Asheron's Fall: The Power of Ten, Book Six

Both men, living and undead, blinked at the sight.

“It floated an’ spun about between the prongs, it were not supported by them,” the Mick said quickly, leaning forward. “The prongs were brazen in color, kind of fluid metal, an’ sharp at the tips. The hue you’ve got, aye, but the crystal itself was much more natural, not cut like a gemstone, each just a little different from the next.”

I adjusted the Holo of the Deathstone slightly, and the two regarded it with interest.

“Close, if ye’d never seen one,” MacNaill finally commented in his hollow voice. “The crystal was massive, taller than a man, and easily a pace wide at the middle.”

I expanded the view accordingly, and both of them nodded. “As accurate as yer going to get without seeing something an artist can make fer ye,” the Mick said firmly. “Why be this important?”

“If you remember your Deathstone’s circular pit out there, there were three holes in the ground corresponding to the triple extensions which maintained the Deathstones. They were spitting energies which probably seemed odd to both of you. There’s been similar holes and energies at all the Deathpits we’ve seen.”

I could tell I was morbidly interesting both of them, as they’d not paid much attention to that detail. Before they could ask the questions, I dropped the view of the Holo to underground, extending those prongs down as organic tentacles boring into the earth, extending up to the stones from who knew where, but obviously part of something living.

MacNaill was the first to speak as they stared at the sight. “When the Lifestones first came about, they grew out of the ground, Mikal,” he said in a hushed voice. “The bodies the dead left behind animated as simple undead, ye could end up fighting yer own corpse. Later, our old bodies fell apart to dust, as the Stones were fully empowered...”

“But they grew out of the ground. Like the slithis tentacles do...” the Mick murmured, watching the display and thinking ghastly things.

“It’s become quite plain that the spellcasters of the old races this Asheron was a part of had a great deal of knowledge of other worlds and dealing with truly powerful entities of various sorts and types... and they weren’t alone in that knowledge. I imagine that the tribal creatures call the entities gods, although I doubt the ancients bothered to honor anything with so lofty a status,” I remarked aloud, considering that.

“Nuhmudira’s Life... Deathstones looked different,” the Mick said hastily. “As did some of those among the lugians, although that were more stony in appearance than a change. Nuhmudira’s only had two prongs to them, and they were stone-like, and rune-carved...”

“She obviously wouldn’t have worked with the same entity as Asheron did,” Kris cut in coolly. “Naturally the design would be different to accommodate the disparity, and played up as a benefit, not just a parallel alteration.”

“But... ye don’t know all this fer certain, without seeing an intact stone,” the Mick challenged me weakly.

“The Deathstones did NOT draw on the ley lines of the land... or at least, not solely on them,” I replied with cold, absolute fact. “Believing whatever lies of choice you want does not change the truth, McMikal, bleat it as you will. The energies being Burned by vivus are NOT of this world, not of the Land, or vivus would not touch them at all. Those bones fused into the stone were replete with the powers of death, not of life, caught in a final sacrifice to the creature empowering that Deathstone before whatever appendage it extruded into this space was burned away by the mana surge. Perhaps it completely consumed the souls of the slain, perhaps they dissipated into the aether as they were meant, or they were sent on to their final fates. That fact I am unsure of, and will admit to it.

“But there is no question as to what the Deathstones were and did. None, and that is Truth.”

“AHG!” bleated the undead MacNaill, clutching at his head as dark fluids streamed out of his rotted slit of a nose, one empty eye, and spewed out his mouth. The Mick spasmed and lolled back in his chair, dark eyes rolling and blood falling out his nose.

“You know, doing that to normal people can be considered cruel,” Princess Kristie told me casually, unmoved by the display of the two men being forced to confront a whole lot of untruths they’d not be able to fool themselves about.

“Aye, well, that’s why Hope and Valor exist,” I responded primly, and both man and undead man shuddered again, but the stuff didn’t come spewing as it had with Truth. Truth was a weapon, after all, whereas Hope and Valor were armor and shield, as it were.

“G-Gods in, Gods in...” the Mick gasped, trying to control his face. “Heaven...” he finally finished awkwardly, unwillingly, refocusing his eyes, hands to his temples, licking automatically at the blood coming off his nose.

I kept his stare without effort, Dauntless and Valor were nice that way, all the mental support and fearlessness, none of the engaging in self-doubt and failing to rise to confront challenges. No anxiety, no despair, only acknowledging uncertainty and moving past it to do what needed to be done.

Motivation and mental reinforcement, building on the inner truth of knowing who and what you were! The power of the Words of Creation, spinning hopes out of nothing and raising courage where there was none...

They could even affect the undead. MacNaill was trembling where he stood, his one remaining eye trying not to look over his shoulder, where the Deathpit had been cleansed free by vivus, and absolution and his proper fate now beckoned him.

Instead, his expression hardened as the truth of what he had done at the end, the hope of the future that he had secured, and the courage that came from knowing he was not doomed all stood bare in his mind. But he’d had the strength to stand and do something stupid before, and he had all the strength needed to continue his task until it was done; it was all made known to him.

If he had done a lot of things he had no excuse for but moral weakness in the past, and it was all searingly apparent to him now... well, now he knew, and it had no bearing on what he would choose in the future.

He could be a Fool, or he could be an arse. He had lived the latter, and died the former, but his fate and doom was still to be determined! He still had hope!

“The lads, the lads should hear those Words too, yer Ladyship,” the undead ex-pirate rasped softly. I didn’t miss the change in address, or his new attitude towards me.

“If they hear Truth, Chief MacNaill, well, many of them were followers in life, and do not have the fortitude to bear up under it. Many will immediately choose oblivion.” He shuddered again, but could only nod. “Now, Hope and Valor I would be happy to grant them, and we will indeed work hard to deliver on the princess’s promise to them.” And that was that.

“Where do you intend to go now?” the Mick asked quietly.

“To your Vesayan Isles, of course. I figured I’d run across the sea, towing the Wagon behind me,” Princess Kristie said calmly.

Both of them blinked. “Ye can run across the water?” they both exclaimed together.

“Yes. And I can push a hole through the Ward to do it,” she stated with the absolute conviction of a casual dismissal of any effort related to the effect. “I’ll tow the Wagon behind me, zip across the seas to the island, and we’ll be fine.”

“But... the creatures of the Deeps,” the Mick protested. “They’ll certainly come after ye!”

“And then they are going to run into Ryin.” I smiled hard at the hand-off, and both men considered me in another new light.

“They are, they were, very resistant to magic, especially the older, bigger ones,” the Mick warned me skeptically.

“That was apparent. But I don’t have to kill them, I have to stop them or slow them down, or get them out of the way. That is not nearly as difficult.”

“Well, ye definitely know some strange and new spells,” he muttered, only a mite skeptically. “We could instead show up at the Portal site a bit early, and wait until it opens...” he offered to us.

“How long?” Kris asked curiously.

“Uh, the first full moon. That be about... ten days away?” he said hesitantly.

She promptly waved it off. “I’m not waiting that long, and the creatures need to realize that just because we’re crossing the waves instead of skipping past them does not mean we are prey. It should be fun!” The way her smile lit up her face so dangerously left both men staring at her in awe.

Flipflopping between imperial dignity and crazed hag kill-happy bitch is wildly attractive to certain kinds of folks, I judged in amusement. Especially Black Aluvians with probably wildly freebooting histories behind them.

Oh, yeah. She did say her mother got along plenty fine with those kind of people...

“Where is this Portal located at?” I asked, flicking the map of the area back up, but zooming in to the southeast quadrant as the only one of relevance. The area leading up the narrow peninsula to the northeast glowed. “Your men related that they were guarding a retreat up the peninsula. That would seem to be leading up to these islands, but instead you went to the ones further south?...”

“We took the path of least resistance, an’ the hills and roads to the south were crawling with Gotrok lugians an’ Hea tumeroks. Going through the hills were inviting slaughter, so we stuck t’ the beaches to the end, up past Tou-Tou. We knew the lugians were not moving through those hills because of the mad shadows in them, so we set up our camp there.” The Mick pointed at the northern set of islands in the southeast. “Those are Bobo’s islands. We weren’t going there unless we wanted t’ end up slaves t’ the tuskers.”

“Tuskers?” Kris asked, arching an eyebrow and glancing at me. “I don’t think we’ve run into them, yet...”

“Aye, they’re almost gone from the south, an’ I can’t speak much for the east as a whole. They are... big monkeys, with great long arms they use to move on all fours, mostly reddish-brown in hue, with prominent jutting tusks they say are used in courtship and for cracking open tough shells. They are... mostly pretty dumb, like a two-year old at best, but some get as smart as most of the smarter races, like us.

“Their king was changed by the virindi, an’ is both very smart an’ very powerful. What happened to him after the Fall, nobody knows, as the tusker isles were pretty much isolated, just like we were, an’ we’ve heard of very little from the tuskers or the humans who lived there. I doubt they’ve had much problem keeping the Deep’s creatures at bay, an’ those creatures never seemed to bother the apes.

“King Bobo is most famous for single-handedly beating the stuffing out of the Tremendous Monuga who used to rule those islands, driving out all the monugas with it. The big fellow who wanders the middle of Osteth might be the same monuga, as it’s been observed to chase an’ eat tuskers whenever it sees them.”

“A good reason for not seeing any around,” Kris observed, which I had to agree with.

“The Portal is still there, but the area is precious close to the crazed shadows and things in Tou-Tou there, which is still as dangerous an area as any we know on the world. So, the lugians and tumeroks avoid it, an’ we’ve generally got scouts in the area to harass anyone who thinks o’ setting up shop in the area until they bugger off.” The Mick paused a moment. “Lost a lot o’ scouts making sure of that, too.”

Immortal enemies returning, and humans who didn’t. Yeah, I couldn’t imagine that was a fight anyone wanted to take.

“The Portal opened up on Kryst,” he pointed out a particular one of the islands, the westernmost main one, “and the shallow, warded areas connect each of the main islands, including the Freehold me uncle here used to claim.” He traced a long and winding S-shaped path through the islands, ending up at the largest, south-easternmost island. “This be Ithaenc, where the Cathedral to Lady Adja rises, an’ where our greatest strength now lies. We hold lands and farms through all the islands, an’ we’ve driven off all but some o’ the moarsmen who cling to the ancient temples they guard, isolating over the... Summon points as we’ve seen the other races doing, making sure they don’t threaten us, but marking them all, in case of catastrophe.”

I imagined that all those friendly Summons dissipating, and then being re-Summoned as hostile creatures could have been a disaster, so that sounded like a wise policy...