a major overhaul. In my initial editing, I've come up with a system where various colors code for various types of changes to make, and I use my word processor to highlight passages with these different colors. Red is for basic mistakes or issues with word flow. Blue is for weak dialogue or passages that need a stylistic shift. Purple is for big plot issues and character inconsistencies, and green is for passages I like.

I think this system works well because we're so used to seeing editing as a case of looking for the negatives in a story, as is evidenced by the rampant use of red pens in our literary society. I'm in favor of a revolt against this, and I've chosen to use different colors for two reasons:
1. It allows me to be more specific with my editing, and target a plethora of different issues
2. It literally adds a splash of color to the editing process, and seeing my manuscript slowly pick up patches of rainbow makes me feel more like an artist, and less like a critic.

Anyhow, once that's done, I'll proceed to remove the colored in sections with writing that fits the changes I want to make. Then, if necessary, I'll do a rewrite from the result. Self editing is hard, but I think I'm getting better at it.

The next thing I want to touch on in this blog post is a little autobiographical detail about my life as a writer so far. It's admittedly short (I'm only just on my way to college this year), but it's been exciting, and I look forward to developing a career.

I think the first time I discovered my love of writing was in fourth grade. My teacher did a whole English unit on poetry. Say what you will about public schools, there was magic happening in that class. We did get to read famous poems, but it was a unit primarily centered on writing our own poems on a given topic or in a certain style. It was then that poetry became a newly fascinating language to me. I learned that poems didn't have to rhyme (what? You mean I can just write cool phrases on a page and that's a poem? No 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' silliness?), that they could express emotions both simple and complex and that they could be a lot of fun to write. Even the form poems were enjoyable to me, as they gave me a chance to work creatively within a limit (though I write a lot of free verse, I have always found formats and forms in poetry to be inspirational frameworks, rather than constrictions).

From time to time, we would also get various writing prompts to do short stories. Some were from my teacher. Some were from the school district (I realize that they were probably writing samples for school evaluation). Either way, I seized the opportunity to write about whatever I thought was fun within the confines of the prompt (see the above statement on poetry forms). I even had fun writing a story for a writing section of a standardized test (the CSAP, for anyone curious).

By the time I got to sixth grade, I decided to do NaNoWriMo. For those who don't know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, and it's an event that takes place in the month of November where the goal is to write a novel/novella in a month, with a certain word count. I lowered my goal from the standard 50,000 words to a more modest 10,000, but I did it. My first novella, Way of the Shadows, was finished on November 30th. Reading it again, it's not one I plan to salvage any time soon for publication, but the joy in writing it was worth everything.

I've continued to do NaNoWriMo since then. A few years ago, a mentor and very close friend of mine showed me his stream-of-consciousness free verse poetry. I realized the fiendishly clever use of poetry as the ultimate private diary. Obscure anything in thick enough metaphor, and readers can pick up on the emotional strength, but the events and mental states the work inspires will be known only to the poet. I continued to write poems for aesthetic reasons, but whenever I need to vent, I'll still just ramble in free verse. A lot less angsty than mood journalling (though I've taken up journalling for creative purposes as well).

Probably the third formative event in my writing life was attending the Juniper Institute for Young Writers, which is an amazing week-long creative writing workshop at the University of Massachusetts. I got in the first time by virtue of being the only student interested in writing at my very small high school, then was invited back the next year by the Institute. Juniper was amazing. I learned a good deal of technique, to be sure, but even more significant was the amount of confidence in my own process I gained. Here was a group of people who went through the same creative struggles as I did. These were people my age who were equally unsatisfied with the everyday world's grind and tired mode of expression. Each one brought their own unique voice, which really infused flavor into everything we did as a group. Working day to day, I don't get a chance to talk with many other writers, and so the whole process takes on a sort of lonely artist hue. Juniper was probably one of the best things that happened to my creative confidence and diligence.

Now, I'm going to briefly talk about what's happened this year and where I'm hoping to go next.

In the past year and a half, I've tried to publish Heretic, my fantasy novella. Of the various indie and large-scale publishers I sent it out to, all of them rejected it. There was no response, except from one press that was kind enough to send a courteous email telling me they didn't publish genre fiction (which is a pretentious categorization in my opinion, but that's another blog post). I may send it out again, but I'll probably just wait and try with my next major work. I'm not too worried. I've been told to expect this sort of thing for awhile, and I've still got plenty of time and plenty of ideas.

Senior year of high school happened, and various other stories and poems have slowly progressed. I wrote my NaNoWriMo piece, a story involving a secret society of dead authors (may post here, not likely to publish officially). I'm headed off to Knox College in the fall, hoping to major in creative writing.

I admire people who stick to their dreams, even if they seem impractical or unprofitable to the rest of the world. I want to be one of those people. I'll get a day job if I have to (writers have to eat, after all) but I'm not going to be someone who gets a career that's "safe" and is well paid, but unsatisfied. All in all, I don't care about being famous. I don't care if my work is remembered for hundreds of years. All I want to do is to make a living doing what I love. And I'm prepared to work as hard as I need to to achieve that dream.

I admire also, people who are still willing to read books and tell stories. Here's to everyone who is willing to believe in fantastic tales, who understands what life, true living is all about.
To writers, readers, dreamers and everyone with a spark in their eye and a spring in their step even when keeping those things means pain and even a few scars, I say,

"Let's rock this world!"

Updates (Yes, I'm still here!)

Hi all! It's been quite awhile, but I'm definitely still here and still writing. That said, I have recently been debating how much writing material to put up here. Don't worry, I intend to keep posting pieces (that's what this blog is for), but you may expect to see fewer manuscripts and more short pieces/worldbuilding. We'll see. My posting is somewhat limited currently, because I am knee deep in a large manuscript.

Blessings.

Heretic Rough Draft

Hi all!

Sorry the blog's been a bit low in posts, but here's the rough draft of Heretic in all its glory. I should stress that this is not entirely the rough draft, because my editor/mentor and I have edited it as we go. It lacks the addition of the final stage of fleshing out, which is still in progress. Still, enjoy the story.

Heretic

Chapter 1-The Message is Delivered
Atarel flew as fast as he could. He knew that this message was perhaps more important than any he had ever delivered. So much depended, he was told, on it reaching the gods in time. At last he reached the divine realm of Zalo. Snow white lilies bloomed from the surface of Zalo's vast lake, but Atarel's errand prevented him from taking them in as he flew across the water to the Tower of Divine Wisdom. He pounded frantically on the ivory gate to the glittering silver council tower.
"Who requests passage?" a voice said sternly from within.
"Atarel, of the Illuminai! I bring an important message!"
"Enter."
He landed and shuffled in quickly, climbing a tall staircase until he reached the council hall of the gods. It was a vast chamber, upheld by exquisite gold and silver pillars. Two bronze obelisks flanked the entrance, topped with torches that blazed with violet flame. The thrones of the gods dominated the room, each one carved out of a single giant jewel. No two were alike. One was carved of sapphire, another of pearl, still another of bright coral. There were, however, only a few deities present. They sat in conversation, lightly discussing recent affairs.
"I bear dark news."
"What is it? Speak up!" said Aarus, highest among the council.
"War is imminent. The trolls have engaged the services of powerful wizards. Our reports from the Celestials say that these wizards plan to help the Trolls unleash the Blight!"
"The Blight! Then the trolls are fools! For what purpose could they want to do such a thing?" Kelahim, another god, wondered. "Huria. Time is your keeping. You know the future far better than all of us. What do you see? How will this war unfold?"
"I have seen all," answered the goddess, Huria, "After long years, the truth of our kind has been clouded. The mortals believe that we call them on a quest to destroy each other in the name of divine truth. It shall begin with the trolls. They have been for many years the most zealous in their obedience to divinity. Others will join the war out of fear. They will seek to save Fimbeljun, yet in doing so, old grievances will be renewed between them. Brother shall turn against brother and old friends will become bitter foes. In the final hour, a hero must use the unexpected weapon to win the day, or Fimbeljun shall perish in fire and endless night. Thus have I seen."
"But who could have told them these lies? Wait. Marok!" Kelahim seethed.
"Impossible. The deathly prison of Shiraksa has never before been escaped," Aarus said calmly.
"We should take no chances," replied Sufar, the lord of Benesoth. "What role will Marok play in this war, o goddess of time?"
"Alas, I cannot see this. Marok is of our own essence. He exists outside of time, as we do. As such, he is outside my realm of knowledge."
"Thank you, Huria. We greatly appreciate your counsel. Sufar and I shall travel to Shiraksa and ensure that Marok remains in the Pit of Punishment, where he belongs. If this war can be prevented before it begins, creation will be far better for it," Aarus said.

****
Chapter 2-The Rallying of Warriors

The speaking platform was prepared. Several attendants in white robes covered the granite stage with a yellow and red embroidered cloth, a symbol of war. The troll orator readied himself. He knew this speech would cause controversy. No one had openly defied the Temple of Civarka before.
After all, there were few who really felt they had cause to. The temple was a peace treaty of sorts, a peace treaty in stone and precious metals, in incense and altars. Its structure was that of a tridecagon, to represent the thirteen major gods.
The priests dedicated a 50 foot tall sacred statue to each of the gods. While there were a few minor cults and devotees of the rogue gods who were overlooked, all in all, the temple was a model of ecumenicity. With this freedom to worship, however, came the Law of Religious Neutrality, which prevented anyone from claiming their gods' superiority or absolute correctness. It gave each god or goddess of the people equal standing in the eyes of Fimbeljun, so that no deity would overshadow the others. Some people undoubtedly objected to this, complaining of weakness or indecision on the part of the priests, but most were simply content with the freedom they had been granted.
Even so, the occasional rabble rouser sometimes caused problems. The self proclaimed prophet Anarka had tried to defile the temple around 50 years ago. His cult attempted to kidnap the high priests and tear down the sacred images. He had planned to replace them with images of himself. When Anarka and his acolytes reached the temple, Anarka himself was smote by divine fire from an unknown deity and his allies were brutally beaten by the high priests.
Today the promise of reward from the troll's master spurred him on to risk the wrath of Civarka's temple. He stepped up, to a waiting crowd of his own race.
"Comrades! I, Nethka, stand before you today to prepare us for the revolution that will change the future of Civarka, and perhaps all of Fimbeljun itself! Forever. For long years, the bureaucracy of the central temple has forced us into a stale state of neutrality. All gods are welcomed, but none can claim the right of truth.
Are we to simply allow our faith to be stepped on?"
There was a slow, yet building and definite murmur of discontent.
"Do the legends not say that Kelahim, lord of knowledge, our teacher of old, suffers in the ignorance of apathy? And the dissemination of lies?
"We must prevail! And we cannot show mercy. Though mercy is a noble quality, our enemies are everywhere. Possibly even among us. Certainly permeating all other races of Civarka. We need not worry about Primori. Primori is only home to the dying races, the last fading remnants of Fimbeljun's ancient days. Their time is past. After Civarka belongs to our pantheon and us, we shall take the Feygruth as well, and then perhaps those higher and more subtle realms, until only the gods shall be greater in power than we!"
There were a few cheers from the more boisterous members of the crowd. Nethka waited for the audience to calm itself.
"There is but one weapon, regrettably, powerful enough to complete this magnificent conquest. Our most powerful seers and wonder workers seek to use it. We must tame....the Blight."
Here, Nethka realized, was the tricky part. No matter which of the 12 Legend Scrolls you looked at, the Blight were always made out to be evil and powerful, to be kept in the hell of Chulumnos at all costs. How to get the people behind such a plan was a difficult question indeed. Composing himself, Nethka suddenly had a spark of inspiration.
"I realize this sounds risky. Yet if the gods are greater than the Blight, as we know they are, what have we to fear? Our magicians are strong. And Kelahim stands behind us. Who, then, could stand against us?"
The crowd began to grow excited.
"Now. Who among you shall follow, unto our destiny? If there are any reluctant to bring truth to Civarka, may he flee now, before he is....left behind...in the march of progress!"
More cheers. A few left the area, but the majority remained, to Nethka's delight.
As he stepped off the platform, Nethka felt a prickle of immortal presence. The air, it seemed to him, was heavy with rarefied essence. Whether that was a sign of divine favor or divine disapproval, Nethka could not tell. He hoped it was the former.

****
Chapter 3-An Unexpected Appearance
Aarus and Sufar rode through the Ethereal Crossroads on a chariot of diamond and sapphire. They reached the wrought iron and obsidian gates of Shiraksa.
"We have come on important business. Tell us, Hasuri, is Marok the Archdevil still contained within these doors?" Aarus asked.
"I do not know, Lord Aarus. I presume he is, for who could escape the bindings of a god? I have not seen him of course, for the Pit of Punishment is deep and dark, and no angel would tread there willingly, but what cause would there be for doubt? The spells you have placed upon the Pit are strong and deep magic."
"Nevertheless, we have reason to believe he may have found a way to escape such spells. Open the gate! And hurry," Aarus said.
"As you wish, my lords. Yet I fear for the safety of Fimbeljun if your prediction is true."
"Nothing is certain yet. Fear not, for we shall take great care," Sufar said.
The Hasuri narrowed his eyes and looked ponderous.
"Very well, Lord of the Heaven of Benesoth. The gate is open. Blessings go with you."
The obsidian doors opened. As the divine chariot rode through Shiraksa, a dark green storm cloud began to form. It rolled and boiled, flinging drops of acid at the chariot that smoked when they landed. Dark, twisting lightning flashed, and deafening peals of deep thunder echoed across the desolate landscape.
"I don't know, Sufar. Do you think the Hasuri is correct? Marok is powerful, but we placed our strongest spells and bindings, the strongest spells and bingings upon the Pit of Punishment. Surely not even an Archdevil could defy our magic? Perhaps our time would be better spent trying to stop this mortal war before it starts," said Aarus.
"I can't imagine that a war this great could be brewing without Marok having a hand in it somewhere. We can't afford not to consider all possibilities. I would also venture to add that since we are gods, we are perhaps more prone to arrogance than others with less power than we. Thus, we must be extra careful to ensure that our pride does not prevent us from seeing what is right in front of our eyes."
"That is indeed true. You offer great wisdom, Sufar. Incidentally, is Rissia prepared to go about and do his work, if our spells have indeed failed?"
"His…work?"
"Yes. He is, as you know, one of the few among us who has the power to fight Marok. Perish the thought, but if Marok has indeed escaped, Rissia should be dispatched to find him immediately."
"He would, of course, be willing. But why are you asking me?"
"Because Rissia only takes orders from you directly."
"Ah. Yes, of course."
Jets of flame soared up in front of the horses, tall enough to scorch any unprotected being. Slowly, as the rocky, twisting road went on, the flame ceased and the temperature began to drop to an icy, bitter chill. The cliffs above the two deities began to slowly gather a layer of frost. Dripping acid slowly formed sickly green-yellow icicles. Some of the stone from a cliff directly above the chariot cracked from the sudden expansion and began to fall. Aarus vaporized it with a searing blast of white light.
"This is the worst part. Himmelia is always warm, why does it have to get freezing in here?" Aarus complained.
Sufar said nothing, but created a small aura of warmth around the chariot. Aarus, suddenly noticing, nodded approvingly.
At last, they reached the Pit of Punishment. Sufar looked down into the lightning scarred abyss, the deep blackness that could consume the very soul of anything less than god or devil. He shivered.
"Sufar, do you know the summons?"
Sufar nodded with a slightly nervous glance.
"Marok! Most abhorred of foes, destroyer of realms, ye are commanded to arrive here, by Sufar Lord of the Heaven of Benesoth, remain at our bidding and then return to your place of punishment from whence you came!"
The Pit bubbled and flashed. A blinding red flare erupted from its recesses. A scaled devil with black skin and acid green feathers began to float up. His eyes were of the most frightening blue, a blue of bitterly cold nights, of cruel and wind-whipped mountain skies. A blue of unending ocean floods.
"For what purpose do two very important gods come down to trouble a poor, tortured soul?"
"None of your rubbish, Marok! We did not come to hear you beg for our pity. We only wish to ensure you are still where we put you, seven thousand years before this day. "
"Here? Hah! What is here? Beyond the limits of space, here is there is everywhere. You are foolish not to realize that. So, to answer your question, I am here, yet....am I really?" He laughed a chilling cackle, like the crunching of bones. Then he suddenly disappeared in a flash of lightning, and a minor porcine demon appeared in his place, looking rather sheepish.
Aarus and Sufar were dumbstruck.
"Smite me not, for my will was not my own, terrible gods!" the creature croaked.
"Be silent, and allow the gods to ponder, small fiend. You are not the cause of our problem presently," Aarus said in a firm tone. He looked at Sufar.
"Your misgivings were correct. It seems our spells were insufficient. Yet, how is this possible?"
Aarus looked at the magical markings that surrounded the Pit, symbols and markings in the most arcane and secret tongues that had been written in the ancient ages.
"Not one marking is out of place. We made no mistakes. What power does he possess to break our magical might?"
"I admit I am as uncertain as you are. The other gods must be notified immediately," Sufar said.
"Of course. Time slips away from us. Let's move!" Aarus agreed, turning to go.
Sufar paused a moment, then he raised his hand and directed a magical beam of light at the ground. The earth that was touched by the ray shimmered and sparkled. A small patch of soil cracked and moistened. A white rose grew in front of the little demon, its petals glittering with a soft light.
"I thank you for this small piece of beauty, you who are terrible and mighty!" the creature said, clearly happier.
"Though your kin and mine are as far as the earth is from the stars, I give freely, that a little light may shine in dark places. I accept your thanks. Go in peace," Sufar said quietly. He then turned to follow Aarus.

****
Chapter 4-the Gathering of Sorcerers

Nethka's horse rushed across the dunes of Civarka. Time, he knew, was of the essence. His master would not wait. Looking up, he could see the trees of Brigalan Forest, his destination, near the top of the hills. Squinting into the thick growth of trees, he saw a red banner with the symbol of the Trolls, a compass with an eye in the center, painted in black. He smiled. Good. His allies were prepared. He took a deep breath, the air warming his lungs. Around an hour later, he reached Brigalan. The autumn leaves made a browning carpet on the forest floor. Dismounting, he whistled a two tone note, the signal for his allies to assemble.
Nethka looked proudly upon the ranks of sorcerers and warriors he had called to the aid of his cause. Many they were, chosen from among the greatest academies of the Trolls. Only the most skilled in the arts of magic and fighting were now before Nethka, awaiting his command. The thought of it made him feel rather powerful. He began to explain to them their task.
"I thank you all for answering my summons. You should be proud to be among this company, for you shall be remembered throughout the history of Civarka. Indeed, your fame will extend through all of Fimbeljun! For today, you are to cast the spell that will free the Blight from their prisons. Here are your instructions: create a glyph of unlocking and connect it to Chulumnos. Work swiftly, as we can't afford to waste time. Already, the other races may be seeking to stop our conquest, Kelahim's conquest. Warriors, your duty will be to protect against any such invaders. We must not let them succeed. Work swiftly, and do not fail. I shall return in a few hours' time, when I have completed other affairs I must attend to to secure our victory. Good luck."
The foremost sorcerer nodded and motioned for the others to begin. The warriors took up their posts, hidden within the forest that surrounded the plain where the spell was to be cast. Nethka smiled, gave a quick bow, and walked off into the distance.

****
Chapter 5-The Spell Is Cast
The foremost sorcerer began the chant. It started low, almost in the inaudible range of notes. Others joined when it was their time. So began the spell, the terrible and ancient words that would unleash the power and wrath of the Blight. An acolyte opened a bag of infernal sand, harvested from the hell of Krastus. He tipped the bag over, letting the crystalline black grains fall in a trail behind him as he traced the pattern of unlocking, an open circular gate.
The chant continued. It rose in tone to a mid-range note. The sorcerers began to bang their staffs into the earth, symbolizing the breaking of bonds. The circle began to glow red and heat up, growing brighter and becoming tinged with grey smoke that rose from the earth. Dark whispers and hums began to emanate from the glyph's center. The lead sorcerer smiled in satisfaction. The time was approaching. The Blight would soon be coming.
****
Chapter 6-The Council Meets
Aturn of the Stonefolk raised a hand for silence. The assembled councilors sat.
"I have called this council for us as a last attempt to save Fimbeljun. In a few days, the trolls plan to unleash the dark denizens of Chulumnos collectively known to us as the Blight."
"What proof have you of this?" hissed one of the Arukai.
"They have prepared an unlocking glyph. I have seen the glow from the mountaintops. I know all the races of Civarka and the Feygruth have had our differences, but if the world is to survive, the gates of Chulumnos cannot be opened."
"What possessed the trolls to such madness?" wondered Silthian, a fire sprite.
"We can only guess," Aturn replied. "But now is not the time for questioning. We must stop them."
"But how? There hasn't been a full scale, cross planar war since the gods themselves walked the earth!" Silthian pointed out.
"Indeed, and we want that cross planar war to remain the only cross planar war. I propose we strike first. The trolls cannot open Chulumnos if they are dead!" said the Arukai.
"Hear, hear! Let us destroy the trolls, and win the day!" said one of the Stonefolk.
"No! We must resolve this peacefully. Force will only make things worse," said Kosaithan the Mist King, leader of the Fea race.
"I agree. Bloodshed must be prevented at all costs," said Aturn.
The council erupted into arguing.
"Brethren, please! Let us not divide ourselves from each other when future events threaten to do so for us. It appears we have few other solutions that are agreeable to all except to defend Fimbeljun in whatever ways necessary. Gather a small fighting force. We will march upon the glyph. If possible, we must try to negotiate. But take no chances. We shall be prepared. Go, and be ready," Aturn said, adjourning the council.
"Who are you, that you have the authority to command us, Aturn?" asked a councillor.
"Because if we don't act now, doom will befall us. There is no question of that. Or have you not read the 12 Scrolls, and their ancient legends of the Blight? The weakest among the Blight have the power to boil and dry up the very blood in mortal veins! And you would be extremely fortunate to meet only the weakest of them. There are some that can burn one's skin away like acid, or crack their enemy's bones without even touching them. The mightier ones can unravel your essence, sinew by sinew. They can raze kingdoms to dust with a mere glance. It is said that during their ancient war with the gods, they stole the stars from the sky and used their fire against their foes. The gods alone have been able to defeat them, and even they have merely sealed them in Chulumnos. So if you wish to keep your kingdoms, or even your lives, I suggest we get moving."
There was a long, fearful silence. All was still. Then all the gathered councillors slowly shuffled out of the circle, wearing grim expressions on their faces. There was no further argument.

****
Chapter 7-A Questionable Allegiance

Nethka crept down the long, slimy staircase. Spiraling around and around, he at last reached the deepest part of the archives. Here was contained the knowledge of ancient things. Knowledge that had faded from memory. Knowledge that was either unknown or willfully forgotten. Here he was to meet his benefactor face to face. He waited.
For a long while, there was an oppressive, almost roaring silence. Then, just as he was about to leave, a chilling voice said,
"You have done well."
He jumped.
"Thank you...sir. I suppose that it really was…"
"Enough blathering. We have...work to do," said a voice that made Nethka's innards twist.
"What....if I may be so bold as to ask.....will I be given?"
"Insolent fool! You are lucky I haven't killed you yet. Still, I am a generous master....and so.....what is your desire?"
Nethka had thought long and carefully on this. He knew what his deepest wish was.
"I wish....to rule Civarka."
"Not impossible. But time will tell. For now, I have a mission for you. There is a mortal council made up of warriors and sages who wish to stop the unleashing of Kelahim's weapon upon the world. They must be eliminated. For this, you shall receive 3,000 Rishic Diamonds."
Rishic Diamonds! A single Rishic Diamond, mined from the mystic energy plane of Rish, would fetch a fortune on the market. However, it could also give magical powers to the entirely unmagical being, and for this did Nethka desire them more. Still, he knew the excess could secure him very comfortably.
"Of course, master! Truly, you are kind and generous! I thank you for this gift, and I assure you I shall prove worthy of…"
"Silence! I tire of your groveling! Go!"
Nethka bowed quickly and ran.

****
Chapter 8-Uneasy Negotiations

Silthian motioned for his fellow sprites to move towards the clearing
"That's the glyph. Move!"
They marched forward, reaching the circle of arcane energy at the same time as their comrades. Aturn drew his warhammer.
"Halt, in the name of Riksaf, the divine artist!" Aturn called.
"Hathrisian al slepnar!" exclaimed Silthian, in a war cry taken from an ancient poem.
The Alliance surrounded the phalanx of Troll sorcerers, weapons and spells readied. Silence reigned for several long moments. It was finally broken when a troll leader emerged from a few feet outside the gathering. He looked impressive, but Silthian could tell with the extranormal senses of the Feygruth that the troll was merely trying to look brave.
"Who dares to interrupt the sacred ceremony of Kelahim?" the troll bellowed.
Silthian rolled his eyes.
"It has come to our attention that you are attempting to open the gate of Chulumnos itself! This is no mere ceremony. Still, though the danger of the Blight may be nigh, we do not wish for there to be bloodshed. Let us discuss this. Deactivate the glyph, and we shall parley," Aturn said firmly.
"Nethka the troll lord does not take kindly to commands from any challenger! Yet I will hear what you have to say," the troll said. He snapped his fingers, and the sorcerers scattered a small section of the sand markings on the ground, temporary nullifying the spell.
Silthian stepped aside to allow the Kosaithan Mist King, his commander, into the gathering.
Aturn and Silthian slowly made their way towards the trolls, sheathing their weapons.
Silthian seated himself near his own kin. He whispered to the Mist King,
"I do not trust the trolls. They have no love of our kind, the races of the Feygruth. Perhaps we should simply capture them."
The Mist King replied,
"Do not attempt to attack, Silthian, unless negotiations go sour. That is an order. Relay it to your troops. The Feygruth, Civarka and perhaps all of Fimbeljun itself hangs in the balance. If this discussion succeeds, a crisis may be averted and peace can continue to reign. If this discussion fails, we can only hope that the gods will grant us speed and strength to stop these magicians before they open Chulumnos."
"But sir, if we…"
"An order, Silthian! We cannot lose our composure now."
Silthian drew his dagger. The Mist King stretched out a tendril of vapor and forced it back into its sheath.
"You play with dangerous fire. Indeed, you are made of it. I said do not attack."
Silthian sighed.
"Very well, my liege."
****
Chapter 9-the War Begins
Nethka was shivering, though he tried as hard as he could to seem powerful. He could tell, however, that the fire sprite was having none of his act.
The leader of the Stonefolk, Aturn, began to speak.
"The Blight are deadly, and they will not suffer to be commanded by any mortal. We will all be in grave peril if Chulumnos is unlocked. Therefore, Nethka of the trolls, we beseech you, will you deactivate this unlocking glyph?"
"You underestimate our power! We do not fear the Blight. Kelahim shall protect us, and grant us dominion over these, that we may spread his way far and wide!" Nethka replied.
The Mist King stepped forward to speak.
"I will not presume to speak for the gods. We of the Feygruth do not claim to know of gods. We do not worship them. They keep their own counsel, and their ways are mysterious and unfathomable to all but themselves. Yet you do not know what power you are unleashing.
"The Blight do not die by any mortal sword or axe. They do not cower before any mortal whip. You cannot bargain with them, nor make deals with them. They will not keep their word. They will kill everything within sight. They are agents of destruction. It is their way.
"The cities and kingdoms of Civarka will likely fall first, their buildings crumbling to dust and their people turned to ash. Then all life in Civarka will be snuffed out, their souls rent in two and their bodies scattered to the four winds.
"Then the planes will begin to unravel. Each realm of existence will come undone, and be written out of time itself. The Outer Realm of the divine and demonic beings will probably last the longest, but it too will eventually be destroyed. The gods may survive, who knows? But they will be unable to help you. "And don't think you will escape this misery in death. They will keep you alive to see it all come to pass. And they will repay you for releasing them by killing you last, slowly and with every painful torture they can muster. That is the way of the Blight," The Mist King said, fixing a grim expression on Nethka.
Nethka, having heard now about how terrible the Blight truly were, began to feel ill.
Suddenly, Nethka heard a familiar voice in his mind.
"I told you to eliminate these unworthy creatures, not to let your dignity suffer by parleying with them."
"What? Who's there?" Nethka thought.
"Who do you think, imbecile? It is I, your master. You must carry out your mission!"
"How am I speaking with you, at such a great distance?"
"I have powers beyond common wizardry. But that is unimportant. Give the order to attack!"
"But master, are the Blight really as terrible as the legends say?"
"Of course not! All who tell horrific tales of them only wish to keep others from accessing their magnificent power!"
"Magnificent?"
"Yes. With their might behind us, we shall become masters of the earth! Now break up these pitiful negotiations!"
"But surely it will do no harm to give these infidels the illusion of security, master, before we..."
"NOW!"
"Understood, master. My apologies."
"Go. I am beginning to lose patience with you, Nethka."
Nethka swallowed. The only creatures of legend he knew that could enter the minds of mortals were devils. Just who was his benefactor, really? Still, eager for reward, Nethka sent a signal to his warriors, who were hidden in the trees of the clearing. Nethka's general nodded and flashed his sword in reply.
"Well, Nethka? What is your answer? We have given our counsel. We hope this can end in peace, but we will fight to the death to keep Chulumnos sealed!" Aturn said.
"We will have none of your lies! Kelahim demands the release of the Blight, and we shall not defy him. There shall be no further discussion. Sorcerers! Warriors! Attack!"
Nethka's allies swarmed over the small fighting force of his enemies. Despite the situation, he allowed himself a smile. They stood little chance.
****
Chapter 10-A Violent Fight
Aturn slammed his warhammer down upon the skull of a sorcerer.
"It was rather stupid of Nethka", he thought in between blows, "To send all the sorcerers out to battle, instead of finishing the glyph. Still, I thank Riksaf for blessing us with his error"
He looked towards the Mist King. Several warriors had fallen before his staff. Good. They were making progress. Aturn ran to help Silthian take on a dark magician. After trading a few blows, hammer to staff, the magician fell.
"Well done, Aturn!"
"Thank you, Silthian, but let us not rejoice too soon. Something's amiss. This battle is too easy. Far too easy."
Then a group of trolls began filing back into the circle.
Aturn looked towards the circle. He understood now. The attack had been a mere distraction. The glyph was reactivated. A few words were chanted. It began to glow brighter and brighter, before sucking all light out of the area. Aturn and his allies stood in a plane of blackness.
"You're too late, child of Riksaf!" Nethka laughed with a blaze in his eyes.
A thousand horrific forms erupted from the glyph. Some were devils and demons. A few were dark and vengeful gods. Most, however, were beyond all recognition. Some bore at least a semblance of sentient form, but some detail was off. Their heads were simultaneously inside and outside their bodies, or their arms split off into more arms, like fractals. They had long teeth that touched the ground, or eyes that could make the hearts of mortals stop with a mere gaze. Many were gaseous beings of vapor. Wherever they touched the earth, grass withered and turned black. A few were simply made of pure emptiness, as if they were an incomprehensible hole in existence. These terrors spread out, prepared to take their long awaited revenge. Chulumnos was open. War had begun.
****
Chapter 11-The Ravaging of Himmelia

Sufar and Aarus returned to Himmelia. They looked about in shock. The celestial palace was in ruins. The once mighty pillars that upheld it had crumbled to powder. The rock of the cliff the palace stood on had tumbled into the sea. The sea itself had decreased in size and was bubbling and boiling Vast brushfires were consuming the once green grasses. Giant fish lay on the shore in pieces, blood staining the once white sand. Lightning flashed everywhere.
Lorial, the guardian goddess, ran up to them.
"I'm glad you have returned! We were attacked."
"Where were the Hasurim? Are they not our army?" Aarus asked with a stormy glare.
"They were captured before the attack!"
"ALL OF THEM?!" Sufar exclaimed in shock.
"I am afraid so. We fought a decent battle, but they were too many!"
"Who were too many? Devils? Demons? Surely our fellow gods and goddesses could have overcome them!"
"Neither. The Blight are unleashed."
Silence reigned between the three deities, a silence that lasted for several long moments.
"The trolls have opened Chulumnos?" Aarus asked fearfully.
Lorial nodded.
"Marok," Sufar said. "If there was doubt before, there can be none now. Only he could have successfully invaded Himmelia. The Hasurim are not easily taken."
"We must act! Sufar!"
"Yes?" Sufar replied.
"Alert Rissia, and tell him to be on the lookout. Get him to warn Ethek. With both Rissia and our deathbed on watch, with luck, Marok can be recaptured. Lorial! Call all the gods! We shall hold war council in Zalo!"
"I shall," Lorial answered.
****
Chapter 12-A Deathly Encounter

Ethek, collector of souls, pushed his oar deep into the water. He sang an ancient hymn written to give hope to the grieving.
"Let thy tears water the green and living grass, that blooms of white may grow to bring beauty out of sorrow. Let morning's sun caress thee, and evening's moonlight bless thee, for wounded souls may heal upon the morrow…"
He had heard the news of erupting war in the Material Realm, and knew he would soon be collecting departed souls from the battles. He did not relish his task, but he had accepted it reverently when it was given him as his occupation among the deities. It was a lonely job, but it consoled Ethek to know that he was comforting the dead on their often frightening journey to their final destination.
Suddenly, a white shimmer hovered above the water. Ethek's brother Rissia appeared.
"Greetings, Lord of Mercy," Ethek said.
"Greetings, Brother Death. How goes your work?" Rissia asked.
"It was, is, and yet remains my own quiet way to make creation a little kinder. But what brings you to the Passages of Mortal Death and the River of Lost Lives? Looking for new Sentinels?"
"Actually, no. I came to warn you, on Sufar's orders. There is..."
He was cut off as the waters began to rage and boil, turning to liquid flame. Marok arose from the river, spitting sparks.
"I see I have arrived exactly where I intended. Both of you will accompany me on my....adventure...." he hissed and laughed.
"By Shasuka, you shall have neither of us, Marok!" Rissia exclaimed.
"Oh, I tremble with fear, little god. When you were a mere Celestial, I was the thorn in the side of all divinity! Perhaps wandering through Death's realms alone was a foolish decision on your part. But no matter. You will die first."
Ethek leaped in front of Rissia. His gentle shepherd's crook became a gleaming scythe of metal and bone.
"If you cross through Death's realm, then you face the wrath of Death himself!" Ethek exclaimed.
Marok pointed a finger at Rissia and uttered a curse. The black fog of the spell hurtled towards them, but dissipated on the blade of Ethek's scythe. Marok fired again. Ethek took the hit, crumpling.
"We shall finish this later, Lord of Mercy. It is your brother, Death, whom I wish to have now!" Marok sneered. Then he disappeared with Ethek in a searing flame that blinded Rissia for a moment.
Slowly, the waters of the river calmed and settled to their usual flow.
Rissia opened his eyes. He flew off to find Sufar.

****
Chapter 13-A Desperate Gathering

The halls of Zalo's tower slowly filled up with the gods who had been summoned to the war council, which would perhaps be the most urgent and important council in the history of Fimbeljun itself.
"Order! We must begin now! Time already is being stolen away as we speak. Not to cast any aspersions on Huria," Sufar said, repressing a smile at his joke.
The gods sat and slowly came to silence.
"I defer to Aarus, as he is the highest in rank among us," Sufar said.
"Thank you. Firstly, we must recall the events that have come to pass. The Blight have been unleashed from Chulumnos. The Hasurim are being held hostage we know not where. Himmelia has been ravaged, and Marok is holding Ethek prisoner."
At this latest piece of news, the gods grew alarmed, and began to argue among themselves.
"Please! We must not be distracted. Our army is taken from us, but we still have the Celestials, so a few angelic beings yet remain to fight for us. It appears we must strike in multiple places at once."
"Aarus, I don't wish to complicate the situation, but there is another matter that we must attend to," Huria remarked
"Oh?"
"Ethek is a prisoner. Therefore, he cannot do his job. Therefore, there will be no death in this war. The mortals will be wounded, their bodies will be destroyed. The lucky ones will still have bodies left, but they will be in terrible pain from their battle wounds. Those who are less fortunate will have their very bodies taken from them, and their souls will feel the agony of being rent from their physical forms."
There was a reigning silence. Some of the gods were frozen in fear. Others looked contemplative. Everyone bore grave expressions. At last, Sufar broke the silence.
"Then we shall have to win this battle, and win it quickly. Kolat can take Ethek's post for the time being, but we must act now"
"Agreed. We are in need of a plan," Aarus remarked.
"Let me go among the trolls. I am their god. If the god of wisdom cannot show them the truth, who can?" Kelahim suggested.
"A reasonable plan, but you forget our oath. No god or goddess shall enter the Material Realm clothed in full divinity. All of you know too well what came to pass the last time we did so," Aarus said.
The council was silent. They knew. The war with the Primordials, the spirits of chaos, had nearly destroyed all mortal life. It had taken all that heaven had to remake the world. The Material Realm could not take the strain of divine energy.
The god Minron spoke up.
"Rissia and I can search for the Hasurim," he suggested.
"And if you are captured as well? We can't lose more of our own. We are already in a vulnerable position," Sufar pointed out.
"He is correct," Huria sighed.
"Do you doubt my skills?" Minron asked accusatorially.
The council began to quarrel. Though a plan had begun to half form between a few groups, no one was entirely sure what it was or how it would be carried out. A hum began to reverberate within the room. It grew louder and louder. It rather resembled the tone of a bell. the quarreling deities slowly were silent. The tone stopped. A meditating god in the corner of the council room slowly opened his eyes.
"You wish to speak, Kahuël?"
"Yes. Ordinarily, I would berate this council for infighting. How useful are we if we cannot work together better than anyone else?" he said, with no trace of anger in his voice. He continued.
"However, there are more important issues at hand now. And so, my suggestion is this: Marok is no mere Zhin or lowly demon. He does not act without planning. He may desire destruction, but it is a thought out destruction. And so, I would advise that we wait and see what he does. I have a feeling that he will wish to speak with us. If he does, we will see what his plan is. If he doesn't, and simply begins destroying left and right, then we can come down upon him with all our force. I advocate patience on our part."
There was quiet murmuring for awhile. At last, all the gods and goddesses seemed to agree that while there may have been a better plan, no one had found it yet, and Kahuël at least had a plan, even if they weren't entirely sure of its outcome. Furthermore, it seemed to them that Kahuël's plan was more prudent than anything else that had been suggested so far.
"Truly, your years in search of enlightening understanding have made you wise, Kahuël. We will abide by your plan for the time being," Lorial said.
"Very well. This council is, for now, dismissed. I fear, however, that it will not be long before our next meeting. You may depart," Aarus finished.

****
Chapter 14-An Attack During A Meeting
Silthian led his few remaining troops down the deep passages that led to the underground chambers of the Stonefolk. An air of terror permeated the council members that had survived. Silthian, however, was angry. Angry he had not acted when the trolls were distracted. Angry that destruction had begun that he would have had a chance of preventing. Silthian sat upon a chair of rock, and waited for Aturn to call the meeting to order.
"Though there are few of us, it is a small comfort that there are some who remain. Let us plan for the coming days, dark though they may be," said Aturn.
"Indeed. We are in need of a plan," the Mist King said.
"A plan? What plan is there to make? What plan could have a hope of defeating the Blight?" wondered Mahal, the leader of the Arukai.
"The only possibility I can think of is for someone to seal them away again," Aturn admitted.
"But only the gods can do that! And they have not been seen within the Material Realm for centuries!" Mahal exclaimed.
Silthian sighed.
"Always these people speak of gods," he thought. "I wonder what would be accomplished by the races of Civarka if they did not have to ask their gods before making any decision."
"Then perhaps you shall have to manage without your precious gods," Silthian said irritably.
"Do you presume to slight our deities, young fire sprite? Be careful what you say. We of the Arukai do not take blasphemy lightly. It does not go unnoticed, or unpunished."
"Blasphemy? Oh, I would hardly call it blasphemy. Merely stating the obvious. Tell me, Mahal, which deities do you worship?"
"We worship Lorial and Aarus, Father and Mother. The Guardian Goddess and The Lord of Creation. They give us courage, strength and protection."
"And what have these two divinities done for your kind lately?"
"If you had read your legends, you would know, as only fools do not, that our Lord and our Guardian vowed, along with the other, lesser gods and goddesses, to not interfere in mortal affairs. You would know, as anyone knows, that when Aarus and Lorial last stretched out their divine hands upon the earth, it was nearly destroyed when they warred with the Primordials!"
"Distant and detached now, then? I see…"
"That's enough. Forgive my fledgling commander, Mahal. He knows not what he says. Even so, we of the Feygruth do not take kindly to threats. And I suggest that you, also, be careful of what you say," The Mist King said.
"Fellow councillors, let us make peace! The Blight will be swift in digesting our bones if we don't make a plan," Aturn said.
Suddenly, there was a bolt of red lightning that struck the assembled Alliance. Several of the councillors belonging to the equestrian race of Ekkashians fell dead, along with a few Stonefolk. Another struck Mahal. The cavern began to shake and stone began to fall.
"The Blight have discovered us. We must flee!" Aturn exclaimed.
Running in terror, the council members dispersed in a scattered frenzy, seeking higher ground. Aturn looked back at the body of Mahal.
"May your gods bear you to paradise."

****
Chapter 15-A Shift In the Tides of War
The Astral Lord, leader of the Celestials, approached Aarus, who was pacing as he pondered recent events.
“My lord?”
Aarus did not answer for several minutes. At last, he said,
“Yes, Ulmoran?”
“I bring news of great urgency. The Cloudseers have told us that Marok has swept in with some of the Blight and now controls three of the heavens!”
“Three?! Himmelia first, and now these? Which ones?”
“Aoru, Vanarkey and Benesoth.”
“How much damage was done?”
“Surprisingly little, o ruler of the gods. It would appear that Marok is showing restraint. However, this restraint did come with a demand.”
“What demand?”
“He wishes to speak with the gods. 'Regarding possession of Fimbeljun,' I believe were his words.”
“Then it is as Kahuël predicted. Possession! Ha! Possession indeed. By Shasuka, we shall not bow to his demands! If Marok wishes the gods to bow before him, he must strike them dead first!”
“Braver words were never spoken, my lord! However, if you'll forgive my presumptuous suggestion, I would hear him out,” Ulmoran said, bowing slightly.
“Go on. Explain why.”
“The Material Realm is falling into greater and greater ruin, and now it would appear that the Outer Realm is not safe. Even so, I know these reasons would only serve to strengthen the divine resolve. However, the Cloudseers' reports indicate that hope may still spring forth in these dark times.”
“How so?”
“Marok appears to be weakening. These victories seem to have cost him. The Cloudseers tell me that at the siege of Benesoth, he fell unconscious in battle, and when his fellow devils tried to take Aoru, he briefly became mere spirit! His body actually dissipated. I believe the benevolent aura of Kahuël's comrades in Aoru may have burned his essence. If negotiations were to take place, it is possible, maybe even likely, that Marok's position would allow for the gods to come out on top.”
Aarus was silent, pontificating.
“Can we send a reply to Marok and his messengers?”
“Absolutely, my lord.”
“Then tell Marok we will listen to what he has to say. However, it shall be on our own terms. Divine ground. He will have to meet us in one of the heavens.”
“Yes, my lord. We shall relay the message.”
“Good. Blessings go with you.”
****

Chapter 16-Responses From a Rebel
Sufar approached Aarus in the near empty council hall.
“The reply has been given,” he said.
“And?”
“Marok, near as we can tell, agrees. Still, I fear for Fimbeljun and the time to come. One cannot expect kindness or fairness from an Archdevil.”
“You are of course, correct, but what else might we do? If there is any hope for the future, it must be first in diplomacy. If war becomes necessary, we will strike with all our might. Yet for now, negotiations are our best defense.”
“I know. Yet still, things seem bleak.”
“And it is in these times that we are needed. And really, only these times,” Kahuël said, stepping out from behind the entryway to the council chamber.
“What do you mean, Kahuël?” Aarus queried.
“The words I speak now will not be complimentary to our kind, nor will they be smooth and easy on the ears. It is my belief that we deities have become...apathetic. Possibly even lazy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sufar said, tilting his head upwards indignantly.
“Hear me out. We commend ourselves. We put our accomplishments up on pedestals, celebrating our successes over the years. But what are these accomplishments, really? Can we take credit for the particular call of the bird of prey, or the way the stars appear one by one? These were perhaps our doing in the beginning, but the system of creation is self sufficient. If anything, we did what any wise artist should by making his art and then standing back to admire it. And even beyond this, what else? We claim credit for stopping wars, championing our individual causes, etcetera. But when has any thing ever really been accomplished, except when the hearts of mortals were kindled as one to complete it?"
"These things are not our doing, even if we originated them. Rather, they are the work of our creation.”
“Are you suggesting the gods are useless?” asked Aarus, his voice growing slightly louder.
“No. Far from it. What I am suggesting is that we are needed for different reasons than we think. Mortal life still needs gods, but not to rule them and give them law. They need us because, when times are at their worst, and all goes to the hells (literally or metaphorically), it helps to have something greater to be at one's side. Truly, we are the servants of our creation, and not the other way around. If we cannot protect our charges in their darkest hour, of what use are we?”
There was a moment of stillness.
“You presume too much, Kahuël. Forget not that you were once mortal, and cannot know all about divinity,” Aarus said, scowling. Then he was quiet.
“Kahuël is right, Aarus. It only strikes me as humbling that this has not often crossed my mind,” Sufar countered.
“He still makes light of the gods' accomplishments!”
“Far from it. He has reminded us what is at the heart of things, and what is truly important,” Sufar replied, glancing at Aarus pensively.
At last, Aarus said,
“Forgive me. You speak wisely, Kahuël. Your words have given me much to ponder. When there is time for contemplation, I will reflect more deeply upon what you have said. For now, however, let us focus on the matters at hand. "

****
Chapter 17-The Strong Prisoner
Ethek looked around. He was bound by two magical symbols, one on his wrist and another on his forehead. They seemed to be written with a red ink that Ethek guessed was made from some kind of blood. The symbols glowed fiery shades of orange and red, and created a field of energy around the god. Though not surprised by Marok's precautions, Ethek was somewhat disappointed. He had hoped that Marok would make the mistake of using chains to bind a god, and thus allow him to escape. Ethek knew, however, that Marok was no fool. He looked up at his captor, who had entered the room.
"Welcome to my humble abode, Ethek. It is hardly the palace of Zalo, or the Abode of the Eternals, but compared to Shiraksa it is a veritable luxury house!"
Ethek considered the cave that surrounded them, its entrance blocked with a stone and a few minor demons, its walls lit by a few torches.
"I must keep my wits about me, if I am to leave this place whole and unharmed", Ethek thought. Out loud, he said,
"I must say, Marok, your taste in living abodes is admirable. You really know how to entertain,"
"Do not be insolent! You are already in my fast decreasing mercy. I would suggest you not test it."
"Does the highest archdevil lose his composure so easily?"
Marok smiled wickedly.
"In a moment, death god, you will see how strong my composure and will can be. Your mind will not survive my power."
"You wish to conquer my mental energies? I think you overestimate your strength, Marok. One does not become the shepherd of the dead without steeling one's mind against the overwhelming emotions of one's charges. I think you will find me far harder to subdue than other gods."
"We shall see," Marok replied.
Ethek felt a wave of weakness being mobilized against his mind. He braced himself, and fought back against Marok's mental attack. The archdevil's will formed a sharp point. Ethek closed his eyes and slowly softened it. Finally, Marok pressed forward again and the two wills met. Ethek gathered all his focus and resolve, pushing back with equal force. At last, Marok relented and Ethek opened his eyes, noticing that the symbol on his forehead had burned a hole in his celestial glow.
" No! It cannot be! I must not weaken! My will has never been resisted! I am first among devils, among archdevils, first among all beings of the Outer Realm! I will not suffer my mind to quail before that of a mere god!" Marok exclaimed with a fury in his eyes. He was silent with anger for a long while. Then he slowly regained his calm and smiled.
"Very well, shepherd of the dead, as you call yourself. Your will is indeed stronger than I had imagined. Yet I shall conquer it eventually. You cannot hope to stand against my might forever. No god can, for my powers are greater than those of your kind!"
"The truth, Marok, is that being a god is more than a profession. It is a symbiosis. You assume divinity, and it in turn consumes you. Before I took my place among the pantheon, I was a Hasuri, born into celestial power but untouched by divinity. Yet now that I am become part of death, it is become part of me. I will admit, though the power is beneficial, it is also parasitic. I have seen much in my years as the guide to the deceased. I have seen souls ravaged by anger and guilt, who have died with unfinished grievances. I have seen souls that were as lost in life as they were in death. I would often wish that such souls would have received guidance before they crossed the great and terrifying threshold. And this, Marok, is the worst part. The most painful, perhaps. Death, much as I try to tame it, to ease the pain of its victims, still gnaws at my very core and rends my heart. Death is in me. But I am not death. I know not what manner of being the destroyer of bodies is. Perhaps an Eternal. Maybe a Primordial. But it has power even over the deathless to bring the soul pain. That is the will I must strive against each day. Your will, o archdevil, is perhaps undefeated and incontestable among those who live. But death will conquer all, save the soul, and it spites who it pleases. The soul survives my harvest, but no mind, not even your own, can subdue death itself."
Marok looked at the psychopomp, enraged by the calm and defiant expression Ethek wore. He slashed at Ethek's face, claws raking scars down the god's forehead. Ethek simply smiled.

****

Chapter 18-A Brief Pre-War Parley

Over a series of back and forth messages between Marok and the gods, it was decided that if the meeting was to be held in the heavenly realms, a neutral territory would be required. An island was erected in the lake of Zalo. Aarus whispered to the water and land arose from the depths of the lake. Kahul anchored it with a tether of celestial light Rissia, Sufar, and Lorial made plants grow. Minron pounded the beach to sand. The deities awaited the arrival of Marok.
At last he came. In the absence of the Hasurim, three powerful Celestials escorted him to the discussion, though all the gods knew this was a mere formality. Weakened or not, If Marok were to try and attack now, unbound and in his power, they realized it would be no easy feat to stop him.
The archdevil landed on the island's glittering white shore.
"Aha. A captive audience. This will be enjoyable."
"Greetings, Marok, darkest of foes," said Aarus
"I suppose you wish to know what fate awaits Ethek. I shall…"
"Spare us the details, foul one. This is to be a brief meeting. A pre-war parley, if you like. You have Ethek. The Blight are unleashed. What is it you want from us?" Minron asked.
"I am glad you asked. This is what I had in mind. Ethek will be slowly driven mad by my sorcery, and he shall join my servants, the Blight, in their conquest. You will watch the world die and be brought to nothing for a time. You shall watch your mortal children cry out for death, but not receive it. Only at the end, will I finally end their existence with agonizing pain. Then you shall give all Fimbeljun into my keeping, and I will create a new empire, formed to my will. You shall then become as wraiths, stripped of divinity and form."
"Ha! Even you, Marok, cannot control the Blight! How do you know they will not destroy you?" Rissia exclaimed.
"I have power your kin can only dream of. They will answer to my authority. If you give me dominion over the world this day, I will perhaps spare the Material Realm. Perhaps."
"Much hatred clouds your mind, Marok. If we gave you control of all, we would fail in our duties as gods. We refuse," Kahuël replied.
"You are certain?" Marok asked with a snarl.
"We are indeed. You shall not have what you seek while we still draw breath!" Lorial said, drawing her staff.
"We shall see who is the victor, guardian goddess. Very well. I had thought you would refuse my generous offer. But no matter. I shall simply take what is mine by force! Fare thee well," Marok said with a smile. He disappeared, and a quake shook the island and split it in two. Reacting quickly, the gods began to repair the broken ground. White energy swirled around the rift. Slowly, the island began to vibrate, then it closed up and reformed, its rocky base knitting together where it had cracked. The gods looked at each other, and an aura of fear permeated the cool air.
****
Chapter 19-A Divine Decision
"This does not bode well," said Aarus gravely.
"An understatement," Minron replied.
"Nevertheless, Aarus is right. We must act," Sufar said.
"How can we? The gods cannot interfere directly in mortal affairs," Rissia answered.
"Not directly. But what of Huria's prophecy? A mortal hero," Aarus mused.
"What are you proposing?" asked Sufar.
"I am proposing we move things along. We cannot assume full divinity while in the Material Realm, but we can appear in mortal form. We can still offer our wisdom and our guidance. We must find a mortal being who would have the strength to go against Marok."
"In single combat? You know that will do no good."
"No. Of this I am aware. But what if we were to simply wait and see? One of us could find a likely hero and guide him or her while in mortal guise. It is possible even that the Blight could be contained again, if our hero has a god on their side. It will be difficult, but if one of us is on the ground, so to speak, we may be more capable of reacting to events," Aarus finished. "In the meantime, some of us can try and take back Ethek, and others can do our best to clean up the damage."
"Not a bad plan, but who will go and seek out a hero?" Rissia asked.
"Kahuël. You were once a mortal yourself, among the race of Arukai. Will you take on flesh again, to save Fimbeljun?" Aarus said.
Kahuël was silent for awhile.
"I would do so. It has been many years since I have walked the earth and worn a body. I should like to feel the sensation again."
"Very well, then. Choose one whom you think worthy to take on the quest to reseal the Blight and defeat Marok. Guide him to his destiny. Good luck, Kahuël. Keep us informed of events," Aarus said. Then he placed his hand on Kahuël's chest. Kahuël felt himself growing heavier and weaker, until at last he was no longer godlike, except for a faint glow that was fading quickly.
"I will go."

****
Chapter 20-A Hopeful Incarnation

Silthian glanced behind him. His fellow soldiers had fled far and wide, and he was alone. He dropped to the ground as flaming stones made craters in the nearby rock. Silthian climbed a sloped outcropping, in hopes of getting a better view. He could see now that he had reached Arhela, the Moorlands. Craggy, rocky hills dotted the dark landscape like scars. In the distance, near Civarka's capital city of Rehatan, green lightning flashed and deafening thunder rolled. The flashes of light from the storm revealed the vague shadow of an awful lupine form that he assumed was one of the Blight. Silthian looked east. Several cities were now gone. Only the crumbling remains of a few lone watchtowers stood upright, and these were few.
Here and there, the lightning's gleam revealed forms of a few of the Blight. To Silthian's surprise, a few moments later they slowly began to cease their destruction. They all seemed to be scattering and going somewhere, though where Silthian could not fathom. A quiet voice behind him said,
"Greetings, Silthian."
He whirled around. A tall figure in a brown cloak stood with him on the hill top. Silthian drew a sword.
"Stand back! Who are you! Are you one of the Blight? And how is it that you know my name?"
"I am not one of the Blight, Silthian. I mean you no harm, but I do need your aid. And you may call me Satha."
"Satha?" he repeated, slowly lowering his blade. "Very well. How can I be certain that I can trust you?"
"Trust, I have found, is often an illusion. While you may have comrades, allies or close friends whom you trust very deeply, in reality, what is to stop you from destroying them, or them you? Trust is never entirely certain. There is always a risk. So perhaps you cannot trust me, but I ask you to do so. I am unarmed, and I carry no magical instrument, so you can see that I did not prepare to attack you. It is your decision, fire sprite, but trust will soon be needed, when old allegiances fall apart," said Satha. Then he was silent. So silent, in fact, that it seemed to Silthian that the cloaked Arukai could have turned to stone.
"You don't give straight answers, do you? Still, I will trust you, for now."
Silthian was not entirely sure why he had said that, yet Satha seemed to have an air of benevolence about him, that was sharpened by the fire sprite's heightened senses. It occurred to Silthian that the Arukai was perhaps more than he seemed, but he couldn't place how.
"I thank you for your willingness. We should go. The Blight are on the move, and things may only become more dangerous from this point forward. Follow me. We shall leave Arhela, and head for Jotunir."
"The Northern City? Why?"
"To make use of their Eyestone. We must see more than our ordinary eyes can reveal. Come, and I will explain more on the way."
Silthian blinked. This being gave few answers quickly. Still, encouraged by Satha's benevolent aura, and hoping to amend whatever damage he could, Silthian resolved to follow. He nodded.
"Good. Let us go," Satha said by way of reply.
Upon the word 'go', Satha took off running. Silthian struggled to follow. It seemed that Satha was almost flying, though not quite. The two managed to keep an even pace across the crags of Arhela, and began to progress towards Jotunir.

****
Chapter 21-The Mind of Marok
Marok paced the cavern floor, claws still dripping with ichor. Two subsequent mental attacks had failed to break the will of Ethek.
Could I truly be losing that power which once was mine?, he wondered. A hazy image began to seep into Marok's thoughts. He remembered green, growing things, old as time itself, in a land far away. He remembered morning mist over a set of long lost verdant hills. He remembered sunlit mountains, capped with snow of the purest white. He remembered wholeness, and light. Oh, light!
No. Bringing back these fantastical memories will only serve to weaken me further. It is only the power of my former essence that I wish to hold on to. Yes…such might. And those who have weakened me will pay.
"Reminiscing and reflecting on lost ages, Marok?" Ethek said.
"Of what concern is it to you? I have not relinquished my power. If your mind cannot be broken, perhaps your spirit can. Indeed, perhaps the souls of the dead have already weakened it for me."
"Again, I believe you overestimate your advantage, o first among devils."
"We shall see."
How could he have read my thoughts? Marok asked himself. It is I who enter the minds of lesser beings, not the other way around. Have the gods increased in power, or has my own strength been sapped?
A vision of greater clarity brought itself to Marok's attention. He stood in the same place of light, but now a shadow of judgement had been cast. Marok cowered in his memory before an invisible, yet mighty presence.
"I curse thee, Marok. My eyes avert from thee until the pillars of heaven fall from their foundations!" said a voice that Marok knew was familiar, yet hazy in his memory. He shook his head vigorously and turned back to Ethek. The Archdevil suddenly had a flash of inspiration.
"A strange thing is the past, don't you think? Memory. It seems to be a constant thorn in the side of those who have suffered and wish to move on."
"What are you playing at, Marok?"
"Only noticing that so many mortals wish to forget the mistakes they've made. Or perhaps…not only mortals. Perhaps gods too?"
"Memory can be a blessing or a curse, depending upon how it is used in the present."
"Interesting. A strange reply, for one so acquainted with loss. Perhaps you are hiding something of your own?"
Ethek narrowed his eyes.
"What's past is past. A god of death cannot help being the perpetrator of some endings."
Spoken enigmatically, yet his courage is…surprising. If only my own memory…, Marok thought.
"…Until the pillars of heaven fall from their foundations!" rang the voice again. Marok shivered slightly. Then he smiled.
"What's past is past. True words. Still, I am burning with curiosity now. Shall we…rediscover what lies in memory?" he said, his hand beginning to glow with green light.
"Do your worst. Your ways are as easily read as a book, Marok."
"We shall see whether you can still ask me to do my worst when you have seen again the worst within yourself!" Marok sneered. Then he placed a hand on Ethek's chest. The green energy sizzled and jolted Ethek. Marok laughed.

****
Chapter 22-Shadows of Penitence

Ethek felt himself spiraling out of the clear and lucid present. His mind traveled, many thousands of years into the past, perception becoming hazier and hazier. Ethek examined himself. He realized he was a Hasuri angel again, no longer of divine status. He looked around what he realized was the River of Souls. All was silent awhile. Then suddenly, the water erupted into brilliant flame, and Ethek was transported to a celestial battlefield. The ground was charred and scorched from the spells that had detonated on both sides. The violet sun had been obscured by dark grey storm clouds. Lorial, Ethek's general, approached him.
"Ethek. Go behind the front lines of the demon army. We need that crystal that's giving them such power. Bring it back as quickly as you can, but do not activate it. Good luck," she said, slashing her halberd at a demon, who crumbled into glowing dust.
Ethek nodded. He dashed and darted around enemy soldiers, crept between rocky crags, occasionally killing the demons who got too close. At last, he reached a glyph that was kept glowing by three demonic wizards. Ethek slashed at the demons with his sword, but the glyph refused to let any of his blows in. He sent angelic fire at it, but still it would not falter. At last, he decided to use the one Miracle Lorial had given him at the beginning of the battle. He drew the Sign of Miracles in the air with his finger, a crescent moon with a flower blossoming from its side. He whispered the words,
"May this glyph be banished."
The glowing lines of the glyph shook and closed in on their casters, vaporizing the demons with their own magic. He looked at the remains of the glyph and saw a glowing red crystal. He picked it up. It was a beautifully carved ruby, that had somehow been engraved on the inside with scenes of ancient battles.
Ethek was surprised that the demons would be using an artifact of such beauty for such dark purposes, yet still he knew that it had been an evil artifact from the beginning.
Suddenly, the crystal whispered to Ethek in his mind,
"Am I to be defeated so harshly? I, a thing of beauty. A thing of great power as well. The demons ruin all things. They can only use my might for their own unintelligent, destructive purpose. Ah, but you, a Hasuri of the highest rank! Think of what power could be thine to use for the cause of light! With my help, a mere word could resurrect these fallen comrades of yours, and turn the demons back. With only a phrase, thy power would equal that of the gods!"
Ethek shivered. He did not deny that he envied the gods, envied their abilities to control the world. To save it as well, though to Ethek it seemed they were not interested in saving Fimbeljun so much as saving themselves. Perhaps he could do creation a greater service.
"I am yours to command," the crystal said invitingly.
Ethek took a deep breath and carved a notch in the crystal with his sword, as he had seen the Archdemon do at the battle's beginning.
A wave of black energy erupted from the depths of the now dark ruby. It began to vaporize the demons. Once it had passed the front lines of the enemy, however, Ethek's heart fell. It made no distinction of angel or demon. One by one, the Hasurim, his comrades and brothers, began to fall to the ground and dissolve into black mist.
"No! It cannot be!" Ethek exclaimed.
Lorial waved her arms in an arc shape, and a golden dome of light surrounded the gods and the few surviving Hasurim. The mist was repelled and finally disappeared, the crystal returning to its normal color.
Even across the battlefield, Ethek could feel Lorial's piercing gaze of condemnation and Aarus' withering look of contempt. Ethek fell to his knees
"Forgive me, my brothers," he whispered. "Forgive me."


****
Chapter 23-Among the Arbitrators

Ethek winced as one of the Arbitrator Celestials banged a gilded stone hammer on the marble table. Lorial, Aarus, Sufar, Elsareth and several angels sat around the table, while Ethek stood a short distance away, awaiting judgement. The immense majesty of the Celestial courtroom made Ethek feel insignificant. He cowered before the mighty moonstone pillars, inlaid with gold and sapphire and carved with the faces of terrifying and beautiful creatures.
"Ethek, of the Hasurim," boomed the Arbitrator, "You are summoned here to the celestial courts to be judged for these crimes: Use of a demonic artifact, insubordination to a god who was your commander and willful slaughter of fellow angels. You shall now be given a chance to answer to these charges."
Ethek swallowed. Perhaps, if he was careful, some of the inevitable punishment would be lessened. Steeling his resolve, he cleared his throat and began.
"To the first two charges, o Celestials of the tribunal, I have no defense. I humbly request, however, that the third charge be changed to unwillful slaughter, as I was unaware of the crystal's dark intentions."
The Arbitrators looked at Elsareth. The goddess of justice shook her head.
"This court is not without sympathy for those entangled in the powers of evil. However, Ethek, your lack of knowledge regarding the Crystal of the Dark City is irrelevant. You were fully aware that no demonic artifact may be trusted to do good, even in the hands of an angel. While it shall remain on record that your intentions were not bent towards evil, the charge will not be lessened."
Ethek's face fell.
"His crimes have been spoken for. Lorial shall now speak," The Chief Arbitrator said, gesturing to Ethek's commander.
Lorial rose from her chair.
"I will not attempt to hide the fact that I have, until this day, held Ethek in high regard, and even now feel sympathy for him. Still, his crimes are many. Therefore, for the greater good of the Outer Realm and by extension, all of Fimbeljun, I vote to condemn him."
The Chief Arbitrator gestured to Aarus. Ethek shivered. What would the ruling god say of him? Aarus rose from his amethyst throne and said,
"These crimes are no light matter. A number of deaths this great due to one angel's betrayal has not occurred in many centuries. I, like Lorial, vote to condemn Ethek, and furthermore suggest that the firmest punishment be placed on him."
There were murmurs from some of the Arbitrators. Their leader held up a hand for silence, then gestured for Sufar to rise.
"I wish to express a different opinion. Aarus speaks truly, that Ethek's crimes are not insignificant. Yet evil always seeks opportunities to corrupt the mighty, and its power is also not insignificant. Therefore, I vote to pardon Ethek. I only request that he be required to build a memorial to the crystal's victims, and keep vigil by it for 100 days, as a reminder of his transgressions."
The Arbitrators whispered amongst themselves. Ethek waited, frozen with fear. Elsareth cleared her throat.
"The tribunal does hereby condemn Ethek, and sentences him to the station of death god. He shall be forced to guide all souls through death's realm, and to suffer deep punishment by Kolat for his crimes. Sufar, however, brings up a worthy point. Therefore, Ethek will be given a mercy mark. This shall be a magical sign which may release him from this station after he has passed ten thousand years in service. This meeting of the tribunal is completed."
Suddenly, Ethek felt himself sinking, the ground caving in beneath him as he fell back into the River of Souls. He floated along the dark and murky water, until he reached an island with a black onyx obelisk in its center. Kolat, the judge of the dead, appeared before Ethek. He bore the form of a man, but with the head of a raven. He spoke with a voice that was cold and grim.
"You shall take the place of Magani, the Celestial formerly bound to the station of psychopomp. Before this, however, I have been instructed by Aarus to inflict the Curse of Death's Suffering upon you."
Ethek gasped. He had heard legends of that curse, of its incomparable pain and its tendency to leave no victim entirely sane afterwards. He had heard that it left a constant burden and weakness, a pain that never subsided. Ethek frantically searched for some spark of mercy in Kolat's ice blue eyes, but there was only emptiness. Kolat placed a hand on Ethek's shoulder and spoke a word that was unintelligible to Ethek.
To his horror, Ethek saw the shades of his fallen comrades rising from the river's depths.
"Join us, O Ethek, traitor among angels," said one.
"Traitor!" they whispered.
And for each Hasuri who arose from the water, Ethek felt a wound that was equal to that which the Hasuri had felt. Pain wracked the god of death and he became weaker and weaker, mustering all his strength just to remain standing.
I must withstand the curse. If I am to survive, I must.
At last, the angels returned to the depths. Kolat removed his hand. Ethek felt the pain still.
"This curse shall be upon your soul until the end of your service. Its burden shall serve to remind thee of thy transgressions, until your mercy mark may be activated and your time of punishment ended," Kolat said grimly.
Slowly, the memory faded, and Ethek returned to the present, Marok's chilling laugh pulling his mind back into reality.
"Fear not, you who boasted of being incontestable! There is still much penance to pay for your betrayal!" Marok said with a triumphant crow.
"A devil such as yourself has no understanding of penance, or of atonement. You know as much as a shadow would, trying to understand the majesty of light. Still, if penance must be paid, then I shall pay it," Ethek managed to hiss through clenched teeth.
A final piece of the memory floated back to Ethek's consciousness, one he knew was untainted by Marok's spell. After the curse, Kolat had spoken a final sentence to Ethek.
"I have been bidden to deliver a curse, and now, from Sufar, I relay a blessing: 'Keep thy soul's fire strong and falter not in the task given to thee, for it is blessed, perhaps beyond many other tasks of divinity."
The memory gave Ethek courage. Within his mind, he sent a message out to his brethren,
"Help me, my fellow gods. Save me, Rissia, my brother. Please hurry."
****
Chapter 24-A Desperate Plea

As the novices gathered together in the Temple of Civarka, lit on this quiet night only by dim torches which cast ominous shadows across the bronze statues of the gods, and the occasional flicker of brightness from the great Sacred Brazier, tension blanketed the vast chamber like a cold mist. What was the Priest Master doing, calling them all to this central location under cover of darkness?
"Surely the Blight will find us here. It's a miracle they haven't destroyed this place already," a monk named Jehora said.
"I agree," said another, named Akami
"Perhaps this temple truly has survived by miracles, and miracles alone," said the Priest Master Rathten, silently shuffling into the great room. "Are you ready?"
"Ready for what?" Jehora asked, noticing the other priests who now entered, swinging silver censers of Mithra-root incense.
"Brothers, time is short. The Blight have nearly completed their conquest of Civarka's great cities. Of our once mighty centers of commerce and culture, only Jotunir, Arahanta and Ilcosarin remain. It is clear that no enemy greater than this has been unleashed on Fimbeljun since before the 12 Legend Scrolls were written. As such, we must appeal to the powers that be on a more…direct level, if we are to gain their aid."
"You speak in ciphers, Honored Rathten," Akami said.
"Tonight, we shall conduct the ancient Rite of Speech. The gods shall speak to us, and we to them."
There were murmurs among the priests.
"The Rite of Speech was deemed heretical by the First Civarkan Spiritual Council, O Honored Priest Master," Jehora reminded him.
"Of this I am aware. And there were reasons for such a condemnation at the time. If one could speak to the gods, the council reasoned, one could divine from them which ones were real and true, and which ones mortal and invented. And this would elevate some religions to the height of 'truth' and others condemned as falsehood. To keep peace and harmony, this ceremony needed to be outlawed. I, however, know which of the deities truly guard Fimbeljun, and which are mere legends. Such is the wisdom of my office, and in times such as these, we must choose between being heretics or being dead. I imagine we would wish the former."
There were more whispers and murmurs, but eventually, the dissenting voices died down. The Priest Master spoke wisely.
"Then let us begin," Rathten said, waving his hand for the censer carriers to begin the ritual.
The four priests briefly set down their censers and walked up the narrow stone steps to the place where the Sacred Brazier was kept. They returned with a brass bowl and six candles. The candles were placed in their receptacle and lit. The priests then took up their censers again, and encircled the flames thirteen times, each one requesting in the tongue of liturgy that the gods would hear him.
"Aarus Equt, Lorial Equt, Minron Equt, Sufar Equt, Rissia Equt."
"Kahuël Equt, Elsareth Equt, Kelahim Equt, Riksaf Equt."
"Nehuruna Equt, Huria Equt, Ethek Equt, Kolat Equt."
When the smoke had cleared, the monks knelt.
"We who plead to the gods that we may hear their holy wisdom, do now offer from each, a sacrifice," Rathten said. "I offer my pride," he continued, removing his symbols of office, his purple robe and sapphire ring.
Jehora took a spirit blade, an artifact of devotion, and made an incision in his wrist.
"I offer my blood."
He let two drops of blood fall into the fire bowl.
Akami was silent for a long time. Gradually, the monks heard him weeping softly.
"I offer my tears."
Gradually, the other monks and priests each gave to the fire an offering. Some offered beauty, dropping blossoms into the bowl. Others offered devotion, chanting pieces from ancient hymns. At last, all offerings had been given.
Pulling a brass bell and a stick from the folds of his tunic, Rathten sent out a chime for each of the heavens. He then placed his palms together and lowered his head until his forehead touched the floor. The monks followed suit. A silence that almost seemed to hum with potential settled in the temple, augmented by the remaining vibrations of the bell. Thunder boomed outside, but was muffled by the massive iron doors of the temple. The believers waited. And hoped.

****
Chapter 25-Evil Approaches

Satha at last slowed his pace to a walk. Silthian said,
"We have reached Jotunir."
"So it would appear, though it does not look well prepared for visitors," Satha noted.
Silthian looked towards the gate. It had begun to crumble from the strain of some earlier attack. A few wooden planks still stood tall, but most had fallen and rotted. Suddenly, a gruff voice called from atop the translucent stone wall.
"Who goes there?"
"Only two travelers, who seek admittance," Satha called back.
"How do I know you can be trusted?"
"I am Silthian, Battalion Commander of the Mist King's armies."
"Herein, o Silthian, we of the Anaru do not often welcome those of the Feygruth. But you have proved yourself to be one of good repute, so I shall allow you and your companion entry. Tread carefully," replied the gatekeeper.
The two wanderers entered the city. To Silthian's surprise, most of the inhabitants were of far greater stature than even Satha. Some were close to seven or eight feet tall. The Anaru were vaguely lupine, and had thick fur to guard against the cold in the northern city. Silthian marveled at these new sights as he followed Satha to the Governor's Stronghold.
"Who are you? You cannot just walk in here. Only city officials are allowed to…"
"Peace, o highest of the Anaru. We wish to help. Would you permit us to use Jotunir's Eyestone?" Satha asked calmly.
The governor thought carefully.
"Very well. Little harm can come from that, but I shall send an escort with the two of you, in order to ensure that you do not use it for ill purposes."
"We thank you for your graciousness. Blessings be upon you."
"Nauther!" the governor called.
One of the guards outside the stronghold entered and bowed.
"Yes, great Arkelus?"
"Take these two to the Eyestone. See to it that they make no contact with our enemies, if that proves to be their intent."
"Yes, sir."
A few minutes later, the three had climbed the six flights of stairs that led to the great tower of the Eyestone.
"Let me show you how it works."
"That will not be necessary. I have used such enchanted devices before," Satha replied.
"Very well."
Satha closed his eyes, and held a hand over the polished white sphere of stone. He whispered a word of power, and the stone began to glow a rosy hue, emitting pink light. It floated up, and hovered slightly above its pedestal.
"Silthian."
"Yes?"
"Come."
Silthian approached the stone.
"Ask for the stone to show you the whereabouts and activities of the Blight. I have a small, but urgent matter to attend to."
"Of what interest is such knowledge to you, o wanderer?" Nauther asked.
"If the Blight are to be resealed, we must know what they do. I assure you, my companion wishes not to speak with them, only to observe. You may watch for yourself," Satha said amiably.
The guard's manner seemed to relax.
"Very well. This I shall permit. But know that you are watched."
Silthian looked cautiously at Satha. The Arukai nodded, then turned and left.
Satha went to an abandoned hut near the outskirts of the city. He knelt in the snow and said,
"From earth to the heavens, one who is among you wishes to speak."
The air began to shimmer. A ghostly silhouette of Aarus appeared.
"Greetings, Kahuël. What have you to report?"
"I have allied with a fire sprite named Silthian. He is one of the officers in the army of the Mist King. We are in Jotunir, trying to discover more about what the Blight are up to. What news from the Cloudseers?"
"To our dismay, they can no longer bring us any reports. The Blight have vanished from their vision. We can see them, but only with effort. It would appear that someone is obscuring them with magic."
"Perhaps, but who, save Marok, could use such power? When he said the Blight would answer to him, it seemed clear he was bluffing."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Elsareth, Kelahim and Kolat are searching through our records and archives. There may be more to Marok than meets the eye. What else has come to pass in the Material Realm?"
"As you may know, there is no organized resistance force against the Blight any longer. The council that was seen at the Glyph that released the Blight was scattered and mostly destroyed. I could be wrong, Silthian will have to report back to me, but my intuition tells me that the Blight may be commanded to attack Jotunir. It is one of the last major cities in Civarka left standing."
"That would make strategic sense, though you almost wonder what's taking them so long. The Blight could have destroyed the entire Material Realm by now."
"The Blight, if what the legends say is true, prefer to savor their victories. And who knows? If Marok leads them, his plans may be subtler than that."
"That well may be. Thank you for the report, Kahuël. We will be watching and waiting."
The god disappeared. Satha sighed. Things were heating up, and finding answers only seemed to bring more questions.


****
Chapter 26-From Heaven To Earth
Ulmoran, the Astral Lord, ran into the council room. Aarus and Lorial were examining a map of the Material Realm. It was built into an enchanted table, and revealed exactly the present events of the world it depicted.
"What news, Ulmoran? Have the Cloudseers discovered any new intelligence?" Lorial asked.
"No, milady, but there's a…pulse…making its way to our ears."
"Someone must be using a Rite. Only magic of that caliber creates an audible pulse here in the Heavens," Aarus said with a thoughtful frown.
"If the two of you could spare some time, I think you will wish to investigate."
"For what reason?" Lorial asked.
"It's a pulse I have not heard in a long time. The temple of Civarka is using the Rite of Speech."
Lorial and Aarus were silent awhile. Lorial spoke first.
"What does your wisdom counsel, Aarus? The Material Realm has outlawed the Rite of Speech, and you yourself have said that such a ban was for the greater good. That it performed a vital service by giving creation freedom from our direct rule. However, in times such as these…"
"In these times, our guidance is more important than our restraint. Prepare my chariot, Ulmoran, and call the gods together. We shall hear what the priests have to say."
Before long, all the gods had gathered at the source of the magical pulse, which manifested itself as a clear lake of liquid light. Aarus looked down and saw the priests of Civarka's temple, with Rathten the Priest Master leading the ceremony. The offerings in the fire bowl rose as perfumed breezes through the lake, breezes that caressed the water and made the portal clearer. In the distance, Aarus heard chimes. He gestured to Sufar.
"Priests of Civarka's mighty Temple! Peace be upon you! We accept your offerings. Times are desperate. As such, we shall not punish you for using the forbidden Rite of Speech, but rather offer our counsel for the good of Fimbeljun," Sufar said.
Rathten bowed.
"Most high and majestic Sufar, Lord of Benesoth. All ye other gods, abundant in magnificence and overflowing with splendor, we thank you for your wisdom. As you doubtless know in your infinite wisdom, the Blight are upon us. Fimbeljun nears a total apocalypse. Therefore, mighty and merciful deities, we ask your help in guiding us, each to his duty for the salvation of our troubled land."
Aarus stepped towards the pool.
"First and perhaps foremost, take heart! Though you know it not, one of our kin walks among you in mortal flesh. He is already at work throughout Civarka to bring an end to this war. Furthermore, we shall give you tasks to further our cause of salvation. To Akami and Jehora, I urge you to make haste to Arahanta. Tell them to keep hope alive and help them prepare for the Blight."
Akami and Jehora bowed, trembling at being mentioned by name by one of the gods.
"Others among you may go to Jotunir or Ilcosarin," said Lorial, stepping towards the lake. "Their people may need you for morale and to help prepare the cities against attack."
Aarus nodded, then spoke again.
"Priest Master Rathten, thy faith is strong. As such, we shall honor you with a great task. Dismiss the other monks to their duties, for the prophecies of Lady Time may be revealed to a Priest Master alone."
Rathten gasped. He had not expected such an honor. To carry a prophecy was to carry fate in one's hands. Rathten rang a bell that signaled the dismissal of the temple meeting. The monks left for the stables, each prepared to carry out his task. When the great room of the temple was empty, Rathten bowed and said,
"Oh great and awesome gods, O Huria, all-wise mistress of eternity, I am ready to receive this prophecy, and carry it where I am bidden."
"Huria will give to you this prophecy. You are to take it with you, and speak of it to no one save those I will now name to thee. Go to the Northern City of Jotunir and relay the prophecy to two individuals: Silthian, a fire sprite, commander of the armies of the Feygruth, and Satha, a wanderer and servant of the gods."
Rathten nodded. Huria stepped forward.
"After long years, the truth of the gods has been clouded. A war, begun over the zealousness of the trolls, but fueled by far greater evil, threatens the world. The Blight have begun to wreak their havoc on an unsuspecting realm. Others have joined the war out of fear. They seek to save Fimbeljun, yet in doing so, old grievances will be renewed between them. Brother shall turn against brother and old friends will become bitter foes. In the final hour, a hero must use the unexpected weapon to win the day, or Fimbeljun shall perish in fire and endless night."
Rathten bowed.
"O magnificent goddess of time, I shall give this prophecy to its recipients. Thank you for imparting this knowledge to a humble servant of divinity."
"We entrust you with this secret knowledge of time. Impart it further to those we have named to you. And be swift, for time is of the essence. The blessings of our kindred and of Shasuka go with you," Aarus said.
The pool of light dissolved slowly, a lotus blossoming where it had been. The pulse settled into silence.
"Let us hope the prophecy is given," Minron said.
"Kahuël will know soon enough. In the meantime, we have our own mission. Ethek must be rescued," Aarus said.
"But you yourself have said our strength will not be adequate."
"We have little choice. All the gods must be present and ready for battle if this war is to be won. And perhaps one god may not be sufficient, but several of us may be able to free Ethek. Sufar!"
"Yes, Aarus?"
"I will allow you to select those among us whom you feel most fit for this difficult mission."
Sufar pondered awhile. At last, he said,
"Minron. Take Rissia and Nehuruna with you. Do what you must. Good luck."
Minron nodded.
"We shall not fail."

****
Chapter 27-The Siege of Jotunir
Satha returned some time later. Silthian turned to him.
"What news?"
"It's strange. Up until now, the Blight were just causing random chaos. They destroyed cities and towns, but they seemed to be just picking random places. Now, however, they appear to be moving with purpose. Someone has organized them. Last I saw, they were headed for the Plains of Tiriel," Silthian reported.
"The Plains of Tiriel…that's only a mile from Jotunir. Does the governor know about this?"
"His Eminence knows all about it," Nauther said. "We, however, have already suffered an attack from one of the lesser Blight, so there's not much we can do to save the city."
"Will you take us back to the governor's office? We must speak with him," Silthian said.
"Certainly, though it is his own decision whether he wants to listen to two strangers or not."
Nauther led them down the long stairways, outside and back into the room where they had met Jotunir's leader.
"What is it now, Nauther?"
"These visitors wish to speak with you, sir. It seems as if they may have a plan. I will leave it to you to discern their worth," the guard said, bowing and leaving through the bronze door.
"I'll have you know the Anaru can fend for themselves. We don't need the help of any Arukai, and we certainly don't wish to receive the advice of a fire sprite."
"I'll have you know that I've led more than a few battles myself! If you think…"
"Peace, Silthian. Be silent a moment. Forgive my comrade, governor Arkelus. No man, I think, can be entirely civil in trying days such as these. However, if you would at least hear our counsel, I believe you would be well rewarded."
The governor scowled at Silthian, but said,
"Very well. Speak."
"Thank you. My plan is this. There are, if my memory serves correctly, four pillars of very strong stone in the main square. If these could be felled, they would serve as a barricade. It would certainly not keep the Blight out for long, but it would buy time. It would appear that the Blight have not yet taken to destroying cities instantaneously. Perhaps they wish to spread fear. Perhaps they act on orders. Regardless, they are most likely to take down the city more slowly, slow enough, hopefully, to allow time for the citizens to evacuate. Have you any strongholds that the people could go to?"
"There are a few. However, those pillars you mentioned are cultural artifacts, reminders of our triumph over an ancient oppressor. They have great value to the people, and it would be a great blow to our morale to see them destroyed."
"Would you rather keep your morale or your lives?" Silthian asked.
"I would put it less bluntly. The worth of tradition should not be undervalued. It has been taken for granted far too often in recent years. Indeed, had a greater respect for the wisdom of the past been cultivated, it is possible that the Trolls would have realized the folly of disobeying the cautions of the Twelve Legend Scrolls. It is possible they might not have opened Chulumnos' gate. However, that said, Silthian makes a point. So much has been destroyed already, and the destruction will only get worse before it gets better. Some sacrifices may be necessary," Satha said.
"It will be taken under consideration. I do see the strategic merit. Continue."
"The citizens could be evacuated, and a few warriors could remain to secure any artifacts, tomes or other things that Jotunir would not wish to lose to the forces of evil," Satha finished.
Arkelus sighed.
"There's only one problem."
"Oh?"
"The strongholds will not survive for long. The Blight will find them, and they could easily break in. We would need a strong fighting force to hold them off for any length of time, and our possible centers of reinforcement are down to Ilcosarin and Arahanta, each of which is many miles away."
Suddenly, a bang was heard, followed by the booming of falling stone.
Silthian looked at Satha nervously.
"It appears our hand has been forced. Good luck, Arkelus. We will stay and help as best we can, but whatever's going to be done has to be done now," Satha said. Beckoning to Silthian, the two left the room.
When they emerged, Silthian was confronted with a terrible sight. The stone arch that had been the remains of the gateway had crumbled, and a fierce, enormous creature loomed over them. It had the body of something resembling a spider, but a humanoid torso and the head of a cobra. Its arms were glowing shafts of sickly green light, that ended in clawed lizard hands. Fire flashed around its head in an unholy halo. It had a scorpion tail. The creature swept its massive arm, and half of a wall crumbled to dust. Silthian watched, the world seeming to blur around him. Several Anaru soldiers charged at the thing. It opened its cobra hood and stared at them. The soldiers slowly melted into vapor, leaving only bones. The thing leaned its head towards Silthian and Satha.
Yes. Fear me, o insignificant ones. In my days of power, I was more feared than any being, mortal or god. I am the thirst for blood. I am the teacher of archdevils, and their dark master. I am Rahathkisha.
Silthian was frozen. Rahathkisha poised his fangs to strike. Satha flung Silthian out of the way. Silthian watched as the Arukai made a strange hand motion.
"In the name of Shasuka the Eternal, I rebuke thee!"
Rahathkisha roared, a chilling sound that was half roar, half screech. The body of the blighted being trembled and was still. Silthian got up.
"Is he…"
"Dead? I only wish. That rebuking will only last so long. Where is Arkelus?"
As if on cue, the rough voice of Jotunir's governor rang out from the Eyestone tower.
"Generals! Form a company and bring down the Pillars of Triumph! Set them against the gate. All other officers, get any civilians out!!"
A few minutes later, Arkelus came up to Silthian and Satha.
"Any other ideas?" he asked hopefully.
They all ducked as a gaseous being of the Blight vaporized another arch, sending chunks of stone raining down.
"Not much. I wish I could give more a more positive assessment, but Jotunir's lost. Save the Eyestone and the 3 Rings of Influence if you can. How close are we to having those pillars up?"
"The last one was just put into place. My men are now looking to get anything they can to reinforce the barricade."
"That's probably the best we can do," Silthian said.
"That, and do not engage any of the Blight in combat. Especially the one by the gate. It took the strongest magic I had just to delay him, and my powers are beyond that of any wizard," Satha said.
"I've ordered a full retreat," Arkelus shouted over the loud booming of a crumbling tower.
"A wise plan. If you wish to help in the effort to end this war, meet us at Ilcosarin in a fortnight," Satha advised.
"Will the Blight keep away from Ilcosarin for that long?"
"I think so. Arahanta has more that their master might want."
"Their…master?"
"No time to explain now. Let's move."
Silthian followed his ally out through a hole in the city wall used to drain water. They ran through the icy wastes. Silthian turned back to see the last of the towers of Jotunir fall.
May the gods help us all.

****
Chapter 28-Survivor's Vengeance

Ligdras surveyed the scene around him. The Blight, it appeared, had moved around. Most of his fellow Anaru had moved on as well. As he looked closer, however, a few survivors could be seen, hiding in pockets of rubble, or wherever seemed most out of sight.
So few left alive. May Nehuruna destroy the Trolls for their folly.
Ligdras walked up the remains of a slowly decaying staircase that once was the great Tower of Courage. He found what he was looking for. Ligdras examined the Horn of Unity, that had been used in the ancient days to call the Anaru together to rise against their foes. He placed the relic to his lips and blew.
A mighty blast echoed across the crumbling walls. Gradually, the survivors began to gather around the foundation on which Ligdras stood.
"Friends and brethren! I am greatly heartened to see you all alive. Many have perished in this great tragedy."
The gathered Anaru were silent. What could be said?
"It is fortunate that there are still a few among us left to mourn those who did not survive the battle. Let us honor our fallen with a few moments of reflection."
The silence continued. There were few tears, but all those gathered bore a look of weariness and defeat. Ligdras cleared his throat again.
"Yet still, perhaps, as our ancestors did with this very horn, we can gather together from disorder into unity once more."
The faces of the crowd grew brighter.
"We have faced oppression before. We have faced it, and we have defeated it!"
There were some hopeful murmurs
"No being, in earth, heaven or hell, can destroy the Anaru! We are indomitable. I say we band together, take what we may and bring our people into prosperity once more!"
There was a cheer.
"So who's with me?"
The group cheered again.
Perhaps we have survived for a purpose, Ligdras thought.

****
Chapter 29-Wisdom of the Ages

Silthian was tired. Though the fire that kindled his being kept him going for far longer than any creature of mere flesh could, Ilcosarin was many miles from Jotunir. In the course of three days, Silthian and Satha had crossed the great river Zharun, traversed the forests of Nimhodel and at last reached the glittering gates of the city. The strangest part of the journey, Silthian decided, was the fact that he could barely remember the details of their daily travels. Each morning, after a brief meal, Satha would begin to walk. The walk gradually increased to a run. As they ran, many landmarks flashed before them. Indeed, it seemed to Silthian as if it was the world that was moving, while they were nearly standing still. Silthian knew this had to be some form of magic of great power. He decided to ask Satha where he had learned such abilities.
"I cannot reveal such knowledge at this time. Much depends upon as few people knowing of my presence in Fimbeljun as possible. Beyond this, it seems, Silthian, that we are in an age of great revealings. Things that were once whispered of in shadows have now appeared in broad daylight, and it has not been for our world's good. Old wounds have been reopened when they should have remained closed. There is a kind of reluctance by many to keep knowledge secret. This may be a small part of the strife that now threatens to destroy us all. For the one who can keep knowledge sequestered from evil, and who is willing to wait until the time is right to receive wisdom, this one is truly wise."
Silthian thought about Satha's words for a long moment. They reassured him.
"Very well, Satha," he said at last. "You have once again taught me much. It's strange how much wisdom you have given and still not answered my questions. Still, I will do as you suggest, and allow hidden knowledge to remain safely hidden."
"Thank you. I assure you, I wish that present danger did not force me to be so enigmatic, but such are the times. Come. We must learn what we can from the great libraries of the Ekkashians."
They navigated the streets of the strange city, twisting and turning through alleys and streets. As they went, Silthian noticed that all the streets were arranged in a triangular pattern. Geometric beauty seemed to be the focus in Ilcosarin. Everywhere were murals of mystic shapes and patterns. Sculptures in bronze lined the intersections, each one containing a plaque with equations and symbols.
At last they reached the library. It was, to the travelers' surprise, formed in the shape of a dodecahedron. They slid the circular door open and entered.
"What is our purpose here?"
"The Blight must be resealed. If there is any knowledge to be found on how such a miracle can be performed, there are two places where it could be found. One of them is in the underground archives of the Trolls."
"Which would naturally be a bit problematic, since they wouldn't exactly appreciate visitors from the resistance."
"Correct. The other possible place is here, though I will admit that Ilcosarin is not exactly the safest place either."
"What do you mean?"
An Ekkashian librarian walked passed, his equine head briefly turning to look at the two. After a moment's scrutiny, he moved on.
Satha led Silthian to a more discreet corridor of the archives.
"The Ekkashians are dangerous. Brilliant and wise beyond many, but dangerous."
"Why?"
"The Ekkashians are among the few who have mastered Frontier magic."
Silthian shivered. His people knew about Frontier magic. The beings of the Feygruth only used it occasionally. It was a separate branch of wizardry from the safer, more controllable magic that the wizards of Uran and Civarka used. Frontier magic was at once more powerful, more precise and infinitely more dangerous.
"They have spent many ages mastering it. Indeed, they are perhaps the first race to have nearly mastered it. They have outlawed all other forms of magic within their domain. They are relatively friendly towards those of the Feygruth, since your kin are also users of Frontier magic, but we'd best tread carefully, even so."
The two wanderers ascended a stone staircase. Satha gestured to the shelf.
"Look for any scrolls regarding the Blight. They should be around here."
An hour's searching yielded six scrolls, each one covered front and back with the precise, meticulous script of the Ekkashians.
"Can you read Ekkash?"
Silthian nodded.
"Ekkash and Uran Common. The only two languages I have learned besides my own."
Silthian looked at the first scroll.
"In the ancient days, it was said that the Blight were defeated when the Eternals used the weapon of passive and subtle force. What manner of weapon this is may be lost forever. It is fortunate that they succeeded in their task. Let all pray that such a weapon is never needed," he read.
"The weapon of passive force…" Satha mused.
"This is no help! We came here for tactical advice, not wispy philosophy!" Silthian exclaimed.
"Patience. The ancients often cloak their wisdom in riddles. It is their way, and it keeps knowledge out of unworthy hands. Ponder what the scroll has said, and continue reading."
Silthian nodded.
"It cannot be said that this paradoxical weapon stood alone. For tied to it was the deepest magic, the magic of Fimbeljun and of the Eternals. The spell and the sword fantastic, they did pierce the darkness. And those beings which plagued the cosmos were no more. No longer would the mortals fear the wrath of…"
"Of?"
"There are blanks."
Satha peered over at the scroll.
"Ah. Of course. The writers did not wish to write the names of these, for naming them gives them power. If you know the Cipher of Ekkashian Secrets, you may read their names, but to read them in any unencoded tongue is to invite danger."
"What could this weapon be?"
"I have the feeling it may be less of a weapon than we might think. We shall see."
****

Chapter 30-A Revelation

Rathten stopped his horse. The gates of Ilcosarin loomed over him.
Heaven above me and hell behind me. Aarus help us all, he thought. He walked through the gate. The Ekkashian guards knelt.
"Welcome, Honored Priest Master. What is your business here?" one asked.
"My business is my own. It may only be revealed to the one I seek."
"Very well. The Priest Master is welcome in any city. Enter."
Rathten bowed his head slightly and began to look for the library. After an hour of searching, he came to the polygonal archive. Looking up, he saw a fire sprite on the upper floor. He ran up the stairs, nearly knocking over a librarian.
"Are you Silthian?" Rathten asked.
the fire sprite blinked.
"Yes…"
"I was told to seek you out. I bring a message from the gods."
Silthian winced.
"I am not…a follower of the gods, but given the times, I will hear what you have to say."
"Lady Huria, the goddess of time, brings a prophecy to thee."
Rathten saw the Arukai standing nearby. He gave him a narrow glance.
"I may only reveal this prophecy to the ones the goddess has deigned worthy."
Satha looked up from the scroll he was studying.
"Thearos sutanor rilliathia," Satha said.
Rathten's eyes grew wide. He dropped to the floor and touched his forehead to the ground.
"Wise master of the infinite clarities, I am honored to be in thy presence. May thy transcendent light illumine our paths unto all ages!"
Silthian glanced at Satha.
"What is he talking about?"
"Now is not the time. Soon, all will become clear. Silthian must hear his prophecy, Rathten."
"Huria, mistress of all eternity, gives these words to Silthian the fire sprite, commander of the Mist King's armies: After long years, the truth of the gods has been clouded. A war, begun over the zealousness of the trolls, but fueled by far greater evil, threatens the world. The Blight have begun to wreak their havoc on an unsuspecting realm. Others have joined the war out of fear. They seek to save Fimbeljun, yet in doing so, old grievances will be renewed between them. Brother shall turn against brother and old friends will become bitter foes. In the final hour, a hero must use the unexpected weapon to win the day, or Fimbeljun shall perish in fire and endless night."
"Why have I been given this prophecy?" Silthian asked.
"I know not the intentions of the great goddess of the ages. I only deliver her counsel. It is for you and your guide to determine what such counsel means."
"The unexpected weapon…" Silthian pondered. "That was mentioned in the scrolls."
"Indeed…" Satha replied.
A boom echoed through the halls of the library.
"What was that?" Rathten said.
"They come. Ilcosarin is their last target. The Blight's conquest is near its completion."

Chapter 31-Reascension
The three ran out into the main streets. A tall Anaru came out from behind an alley.
"Arkelus?" Silthian asked.
Arkelus stood silent for awhile, panting. At last, he spoke.
"I never thanked the two of you for your plan. Most of our civilians are safe now."
"You are most welcome, but the battle is not over," Satha said grimly.
"On my way here, I saw a group of Anaru headed for the city. I tried to speak with them, but they attacked me. Their leader is a well known dissident named Ligdras. It seems they are also coming to attack Ilcosarin."
"Two enemies? We'll need an ingenious strategy or a magnificent evacuation plan."
"There is nowhere to run," Rathten sighed. "The Blight have no more targets."
Satha closed his eyes.
"This is it."
"What?" Silthian asked.
"The focal point. The pivotal battle. My senses tell me that the fate of Fimbeljun will hinge on this attack. I am afraid, Silthian, that I must leave you here."
Silthian gasped.
"What?! How could you depart now, when times are at their darkest."
"I'm needed elsewhere. This battle is no mere siege on the earth. If my intuition is correct, all the world will be at war. So I must depart, and now I can show you my true identity."
Satha stretched his arms out.
"From the earth to the heavens, one who is among you wishes to return!"
Suddenly, Satha shook, until his body exploded in a brilliant burst of white light. For a brief instant, Silthian saw the beatific and wise face of the great god Kahuël. Then there was a slight flash, and an orb of radiance floated up out of sight. All that remained was the Arukai's cloak and staff.
"You were truly blessed, to have the lord of transcendence as your guide. Kahuël does not walk in flesh and bone with just anyone," Rathten said, bowing to Silthian.
Silthian hung his head. Armies he could handle, but how was he to defeat such dark and invincible destroyers as the Blight?
"The Ekkashians are already on the battlefield. I did manage to bring a few of the Anaru with me. We had best get out there and fight our hardest," Arkelus said.
Silthian nodded. Prophecies would have to come about when it was their time.
"Let's go."
****

Chapter 32-The Rescue

Rissia glanced about quickly.
"Is this it?"
"So it would seem. I have hunted Marok down many times, and this cave pulsates with his presence," Minron said.
"Demon blood shall be spilt this day," Nehuruna said, clenching his hand around his great-sword.
"This is a rescue mission only. I want our foe to be destroyed as much as you do, and Marok shall have his reckoning, but now is not the moment," Rissia said.
Nehuruna nodded. They walked boldly into the cave. Before long, they saw Ethek.
"You've made it! Praise be to Shasuka. I don't know how much longer I could have borne Marok's tormenting."
"Let's move. Minron, destroy the binding symbols. Nehuruna, guard the entrance," Rissia instructed.
"No need for hurry. Stay awhile," said a chilling voice. Suddenly, Marok floated down from a balcony above the cave floor.
"What makes you think you can stand against the lord of Archdevils?" Marok said with a smile.
"As much as I would like to rend your very spirit and scatter the pieces from here to the Abyss Realm, the final battle is still imminent, so it is not your time yet. Nevertheless, we will do what we must to free Ethek," Rissia snarled
"I'm afraid you'll find that…difficult," Marok laughed.
Suddenly, the archdevil snapped his fingers, and sixteen devils appeared in a burst of flame. Claws raised, fangs dripping with acid venom, they surrounded the four deities.
"Ethek's free," Minron whispered to Rissia.
"Good. Then we can get out."
"Not yet. The devils are in the way of the exit. And anyhow, we ought to remind Marok that we are the gods," Nehuruna said with a growl.
Minron nodded. Shapeshifting into an enormous white hawk, he rose to the cave's roof. With a flap of his wings, Minron sent a shimmering white wave of light across the room. Four of the devils caught fire, burning with a brilliant white flame. They evaporated, returning to the hells.
Ethek leaped out from where he had been bound to the wall, slicing two devils with his scythe.
The remaining devils stood in a line. They uttered a dark spell, and a black, noxious smoke began to gather and blow towards their foes at high speed. It slammed against the cave wall. Nehuruna began to choke. Minron flapped his wings, and the fumes cleared.
The gods charged forward. The devils drew black serrated scimitars. Marok hovered above them, occasionally sending blasts of sickly green light at the gods.
"Enough of this! We will not tarry here for your amusement, Marok!" Ethek exclaimed. He held up his scythe and closed his eyes. The room began to grow colder. The other three gods touched weapons, creating a golden shield around them. The cave walls were crusted with ice. The remaining devils screamed in pain as they slowly turned to dark grey mist and dissipated. Ethek lowered his weapon, and the gods let down their shield. The cave returned to normal.
"I am not proud of the mistakes that brought me to this position, but if by the power given me I can rid the world of more evil than I could as an angel, my work is blessed. I have kept my soul's fire strong, and I have not faltered in the task given to me," Ethek said fiercely.
Marok was silent. Then he began to grow until his head touched the top of the cave. His scales began to disappear, replaced by jet black skin with the luster of obsidian. His eyes grew blindingly bright.
"The age of the gods has ended," boomed Marok. "No longer will I suffer the oppression of the heavens! Your time has come, and even the god of death cannot save you. PREPARE TO FEEL THE WRATH OF AN ETERNAL!"
A whirling vortex of purple fire burst from Marok's hand and slammed into the cave wall, barely missing the gods. The stone shattered and crumbled to dust. Minron raised his massive wings, then slammed them into the ground. A glowing shockwave shook the cave's ceiling and floor. The ceiling began to crack, and collapsed on Marok. Minron shapeshifted back to his true form.
"That won't hold him for long. Let's go."
The gods departed as quickly as they could.
Marok's power is far greater than we could have imagined, Ethek thought. Shasuka protect us.

****

Chapter 33-The Final Council

Rissia pounded on the gates of Zalo's council tower. Sufar flung the door open.
"Come quickly. War council is already in session."
The four gods disappeared in a flash of light and teleported to the council room. All the gods except Kahuël and Kelahim were gathered there.
"Excellent. Ethek has been safely returned. Well done. Two of the gods and a host of demigods have been dispatched to free the Hasurim."
"That is good, though we bear ill tidings," Rissia said.
"What are they?" Sufar asked anxiously.
"Our most disturbing questions about our enemy have been answered. How he commands the Blight. How he managed to escape Shiraksa. Marok is an Eternal."
There were no gasps, only a deafening, almost electric silence.
"Then there is no time to lose. If there was ever a time for desperate battle, this is it," Aarus said.
"Impossible! No god can defeat an Eternal, it's never been done," Nehuruna exclaimed.
"He's right. Perhaps we can attempt one last negotiation. It may be our only hope," Elsareth suggested.
"There is no turning back now. If we allow Marok to subjugate all Fimbeljun, then we have failed in the charge given to us by its originator," Sufar said.
"Its…originator?" Ethek asked.
"What do you speak of?" Aarus asked.
"There is little hope. Our only possible path to victory will be to reseal the Blight according to Huria's prophecy and to plead for the aid of Shasuka the Eternal."
"You mean cross the Frontier? Enter the Root Realm? No being, mortal or god has ever made it to the home of the Eternals!" Lorial interjected.
"I am neither mortal nor god. I am a Steward, a servant of Shasuka himself. It will be a long journey, but I can pass safely through the void of the Frontier and reach the other side."
Aarus' eyes grew wider. He bowed.
"Had I known that a Steward of Shasuka yet lived, I would have given him my place in the pantheon."
"None of that. We are all keepers of Fimbeljun, and none of us could keep it safe on his own. I must go. Best of luck, and blessings go with all of you."
Sufar closed his eyes. For a moment, he was still. Then he fell to the ground, and his body slowly dissolved, like water.
"Sufar!" Rissia exclaimed in shock.
"Fear not, Rissia. He is not dead. A body, even a divine body, is too heavy for a Steward to take across the Frontier. Sufar travels as spirit now. All we can do is hope that he will return with his master."
The gods were silent awhile. Then, when a few moments of silence had passed, they began to discuss strategy.

****

Chapter 34-A War in Heaven and Earth

The crystal gate of Ilcosarin fell. Silthian stabbed one of the bandit Anaru with his dagger. He waded through the combat zone, dodging blasts from the steadily advancing line of the Blight, and went to join the Mist King, who had assembled a group of Fea.
"Well, Silthian. A good day to be alive, isn't it?" he said with a chuckle, cutting down an advancing troll.
"How can you be light hearted at a time like this?" Silthian exclaimed.
"We must laugh, or we shall surely weep until our spirits shatter," the Mist King replied.
Silthian clashed with a troll warrior. After several swift exchanges of blows, Silthian sliced the troll's jugular vein. The Mist King cut down more warriors.
Arkelus ran to their side.
"I've been requested by the Ekkashian Lord to help hold the breach at the gate. I'm leaving half a squadron of my warriors with you, Silthian. Use them to the best of your abilities."
Silthian nodded. Arkelus left.
"Forward! Take the trolls! We must not falter!" Silthian exclaimed.
"My warriors, take on Ligdras and his bandits. They will only distract us from the real battle when the Blight arrive!" the Mist King ordered.

--------

Nethka stopped his horse. He had reached his destination, an abandoned ruin a few miles from Ilcosarin. As he rounded the corner of what looked to be the lower half of a stone tower, he saw his master. With a swallow, Nethka cleared his throat and said,
"Why have I been summoned here?"
"I wish to give you your battle plan. You must take the Blight…"
"Master, if you will forgive my insolence, allow me to express my concerns."
"Victory is almost upon us! What petty concerns would press upon you now?" the cloaked wizard spat.
"I joined this war for riches and to further Kelahim's purpose. Yet now Fimbeljun is in ruins. Only one of the great and prosperous cities of the world is yet standing, and now the Blight attack this as well! When will their hunger be satisfied? Surely Kelahim would not wish for the Material Realm to be destroyed, even for his glory!"
Nethka's master was silent for a moment. He glared at the troll leader.
"You do not know your place, Nethka. Perhaps a reduction of your reward is in order? Indeed, if you carry on like this, I may kill you to save the trouble of paying you."
"This has gone far enough. Give me my payment, or the armies of the Trolls shall not support you."
Nethka's master quivered. He shook, and suddenly his skin burst. In the place of the Arukai wizard, Nethka beheld a terrifying devil, with skin as black as night, and eyes of terrifying blue.
"You will lead the armies to conquest, slave. I will bargain with no craven mercenary. You shall secure my victory, or you shall die a most painful death," the devil snarled.
Nethka's heart raced in his chest. If his memory of ancient legend was correct, this was Marok, most feared among archdevils. He frantically searched for something to say, some way to appease Marok's anger, but nothing came.
"You are wise to fear me. But do not let fear keep you from victory. I shall not kill you yet. Indeed, do this for me, and I shall spare your life. Perhaps you may even yet become Civarka's master."
Nethka turned to go, but then stopped. He knew what manner of being Marok was. He knew that neither Kelahim nor any other god would accept the offerings of one who stood beside the archdevil.
"No."
"What?" Marok hissed.
"No. In the name of Kelahim, I stand against thee."
"Very well. Then you shall go to meet your god!"
Nethka closed his eyes and braced himself for the end. Marok's hand began to flash with lightning. Suddenly, Nethka heard a deafening noise, like a trumpet, and he was lifted by an invisible force that pulled him out of the Material Realm.

--------

Nethka opened his eyes. He was standing on a vast expanse of tundra. The ice around him was a faint rosy shade, with flecks of sky blue. The sky was dark, but with stars that gave off a warm glow. He looked up, and was amazed to see a vast host of Hasurim floating down to the ground. To his even greater surprise, two gods appeared in front of them. The angels and their masters reached the ground.
"Take the Hasurim back to Himmelia, Kahuël. Tell Aarus I will be coming presently. I must speak with one of my devotees," said a wolf-headed god.
The other deity nodded and flew off with the angels. Kelahim knelt on the ice and began to scratch out words in the ice with his claw. They were in a strange script that Nethka could not lead. Filled at once with both fear and devotion, Nethka bowed deeply.
"All-wise and all-knowing god of my forefathers, god of truth and understanding, all glory be thine. Bestow upon me thy just wrath, and rid Fimbeljun of a great traitor."
Kelahim said nothing. The cool winds blew across the landscape.
"Your crimes are great, but I have no come to deliver wrath. I have come to deliver mercy, as I delivered you from the hand of Marok."
Nethka gasped. The kindness of his god seemed impossible to believe. Unsure of how to respond, he asked,
"O great keeper of divine wisdom, where am I?"
"This is the plane of Lalrenai, in the Astral Realm. We were crossing here on our way to Himmelia."
"For what purpose have you spared my wretched life, o vast and omniscient one?"
"Understand, Nethka, that the essence of mercy and of grace is that they do not ask for anything in return. However, I do call you forward to a new task in my name."
"I am thy servant," Nethka said, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.
"There is a spell which you know. It is known as the Spell of Heaven's Binding. There is a fire sprite named Silthian, who is destined by prophecy to save Fimbeljun. However, he needs your help. There are two weapons that must be used to defeat the Blight. One is the unexpected weapon, which is truly no weapon at all. Silthian must end the battle through surrender, or the Blight will continue to feed on the power of the destruction, for such is their way. If both sides choose peace, the Blight will lack sustenance and grow weaker. When this happens, they will become weak enough for the Spell of Heaven's binding to return them to the darkness from whence they came."
Nethka looked into Kelahim's eyes. He saw the urgency within them, and said,
"I shall gladly perform this duty for thy glory, o wise god. Your mercy is nigh inconceivable, and vastly wonderful. I thank thee a thousand times over for sparing me from utter doom, my lord."
"Go and bring Fimbeljun to peace once more," said Kelahim. He touched Nethka's forehead and the troll was flung through space. He fell for what seemed like an eternity, until at last he returned to the Material Realm at the same place he had left. Marok was gone. Nethka mounted his horse and rode forth, to destiny.

--------

Kahüel and the Hasurim touched down on the grass of Himmelia. Aarus approached them, sending shafts of blue light at the army of demons and devils.
"Well done! Where is Kelahim?"
"He will come as soon as he can. How goes the battle?"
"The demons are easily felled, the devils are formidable but not invincible. Yet Marok's armies seem inexhaustible. And Marok himself has already torn Himmelia asunder. Half of the heaven is a black void."
Kahüel looked to the horizon and saw that Aarus had spoken truly.
"Where are the Radiant Ones, your brethren?" Aarus asked.
"Moments away," Kahuël replied, ducking a spear that came hurtling towards him.
"Good. Onward, then! For Fimbeljun!" Aarus exclaimed, charging back into the fray.
The Hasurim followed him into battle. As the Radiant Ones arrived in Himmelia, Kahuël led them in a charge. The combined force of their benevolent auras began to push the legions of hell back. The rear lines of the enemy fell into the void.
Maybe there's hope, Kahuël thought.

--------

Silthian watched in terror as the last of the Anaru that Arkelus had placed under his command fell to the Blight. The warrior's bones had suddenly cracked, and he fell in a heap. Silthian averted his eyes. He turned to the Mist King.
"What can be done now?"
"Very little. Only a miracle of the highest caliber could save us now," the Mist King sighed.
Silthian turned his attention back to the battlefield as three beings who resembled giant snakes with horns slithered towards him.
Surely the prophecy must be of some help. All questions of faith aside, if the gods truly spoke it, it must show the answer. The unexpected weapon.
As he desperately dodged the attacks of the creatures in front of him, the final words of the prophecy turned over and over in Silthian's mind.
The unexpected weapon. The unexpected weapon.
Suddenly, he remembered something that Satha had said when they were in the archives, what seemed like an eternity ago.
"I have a feeling it may be less of a weapon than we think."
If the Blight were creatures of destruction, then surely no weapon, not even an unexpected one, could defeat them.
They are unstoppable. No weapon can defeat them. No weapon. No weapon. No…weapon...
That was it! Silthian realized. The only thing that could possibly defeat creatures of destruction was the lack of something to destroy. The unexpected weapon was no weapon at all!
"Kosaithan! We are saved! A prophecy has revealed itself!"
The Mist King, Kosaithan, looked up.
"Now would certainly be the time. What does this prophecy tell us?"
"Call the Fea troops, call everyone into a surrender!" Silthian exclaimed.
"What?! Are you insane, Silthian? We'll give them hells to our very last!"
"Precisely! That's why they gain such power, because they have something to steal power from. Creatures of war and doom can only be stopped by the passive force of light! Call the surrender."
The Mist King looked at Silthian long and hard, trying to decide what to do. In the distance, the last wall of Ilcosarin erupted into flame.
"Very well. But by all the gods and by the spirit walkers of the Feygruth, this had better work, Silthian."
The Mist King blew a horn, then called to Arkelus to halt his troops. Slowly, the warriors dropped their weapons. Everyone watched. And waited.

--------

Nethka raced towards Ilcosarin. His horse was swift, but time was running out. At last he reached what remained of the Ekkashian city. A fire sprite approached him.
"You are…Nethka, are you not?"
Nethka nodded.
"I know our sides have been at war, but the future of the world depends on…"
"Say no more. Are you Silthian?"
"I am."
"Kelahim has spoken to me, and given me the duty of helping you in this victory."
Nethka turned to face the troll army.
"Stand down, men! We have been led astray by the forces of darkness. Kelahim demands peace!"
The warriors looked surprised, but they dropped their weapons slowly. The Blight continued to ravage what was left of the city.
"I don't understand! Peace must be the unexpected weapon, I felt sure of it, but the Blight seem as strong as ever!" Silthian exclaimed.
"You have fulfilled your role, Silthian. They are weakening. You can see it. They fight slower now, but they will not be defeated until I fulfill my duty and use the spell taught to me many years ago by a mysterious teacher. This will return the Blight to Chulumnos. Sorcerers! Prepare me a glyph of spellcraft! Swiftly!"
The sorcerers obeyed, and before long, a glyph was formed, this time out of white sorcerer's sand.
Nethka stepped into the glyph.
"Vox Ombra Peccatum Atum Atum Kantarus Mishpat Naher!" Nethka yelled.
The sky began to grow brighter. It became more and more brilliant, until at last all that could be seen was white. There were screams from the Blight as their marks of binding pulled their essences back to Chulumnos. After a long, long time, the last cry was heard and the sky grew grey again. The Blight were gone.
A great and mighty cheer erupted from all sides of the battle.

--------

Ethek dispatched two demons with his scythe, barely managing to keep his guard up from sheer weariness. The battle had been fierce, but the gods were gradually losing. Many of the Hasurim were either slain or wounded, and the few remainders stood in a valiant line of defense, trying desperately to hold the last stretch of solid ground in Himmelia against the encroaching void. In the past hour, Marok's army had slain nearly all the Illuminai that had been sent into battle, destroyed many of the Radiant Ones and, horror of all horrors, killed one of the gods. In his many years as the god of death, he hadn't believed it was possible to kill a god, to destroy the seemingly ineffable spirit of a deity. Yet Marok had cursed Elsareth, and she had become a wraith, her now shadowy form melting out of the Outer Realm. Ethek still wept as he held against the merciless tide of hells' warriors.
"Huria! Kahuël!" he called. "If any one among us could see to the Frontier, it would be one of you. Is Sufar's mission succeeding?"
Huria sent a blast of time magic from her staff, which withered and aged her archdemon opponent until he dissipated. She then answered him,
"No glad tidings, to my sorrow. I do not know. He has either successfully crossed the Frontier, or perished in the attempt."
"I would not worry about Sufar," said Kolat, smashing a devil's skull in with his glowing blue hammer. "Seldom has a Steward of Shasuka died against the Eternal's wishes."
I hope you're right, Ethek thought.
Ulmoran the Astral Lord flew in with the four Astral Guardians and a reinforcement corps of demigods. The new troops quickly got to work on the battle field. The heavenly forces had made some progress, but not a significant amount.
Suddenly, from across the battlefield, there was a shockwave that made the ground ripple. A burst of smoke exploded in the air. When it cleared, a creature smaller than Marok but greater than all the dark armies appeared. It bore the terrible form of a scorpion-snake hybrid. Ethek recognized it.
"Ulmoran! Keep your troops clear of the center! Marok has called forth Rahathkisha!"
The Astral Lord turned pale.
"Are you sure, lord of death? I could have sworn that we heard news of the mortals sealing up the Blight. They fulfilled Huria's prophecy!"
"Marok is an Eternal. He could still call forth his former master without much trouble. See for yourself!"
Ulmoran looked across the battlefield and gasped.
"What will we do? Only the demigods can hold against that member of the Blight for any length of time, and even they will be quickly obliterated!"
"Spare us as much time as you can. We can rebuke Rahathkisha, but it won't hold out forever," Ethek ordered.
"Yes, my lord," Ulmoran replied.
Rissia battled his way over to Ethek.
"Not unlike the days of the Primordials," he remarked.
"So it would seem, though I fear we shall not emerge as victorious as that battle."
"So much depends on Sufar…" Rissia said with a nervous glance at Rahathkisha.

****

Chapter 35-The Threshold of Time

Sufar fell. Falling had become his state of living. Even as a Steward, it had been long years since he had traveled to the Root Realm to commune with Shasuka, and he had forgotten the sensation of endless descent that the Frontier brought.
The Frontier was dark, and Sufar felt as if he were falling through an ocean of darkness. After many long hours of descent, he began to see light beneath him. It was a refreshing light, cool and green and nourishing. The light grew brighter, and eventually, Sufar's descent slowed, until he landed softly in a green meadow.
Sufar stood up. He felt refreshed by the renewing energies of the Root Realm. He looked around, and saw an immense mountain, whose peak connected with the focal point of Fimbeljun.
Tenmauël, Sufar realized. The mountain of God's light. I will find my master there.
Without wasting another moment, Sufar began to scale the mountain. It was a long journey, but he felt not the least bit weary. After six days of climbing, he reached the summit. Beneath him lay the Root Realm in all its green glory. Above him was the focal point that held Fimbeljun together, a halo of light hovering above the peak. A moment passed, and Sufar felt a powerful breeze.
"Peace be unto my servant", said a voice that made the mountain wildflowers quiver ever so slightly, made the trees bend their tall heads.
The air began to shimmer and coalesce, and a figure appeared. He wore a white and silver robe. His face was wreathed in light, and Sufar could not look upon it directly, but a sense of royal, almost leonine power emanated from the being.
Sufar knelt.
"My lord and master, the ever subtle and masterful Shasuka, highest among the Eternals, I have come to entreaty for your aid."
"I welcome you back to the Root Realm, Sufar. It seems you are among the last of my stewards. You have carried out my purpose well. Tell me now, what troubles the world above?"
"Surely you know, my lord."
"I do. Still, I wish to hear your telling of it, so that I may better divine the best course of action."
"Marok has escaped Shiraksa and moved events in the Mortal Realms so that the Blight escaped. After long council and consideration, we were able to move many of the mortals against him, so that the Blight were resealed. However, the Material Realm is in ruins, the Outer Realm has been nearly destroyed, Elsareth, the goddess of justice, is dead and Rahathkisha has ben released again."
"I thank you for your report, my Steward. These things I have watched as they came to pass, but I did not intervene, for I knew that if Fimbeljun's people are to remain courageous and strong of heart, they would have to defeat this evil on their own. Yet now I see the suffering of the angels, and the war which has spilled into the Material Realm. The legions of hell ravage all except this oasis of tranquility. Therefore, I see my time has come to reappear to my creation."
"Thank you, my liege. I know not how the world might have survived had you not heard the suffering of the people and chosen to come to their aid."
"Time, as you know, is shorter than it ever has been. We must be swift. Let us fly."
And all of a sudden, Shasuka's form shifted, and he became a great eagle, whose wings of light stretched across the sky, bathing the Root Realm in a rich golden glow. Shasuka ascended the focal point, Sufar upon his back, and they began the long journey back to the battlegrounds above.

****

Chapter 36-The Last Judgement

Aarus was distraught. Since the battle's beginning, three gods had become wraiths, and Himmelia was entirely no more. In the last heaven of Benesoth, the few surviving demigods and the gods fought against the great legions of their foes.
They had made some progress, Aarus realized. The reinforcements came slower now. Still, that brought little comfort, for the demons and devils still reappeared at a nigh undefeatable rate.
Aarus watched in horror as Lorial now also fell victim to Marok's curse.
Suddenly, there was a great roar, like that of an immense lion, and rays of light began to emanate from the focal point.
"Sufar has returned!" Rissia said joyfully.
From the depths of Fimbeljun's center, an eagle burst forth into the skies of Benesoth, carrying Sufar on his back. The gods watched in awe.
"Kneel, brethren," Kahuël said.
The gods knelt before the eagle, who swept across the battlefield with his wings. Shasuka then shapeshifted again into a white lion, and roared.
At the sound of the mighty roar, the devils and demons cringed, shook, and exploded into shimmering silver fire, which was slowly extinguished by a cool, misty breeze that smelled of fragrant blossoms. It began to rain, and the trees of Benesoth that had been burned to ashes grew back stronger and more verdant than ever before.
Shasuka then returned to his true form and approached Marok. Marok sent a giant black bolt of lightning, but the Eternal merely waved his hand, and it became a rainbow.
"By the power of my nature, I bind thee, Marok." Shasuka said.
The archdevil began to twist and writhe. liquid light flowed from his limbs as his power was drained away. At last, he fell to the ground limp and closed his eyes.
"Is he…"
"Dead? No. He will stand his final judgement."
Shasuka approached Rahathkisha.
"By the power of my nature, I cast thy doom upon thee."
Rahathkisha roared, and suddenly exploded in a black orb of dark energy.
Shasuka waved his hand, and the angels and gods who had been destroyed were restored to life. He smiled.
The demigods and the deities rejoiced.

--------

Marok awoke in a courtroom that was larger than any he had ever seen. Gold, marble and sapphire tiled the floor, and a host of Arbitrators were gathered, along with all the gods and Shasuka.
One of the Arbitrators began the trial.
"Marok, of the archdevils, formerly of the Eternals. You are summoned here to the celestial courts to be judged for these crimes: Mass genocide on a cross planar scale, releasing the Blight from their prison, murder of four gods, attempted murder of an Eternal and refusal to accept an exile. You shall now be given a chance to answer to these charges."
Marok was silent. He knew not what to say. At last, he spoke.
"I will answer to these charges, and I will not deny a single one of them. I sought to take what was my right as an Eternal, and I was punished in the ancient days by exile. Exile to Shiraksa, no less. My existence was pure torment for many years. If I have committed wrongs, it was only for the sake of avenging the injustices inflicted upon me."
"The gods may now give their opinions," the Arbitrator said.
"Marok deserves no mercy. Furthermore, it would appear that condemnation to Shiraksa was not enough to burn away his pride. Therefore, I vote to condemn him to the Chamber of Torment."
There was a collective gasp from the Arbitrators. The Chamber of Torment was perhaps the most desperate punishment that could be inflicted. It lay below Shiraksa, and was the known as the most painful experience in the mortal and immortal realms combined.
One by one, the other gods rose and gave their vote. Only Rissia and Sufar suggested a re -incarceration in Shiraksa. Marok tried to stand tall and show no fear, yet he trembled within.
"Shasuka, lord of the Eternals and greatest among the rulers of Fimbeljun, you may speak."
"I fully realize the weight of Marok's actions. Indeed, it was for these actions that I condemned him to the darkest hell. And I fully believe the threat he poses must be destroyed. However, the Chamber of Torment is a rather harsh sentence for any being, mortal or immortal. Therefore, I suggest that his essence be unraveled and that he join the Firmament of Wayward Souls, in the Root Realm. For I sense his inner longing to return to the place of peace he once called home, and he will pose no threat in such a state. I would deny no one, not even an enemy, such a deep wish."
The Arbitrator looked shocked. He conferred for a few minutes with the gods.
"O great and omnipotent Shasuka, lord of Fimbeljun, thy will be done."
Marok's jaw dropped. Had Shasuka just pardoned him? Unraveling was unraveling, that was true, but he had braced himself for the darkest pain the gods could forge for him, and now it seemed that his secret yearning for a return to paradise would be granted. And then, a strange thing happened. Marok wept. He wept for joy, for sorrow, for surprise. The former lord of the archdevils knelt before Shasuka, his head touching the floor.
"My lord, thy mercy is too great to express in words. I forever thank thee."
Shasuka placed his hands on Marok's shoulders. Blue energy coursed through the Eternal's arms. Marok began to grow fainter. His form shifted to a turquoise mist, which then began to dissolve in glittering flashes of light. At last, all that remained was a whitish-blue mote of radiance, which floated out of the room. A sense of peace and well being filled the gathered deities.
A tranquil stillness settled upon the room. The Arbitrator cleared his throat.
"Blessed are thy ways, Lord of Eternals. Blessed even more because they are kinder than our own. Truly, your mercy extends unto infinite eternity," he said reverently. The Arbitrators and gods bowed their heads in silence for a long moment, then began to leave the courtroom. Sufar stood up.
"A moment, brethren! There is one more matter that requires our attention."
"And what may that be, Lord of Benesoth?"
Shasuka smiled knowingly.
"Ethek. Come forth," the Eternal called.
Ethek looked at Sufar in surprise. Sufar gestured expectantly towards his master. Ethek cautiously walked over to where Shasuka stood and knelt.
"You have served long and faithfully as the shepherd of the dead. Though you knew it not, I have watched over thee. The blessing given to you by Sufar was my blessing. Yet I know that such a task is wearying, and thus I offer to release you from your punishment," Shasuka said.
Ethek's eyes widened. He started to speak, but then ceased. He was silent in thought for awhile.
"Great is your grace, Almighty Shasuka, but I fear I must refuse."
"And why is that, Ethek?"
"If I am released, who will serve in my stead? The post of death-god will always be a looming punishment. But I have, over my long years, become accustomed to it. Indeed, I recognize its worth. If I retain it, no other immortal shall be forced to endure it. The dead are fragile, both in body and spirit. I wish to continue to guide them safely through. They do not deserve one who does not appreciate the importance of my post. Therefore, I shall retain my position,
if you would not think me ungrateful for doing so.
"A wise sentiment. I had imagined that this would be your response. Therefore, let me give to thee one last gift."
Shasuka placed his hands on Ethek's shoulders, as Kolat had done all those years ago.
"By the power of my nature, I revoke the Curse of Death's Suffering from Ethek. May its burden be lifted."
Suddenly, Ethek was flooded with strength, and he felt more alive than he ever had. Warmth and peace spread through him.
"I am forever in your debt, O mighty Shasuka."
"I thank you, but I keep no record of debt. Go in peace, my servant."
"It is well," said Sufar.
--------

The cities had been restored. All of Fimbeljun celebrated the war's end. On the fifteenth day of festivities, Rathten had sent a message across the Material Realm, and even to the Elemental Planes, saying that all beings should come to the Temple of Civarka. By sundown, all had gathered at the place of worship. For awhile, there was silence. Then a roar of thunder shook the sky. The clouds rolled back like a scroll, and the gods were seen to descend, in all their magnificent glory. The people cheered. A second thunder clap came, and Shasuka appeared as a radiant body of stars, his light outshining all the rest.
Aarus cleared his throat.
"To all the citizens of this world, we commend you for your bravery, and your enduring faithfulness in times of great trial. Marok, the great enemy, shall trouble Fimbeljun no more. There are, however, a few matters that must be settled before all can return to peace."
Shasuka began to speak.
"Nethka of the Trolls and Silthian of the Fire Sprites! Approach the temple steps!" he called.
The two beings obeyed his command. They bowed low. Shasuka decreased in size until he stood at their level, smaller but no less glorious.
"For your great valor, wisdom and willingness to fight for the forces of justice and peace, I hereby bless thee."
Shasuka waved his hand, and a glowing blue symbol appeared on each of the mortals' foreheads.
"With this blessing, no curse or dark circumstance may overcome thee. Rathten and Arkelus, approach!"
The Priest Master and the leader of the Anaru knelt upon the steps.
"I confer upon thee the same blessing. Go in peace."
Shasuka resumed his former size. He stretched out his arm, and an arc of purple light erupted from it. Touching the ground, it grew into a mighty mountain.
"Henceforth, the gods have chosen to reveal their wisdom and peace to all mortals. Any who wish to commune with them may make it their quest to ascend this mountain. May it bring about greater light and understanding."
The gods gathered together and recited an inaudible spell. The sky erupted into colors, comets and stars forming amazing patterns of glorious light. The gods ascended back to the heavens. Peace had come. And all of Fimbeljun rejoiced.