The Chosen Soul (18 page)

her robes, and held it up in the fire light. “And I have brought the prophecy. It is the

original, written tens of thousands of years ago. You’ll see that I am not mistaken,” she

said as she held it out toward the throne, “once you read it for yourself.”

The silence continued, and Jaren’s knees began to grow weak. Had she made a

mistake in coming here? The Omega Order had always been regarded by the elves as a

fanatical sect of mortals who felt they could manipulate the outcome of fate by carefully

studying, and attempting to influence, any prophecy that foretold of world-wide

catastrophe. No one knew for certain who led the secretive cult, but much to the elves’

occasional chagrin, the Omega Order had managed to sway the outcome of many mortal

happenings over the years.

They had been around for a long time, and Jaren hoped that by convincing the

Omega Order enough that they chose to take action, she could prove to others, Gray

Beard, in particular, that her speculations were correct.

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Heather Killough-Walden

She had been waiting for just such an opportunity to impress the Master Mage with

her abilities. Should she succeed, he may offer her a place in the coveted Blue Robe

hierarchy.

But as she stood there, the subject of scrutiny to one that she could not even see and

whose proximity felt disconcerting in an entirely troubling yet strangely familiar sort of

manner, she pondered the wisdom of her actions.

“I am curious, elf. Why would you care?”

He had spoken just when she was positive he had nothing further to say. She bit the

inside of her cheek and wondered why she, an elf, and a Blue Robe mage at that, was so

frightened of this mortal leader of some ardent cult.

She shrugged. “I have nothing to lose by coming to you, and I have much to gain

should you find what I say to be true.”

More silence followed. And then he laughed.

Jaren blinked. The sound was beyond unnerving. It rolled across the darkness and

over her skin like smouldering fog, nearly physical in its presence. She took a step back.

Through the darkness, she could see the shrouded figure rise from his throne. He

stood to an impressive height and then moved slowly, deliberately, across the raised

platform toward the top of the stairs.

“I must tell you, Jaren, that you are right,” he began as he approached the carved

stone steps, “and you are wrong.” He began to descend, ever so slowly, and the shadows

played across his cowl, teasing her by never allowing her more than the briefest of

glimpses at his hidden visage. “Cruor is, indeed, returning. The Chosen Soul has surfaced

and night grows longer in anticipation of its endless dominion.”

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Another step. Jaren found herself retreating in time with his descent.

“However, you are wrong about one thing.”

Jaren shook her head, taking another step back. “What?”

He descended the final step and paused. And then, as if in a nightmare, he stepped

forward one last time, pushing back the edges of his hood as he did so. It fell to his

shoulders and Jaren gasped.

She shook her head again. “No… Impossible…” Her eyes grew wide and she would

have said more, but her voice was caught somewhere deep inside, along with the air she

tried desperately to breathe but couldn’t. Now she knew why his presence had felt so

powerful, so familiar. Now she understood everything.

“You do indeed have much to lose by coming here. And lose it, you will.”

Jaren then tried to scream. With every ounce of her will and every bone in her ten-

thousand-year-old body, she fought to cry out, to give voice to the myriad of spells she

might have used in defense. But his magic was ancient and voiceless and poured over her

like a wave of suffocating blood , warm, red, terrifying.

She felt her soul begin to spin as the Death Mage drew closer, his luminescent eyes

glittering malevolently in the red fire light. She closed her eyes and fell, knowing that

when her body hit the ground it would no longer contain life - it would be a spiritless

corpse.

A sacrifice to Cruor.

*****

“She is safe.”

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Heather Killough-Walden

“
Yes, for now. However, the brother grows tiresome. He may pose a problem

later.
”

Silence filled the darkened space.

“Understood.”

*****

Raven and Loki sat together on the short wooden bench in the temple of Haledon.

They’d been left alone, after many questions and many answers, and now they finally

rested in mutual calm, their voices naturally lowered in deference to the night and all that slept.

“Loki, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why does Haledon heal people if the gods are not supposed to interfere with our

lives?”

Loki smiled. “Haledon doesn’t heal people.
People
heal people. Using the same kind

of magic you’re learning to use.”

Raven thought of Adonides and the spells he’d shown her. “I don’t know how to heal

anyone.”

“No. Not yet, maybe. But one day. I don’t think that’s the kind of spell this Adonides

you tell me of would teach you to use.”

Raven was silent for a moment. Her thoughts turned to the magic she’d come to

understand thus far. It was all meant to hurt, to defend, to cause harm. She was the

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The Chosen Soul

daughter of Malphas, and despite what her brother said, she doubted she would ever be

able to heal anyone. It just was not in her blood.

Blood.

She glanced at her brother, wondering when she would feel safe enough to tell him

about this latest detail in her change from mortal to monster.

She asked, “Why is it only Haledon’s acolytes that heal if any one who knows how

to use magic can do so?”

“I think when someone learns they can use healing magic, they find themselves

attributing it to divine intervention. And they come here – to give thanks, to ask for more power, whatever.” He smiled again. “But don’t tell Maelix I said so. He’s the head priest

here. He would throw me out if he heard me talking like this.”

Raven smiled, looking at her brother sideways. “You aren’t scared that Haledon,

himself, will hear you?”

“I don’t think he’s the kind of god petty enough to care. If I believed that, I wouldn’t

like him. And, I’ve always liked him.” He grinned broadly and she laughed.

“Indeed, you have. I think Maelix can tell. He said that the two of you performed a

search spell together. Did it work?”

Loki nodded. “Yes. The message that finally appeared in the water read, and I quote,

‘look only as far as the eye can see’. It was terribly helpful.” His tone was laced with

facetiousness.

Raven stared at the floor and pondered in silence for a moment. Then she glanced

over her shoulder at the window that looked out over a darkened, sunflower-filled

landscape. “Oh, I don’t know, Loki. What did you do after you read it?”

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Heather Killough-Walden

“I went to the window and saw you standing in the field."

“Well then, there you have it. You looked as far as your eyes could see, and there I

was. After all, I was standing at the field’s edge. If I’d been a few yards further, in the forest, you wouldn’t have been able to see me at all.”

Loki stared at her. And then he blinked. And laughed, this time a little too loudly.

“All right, you got me. Haledon knows what he’s doing.”

Raven nodded. “And apparently so do you.”

*****

Torch light sent flickering shadows dancing across the glassy surface of the scrying

pool. “Show me the Chosen Soul.” A voice, deep and terrible, echoed off of the cavern

walls. A cloaked figure waved his hand, and the surface of the water shimmered to life.

An image materialized in its depths.

Cruor peered at the subject for several long moments. And then he waved his hand

once again, and the image disappeared. He moved away from the scrying pool then, to

the large leather-bound tome that rested on the stand against one wall. Again, he waved

one hand, and the book’s covers opened, thick pages flipping from right to left.

Somewhere toward the middle, the pages stopped, and the black-inked text upon the

page began to glow. Cruor read.

At the dawning of this endless night

As god or morning reigns in light

My fingers shake, the dream I’ve had

Has wrapped itself around me tight

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The Chosen Soul

I pen this vision, cloaked in rhyme

A scream that sounds like songs sublime

A message, pray, to no fruition

In our children’s children’s children’s time

A thief of ice on a tempest’s fall

Will steal the eldest soul of all

From the Spring of quondam spirits lost

And take it from the guarded hall

The eyes of Death will open wide

As the spirit is allowed inside

A receptacle of mortal flesh

Where, for decades – twins, it shall hide

Death will grow and come to see

All the Soul has come to be

His Chosen, flesh, and spirit marked

Food for mage and god to be

As sable as this endless night

As stunning as the god of light

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Heather Killough-Walden

With will of fire and air of cold

A sacrifice for Cruor’s might

Upon its taking, like a stone

The empty shell, aside is thrown

The world will shudder, warm no more

And Death will dance on frozen bones.

The Death Mage smiled and, if anyone had been present to witness it, it would have

had a chilling effect indeed.

He closed the book gently and moved once again to the scrying pool. If the prophecy

were correct, then The Chosen Soul was the key to his eminent ascendance and his

exodus from this petty and binding mortal world. He needed the woman with the black

hair. He needed her soul.

And now he knew where she was.

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The Chosen Soul

The Chosen Soul – Chapter Thirteen

Raven lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Haledon’s temple was entirely too

bright for her tastes. The curtains that draped over the broad windows of the guest

quarters were constructed of a fine material that merely obstructed the view from outside

and filtered none of the sunlight out of the room.

She yawned. And stretched.

A knock at the door brought her onto her side. “Yes?”

“Sis, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Raven sat up in the bed, pulling her covers up with her.

The door opened and Loki stepped in. “How are you feeling?”

She nodded. “Fine.” She shrugged, hoping he would take it for an admittance to

being tired. The truth was, Loki would expect her to be nothing less than exhausted this

morning. Yet, she felt Adonides’s blood stirring within her, awakening her to her power

and ruthlessly shoving all thoughts of sleep far from her mind. “I loathe you morning

people,” she said, her voice teasing.

“Why don’t you just stay in bed?”

“Because half of Haledon’s priests are out on the lawn singing in chorus, and the

other half are in the kitchen banging pots and pans. And Haledon himself has come to

call,” she said as she shot a menacing glare at the window across the room. Strong

morning light shafted in through the thin curtains.

Loki chuckled softly and came to sit at the foot of the bed. He looked at her for a few

moments as she stared out at the windows. Her face showed no signs of weariness.

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Instead, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled, and her hair shimmered blue-black in

the morning light. He shook his head, bemused by her beauty.

“What is it with your ability to look refreshed after all you’ve been through? In your

shoes, I would look like a corpse.”

She turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

“You look as though you’ve slept for a year and eaten a feast. You look good.” He

shrugged, still shaking his head, obviously baffled but unwilling to waste time pondering

it much.

Raven took a deep breath. She sighed. “I guess it’s in my blood.”

That brought silence between them and Raven once again looked away.

“We should start toward Isca today, if you’re up to it. And apparently, you are,” Loki

said.

Raven didn’t answer right away. After the silence had stretched for a few seconds,

she sighed. “I have to meet with Adonides this morning. He has promised to help me

learn more.” She turned to face him again.

His expression was clearly disapproving.

“Loki, I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. I’m not sure whether the elves will

come after us for attacking their prince. Or, rather, come after
me
. If they decide to make an example of me, it won’t matter where we’ve run to. From what we’ve been told and

what we’ve seen, the elves are too powerful.” She paused, her brow furrowed. “And I

have this strange feeling. Like something is… Something is going to happen. My

instincts are telling me I need to be prepared.”