Dark Shores of Salvation, page 66
part #3 of Travails of the Dark Mage Series
They assisted in donning the armor, then buckled on his sword belt.
To the west was Mount Shaladan, the highest pinnacle of the Taraki Mountains. When the sun touched its tip, they would begin.
In that moment, as the sun rolled back night’s darkness, the power of Evil would begin to wane, and Gyomias’ would be on the rise. Today, Evil will fall!
Six Gyomar were all that remained. Small creatures that looked like cuddly winged bear cubs, they were anything but cuddly. Deadly and very powerful against those who oppose the will of Gyomias. Without their aid, the Avatar would never have made it this far. A gift of Gyomias, a sign that his mission had his Lord’s blessing.
Shadows that had stalked the border of his protected area faded to nothing. Their presence retreating with the coming of day.
He knew that it only appeared that they were gone and as soon as he began his Holy Work, they would return. Against the power of the Gyomar, they would be as nothing.
The six sat in a semi-circle before him.
“Ready, Milord?” Jermiah asked.
A glance to the summit of Mount Shaladan revealed it remained gray.
“Almost.”
They stood for several more minutes as the breeze ruffled their hair. The Avatar closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling. So quiet, so calm; a day unlike any other the world will ever know. All the while the sky continued to brighten with the coming dawn.
He felt more than saw when the snow-capped tip of Mount Shaladan went from shadowy white, to a beacon of light as the first rays settled upon it. Opening his eyes, he turned his gaze upward to marvel at the golden splendor radiating as beacon to the world. “Gyomias is here…,” he quietly breathed to himself. Indeed, he felt his god’s presence.
He turned to his Seconds.
“It is time.”
Then to the Gyomar, “Rise, my friends, To the sky with you and let us conclude this most holy of endeavors.”
One by one, they leapt from where they sat, wings unfolding and with a few beats they headed for the sky.
From where he stood, a trail followed the course of the narrow stream before leaving it behind to wind deeper up into the mountains. Where it came to an end some distance away loomed a dark tower. Built of blackest basalt, it exuded malevolence. A lone stone bridge spanned the chasm which ringed it. He could feel it like a stagnating, malignant wound upon the world.
As the Gyomar rose to the sky, the Seconds went to stand before the altar. Drawing their blades, they rested the tips of their swords upon it.
The Avatar stood between them, laid a hand upon the midsection of each.
“Gyomias, bless these simple steel blades. Infuse them with thy holy power. Make them tools so that your will be done.”
He felt more than saw power flow from the altar into the blades. They subtly glowed with the power of their god for a moment before it faded and settled into the steel.
“Thank you, Gyomias, for your blessings. Make us the instruments of your divine will.”
Removing his hands, the Seconds then returned their blades to their scabbards.
He turned toward the dark tower in the distance; last bastion of the fell god Dmon-li.
Above them, the Gyomar had already propelled themselves above the mountaintops. Their wings glistened in the morning light, at times catching the sunrays just right to create a dazzling burst of prismatic color.
“Come, gentlemen,” he said. “It is time for Evil to die.”
“You’re going to get us killed!” Scar yelled, and not for the first time.
Using magic to keep such a heavy wagon aloft proved to be more draining than James had anticipated. Crystal fragments strewed the wagon bed around him, the shattered remnants of every powered crystal that had remained in his possession. Without their stored energy he never would have made it this far. Been over an hour since draining the last crystal. Now he was on his own.
Using his reserves to keep this wagon and its occupants aloft proved a daunting task. Maintaining focused on the task at hand, coupled with a steady drain on his magic for over an hour had wearied him beyond measure. Never before had he dared try such a lengthy and powerful spell, continuously, for so long. Not only did he have to keep the wagon zipping through the canyon, but he had to make continuous miniscule course corrections to avoid trees and the canyon walls.
Whenever his concentration flagged, gravity’s grip would yank it toward the ground. Then catching himself, he refocused his concentration. Magic would again lift it up and continue them on their way.
The occurrence which prompted Scar’s outburst had left several limbs and no small amount of pine needles scattered about the wagon bed, after leaving a path of destruction through the treetops.
He really needed to rest, but such could not be allowed. To the east, the sky had brightened and all too soon the sun would emerge from behind the eastern peaks. At least with Miko’s priests providing a magical protective barrier to inhibit detection, the threat posed by the shimmering field was not a concern.
They were among the Taraki Mountains; had sailed over Yalhold not long ago. Having found the trail leading into the mountains, James had maneuvered the wagon to follow it. At first it wound alongside a stream among steadily rising hills, then entered a deep gorge. Life quickly gave way leaving a stark, barren landscape.
In the growing light of day, signs of life were all but nonexistent. Some sparse patches of grass here, a sturdy lone bush there. They quickly left those behind and entered a land where nothing lived. A stark contrast to the outer slopes which had been lush with brush, bushes, and trees.
James got too close to the walls of the gorge and managed to break off a limb from the only tree in sight. This deep into the gorge it was dead like everything else, standing as a silent sentinel.
“Truly a desolate place,” Brother Willim commented sadly.
“What could have done this?” Jiron asked.
“Malevolent magics,” Miko explained. “Dmon-li must have held a presence here for a long, long time.” He closed his eyes. “I can feel it.” Opening them, he looked far into the distance, beyond where the trail twisted and quickly vanished when the gorge curved to the left.
James kept the wagon down to within a mere fifty feet of the ground. They continued at a breakneck speed which required his utmost concentration.
“Won’t be long now,” Brother Willim commented.
“What?” Potbelly asked.
“Dawn,” Father Keller whispered.
As they continued following the winding gorge, they caught glimpses of a tall mountain peak to the west. Brother Willim kept his eye on that peak.
James knew it wouldn’t be long until sunrise.
“There,” the Asran priest said as he pointed toward where the morning sun sparkled upon the snow-packed tip of the tallest mountain.
“We’re too late!” Shorty exclaimed.
“No, we are not!” James replied as he marshaled every ounce of willpower and magical ability to push the wagon to even greater speed.
The wind whipped, as they sped through the coming dawn.
His eyes were tired and bloodshot. Hands ached from where they gripped the front of the wagon. Knees, raw and painful from kneeling on the floorboards for so long. All he wanted to do was rest. Instead, he focused the magic and shot through the canyon at breakneck speeds.
His concentration flagged more and more, the wagon skimmed dead trees or careened dangerously off the rock walls. The others had long since stopped holding onto the rim of the wagon, ever since during one such lapse a rock outcrop had removed a two-foot strip along the right-side rail.
“Are we going to make it?” Kip asked.
“Yes, we are, young Kip,” Father Keller said. “Our lord Morcyth is with us.”
Indeed, Morcyth’s glow surrounded the wagon, shielded what James was doing from the shimmering field. Or, would it be more accurate to say, that it was the world in general the priests shielded James from? Since they had learned that the shimmering field was the world’s attempt to right the magical imbalance caused by the mass destruction of so many Dmon-li priests years ago.
“Not far now,” Jiron said.
“It will be good to see Mother again,” came Eddra’s voice from the back. “I’ve missed her.”
Miko glanced back to her and saw the sad look on her face.
Then she glanced at him, and smiled.
It struck him how that smile was one he had seen so many times in his dreams, only had never made the connection that it had been Eddra. He understood the dreams had been Morcyth’s way of relaying to him what needed doing. But why make her part of it? That he did not understand at all. It made no sense.
“Do you think Toad will be there too?” she asked. “Been a long time since he and I played Donkey in the Market.”
Miko shrugged. She was missing Micah, the boy from Abu Dar whom she took to be her brother of long ago.
She turned to Kip. “You know,” she said with a chuckle, “he always liked being the Donkey.” Then laughed as some long-buried memory came to mind.
“What are those?” Scar asked, looking far ahead.
At a point still some distance away, beyond a bend in the canyon and over the mountain peaks, rose six creatures, silvery wings beating strongly as they climbed ever skyward.
“Look like little bears,” Potbelly said. “With wings.”
“Gyomar.”
The others turned to look at Brother Willim.
“Servants of Gyomias, similar to how Shadows are of Dmon-li,” explained the priest of Asran. “The Little Brothers have mentioned them. I did not realize they were here, on this world.”
“Powerful?” Scar asked.
He nodded. “They say Gyomar wield the sun.”
“What does that mean?” Tinok asked.
Miko stared at the six rising to greater heights. “I am afraid we are about to find out.” Then turning to his friend, he said, “James, you must go faster.”
“I can’t,” he croaked.
Perspiration soaked his shirt, the hair on his brow was matted against his face.
The canyon jagged to the right suddenly. James failed to alter course in time and the right side of the wagon scrapped an outcropping. Splinters flew and two boards cracked.
“I will stall them,” Brother Willim said.
Before anyone could ask what he meant, the priest of Asran exploded in the green glow of his god then leapt over the side of the wagon.
“Brother!” Jiron exclaimed, but he was gone.
They watched the priest fall in a glowing, green ball of priestly power. He hit the ground, rolled and then got to his feet.
“Can we do that?” Kip asked.
“Don’t you even dare to attempt anything of the sort!” Father Vickor admonished.
In moments, they lost sight of the priest as the canyon jogged again, turning out of sight.
Brother Willim hit the ground hard, surprised to find he had failed to break anything. He offered up a prayer to Asran then shucked of his clothes until he was bare as the day he was born. He laid down upon the ground, connecting as much of his skin with the dirt as possible. Then pushed his magic deep within the bedrock beneath him. Tendrils of power moved like roots, seeking aid in what he was about to attempt.
Those of Asran knew that pockets of power rested within the ground like seams of gold or pools of oil. None now living had ever attempted what he was about to do. Finding one, the tendrils gorged upon the bounty and sent the raw power of nature to him.
It hit him like a juggernaut, nearly consuming him with its raw intensity. Very few of his order ever knew of this, those that did feared to seek them out. Only with the need being so dire had he even attempted it
For a moment, Brother Willim glowed like a green supernova, his skin turned red, threatened to blacken and peel off. But then its effect lessened. He felt peace infuse him as the power grew manageable. Something was there with him, some emissary of Asran to help him in his moment of need.
Taking control of the magic, he sent it radiating outward in every direction. Across the land, through the mountains, to the trees and the abundance of life on the other side. He sought allies, the Allies of Asran.
Magic spread to every tree, to every brush, touching all those that lived within. The great pool of primal magic from deep within the ground allowed him to touch every living thing on both the east and west slopes of the mountains.
“My friends, Asran has need of you this day. Arise and take flight.”
For generations to come, stories would be told how in a single moment, the slopes of the Taraki Mountains went from the world slowly waking peacefully, to a feathered explosion as thousands upon thousands of birds took flight. Hawks flew with doves; sparrows with the great owls; Asran had called and they would answer.
Dark, feathered clouds full of beak and talons rose from the outer slopes and winged their way upward.
Glowing a deep emerald, Brother Willim laid there, tapping into the latent power of the world. Using the world’s magic, he directed their flight.
Across mountain peaks and through passes they winged their way toward the emissaries of Gyomias.
Moving from the altar, the Avatar turned toward the dark tower in the distance. He knew his god was with him, felt his presence. Too long had Evil been allowed to bring malice and suffering to the innocents. Fell gods had no place in the paradise Gyomias would bring.
His Seconds moved to flank him, one step behind to either side.
The sunlight glistened upon the mountain tops as additional peaks felt the sun’s heavenly touch. Far above, the Gyomar continued moving into position.
He set his feet upon the path leading to the dark tower and passed beyond the protective barrier generated by the altar. Though he could still feel its presence, he knew that they were no longer shielded.
Eight Shadows emerged from the greater shadows still filling most of the canyon.
A flash of golden light from above struck one as a Gyomar harnessed the sun’s light, magnifying it, and sent it downward to wrought divine destruction upon the servant of Evil.
The shriek wailed by the Shadow as the Gyomar’s attack sought to send it back to its god struck him to the core. But such did not cause him to falter. He’d heard its like before, and he prayed that this day would be the last he ever would.
A second beam flared from above, another shriek came in answer from below. One by one the Gyomars unfolded their wings, caught the sunlight to send it down in a golden stream of heavenly power.
Darkness melted beneath their onslaught as the golden rays pierced the heart of each servant of Dmon-li. While six of their brethren withered and perished under the Gyomar’s attack, the two remaining Shadows continued forward.
The Avatar cloaked himself and his Seconds with the power of his god as the two Seconds moved to meet the advancing foes. Swords glowing with righteous power, they attacked.
Unseen waves of malevolence washed over them as their blades struck unseen barriers. Thrust, hack and slash, they continued a furious barrage of attacks.
The Avatar watched his Seconds exchange blows with the Shadows. He wasn’t overly concerned with the outcome. They had been trained for this, had faced such foes before. A moment was all it took to assess that they would prevail. He scanned the rest of the battlefield.
Shrieks had intensified from the Shadows withering beneath the onslaught of the airborne Gyomar. They, too, had this under control. In the light of day, with the Gyomar harnessing the light of the blessed sun, no darkness could prevail. As a shriek filled with intense loathing and hatred split the air signaling that one of the Shadows had succumbed to a Gyomar’s attack, the Avatar turned his attention once again to the tower in the distance.
A lone figure attired in blackest armor stood as a silent sentinel atop its rampart. A barely discernable dark aura pulsated from that lone figure. It beat as a malevolent heart, a heart that by the end of this day, would see a knife in it.
The darkness about the tower intensified tenfold when a golden beam flashed down from the heavens. Its battle with the Shadow having ended, the Gyomar turned its power upon the last bastion of Evil.
Death-shrieks sounded again as two more Gyomar sent Shadows back to oblivion. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jermiah’s blade strike the center of the Shadow he battled. Golden power from the blade burst within its innermost being. Radiating outward, it split the darkness comprising the Shadow, bursting outward and ripping it apart. When the golden glow faded, the Shadow was no more.
Jermiah rushed to Wakan’s side and together, made short work of the one battling his junior Second.
The rest of the beams from above finished their work on the remaining Shadows. Then like the first, turned their attention to the tower.
Now, six beams of heavenly might were centered upon the dark edifice. The power warding off their attacks could be felt even from so far away.
“Come,” he said, as his two Seconds moved to flank him. “We must finish this.”
Taking one step, then two toward the tower, he paused as dark clouds rolled across the sky from every direction.
“What power he must have to force a storm to do his bidding,” Wakan observed.
It took but a moment to realize the truth.
“Those aren’t clouds,” Jermiah said, turning to his master.
The Avatar stood with eyes closed, ignoring his Second. With a great surge of power, his senses went toward the massive flocks of birds converging upon the winged Gyomar.
Having already sensed the onrushing avian wave, the Gyomar had broken off their attack on the tower. Uncertain what the appearance of the mass flock of birds portended, they stayed aloft but wary.
“Birds,” breathed Wakan. “Thousands.” Eyes scanning the approaching swarm, for it was far too big to be called anything else, he found it hard to fathom such a thing.
