Upon a Star: Karyana's Journey: Chapter 33

The Battle of Bolestra is over... but the adventure has only begun.

Chapter 33

 

Karyana’s hands were still shaking as she gazed upon them. The war was over, but even though the forces that guarded the Shrine had successfully overturned an army of thousands, she was in no mood to celebrate.

 

Each finger was twitching in an unsettling rythmn, as if blood was barely able to flow, her wrists still numb from the intense effort required from casting that one spell. That single incantation that, in a matter of minutes, turned the tide of the Battle of Bolestra in favor of the mortals.

 

Still, the city itself was in such a state of disrepair that it was to wonder whose side did actually win. Wooden houses had been burnt to ashes, while stone buildings stood like gravestones as the living created ceremonial bonfires for the dead, hoping that by purging the nightmarish manaweave that had animated the legion of skeletal soldiers and undead overlords, those that had been brought back would find some sort of peace as their spirits would be judged again, given another chance to pass through the Cycle of Life and Death, sent to Xelnos’ realm to pay for their damnation, or to ascend beyond the Veil of the Stars, to a world where life and death had no meaning, where eternity would be theirs to celebrate with their loved ones, until the day they would return to the Cycle.

 

Life and death… Karyana wiped her tears with her sleeves, as the realization of it all dawned on her. With one almighty incantation, she had led thousands back to the paths of the Planars, but had probably led as many back to the realm of the damned.

 

Closing her eyes, she tried to grasp unto the brittle straws that were her memories. Rauz had found her and taken care of her because he was ordered to, even though he was inexperienced in all but the matters of magic; fate had forced her to walk two paths �" that of Laurinya, the wild child who was stripped of her youth and innocence in exchange for power she never wanted; and that of Kaina, the meek girl who was given strength and valor when all she wanted was to be with her sister again. Both had been shaped by diverging fates: one became a vengeful sorceress, disdaining all who had lived their lives free of restraints, longing for freedom and understanding; the other, a timid wanderer, sent along a road blazed by others, unsure of the possibility of stepping off the beaten path.

 

Even now, she wondered how much of the events that occurred were of her own volition. She seemingly freed Sayeth from her doomed fate as a Dun-elf, only to thrust her into the fray as a priestess, trading the deathly grip of one Planar for the moral path of another. She unknowingly led Korgan back to the worship of Raemu, even though he had lost faith in himself and in justice. Was it her choice, or simply the will of the embodied forces that ruled Medierth?

 

The young woman’s heart felt like a lodestone, every beating almost blaring in her ears like the horns of war. The scales had fallen from her eyes, and all she could see were her shaking hands, blistered by the rigid pommel of Eclipse, the very sword that was now sheathed and hanging from its scabbard on her room’s bedrest.

 

She didn’t want to destroy, but was purging the evil that tainted the resurrected bones of the unholy dead an act of destruction? This answer was one that was out of her grasp, as if dangling from the flagpost that was perched outside the stained glass window.

 

Resting her forehead on her folded arms, which balanced precariously on her bent knee �" the other leg stretched on the hard, stone-cobbled floor -, the black-haired woman let out a sigh, finding little rest for her weary heart.

 

 

Allision slowly slid the folding hatch closed before walking away from Karyana’s room, a sad expression plastered on her face.

 

She couldn’t quite understand what happened that ended the war as it did, but the desolation she had seen was on a scale unlike that of an erupting volcano. The frozen grounds were now seething with puddles of steaming water, the craters of the fallen shards �" the blades of Asuna, as the clerics of the Alabaster Maiden called them �" having blistered the land and wrecked havok in the battlefield. It was one said that, on the night the moon showed its wrath, Medierth would feel its scars. The priestess had never thought the legend was true until the events that took place two days ago.

 

It was tradition that no celebration would be undertaken on days of mourning, and the night sky felt as grief-striken as the people below, raining heavy tears which only filled the craters with more water, creating hundreds of small lakes, linked only by the scorched tundra, creating a chain of watery links, wrapping around ceremonial bonfires which burned on, the manaweave linked to the blazes braving the flames until there was nothing left to burn.

 

As she walked the long hall, there were less monks and soldiers than before, which only created a sense of emptiness. Though the losses were greater on the side of the enemy, the Shrine’s defenses had been severely battered. It was a miracle that the main halls stood undefiled, even after the main gates had been breached by the demon, Pison.

 

The thought of that name sent chills up and down her spine. Whatever power he had inherited from the Planar-Demon was one that had been banned centuries ago. Such power was the will of life twisted and defiled. Dread woven into mana. The forbidden arte of sangromancy.

 

Slowing her pace to a stop, Allision let out a sigh just as Alban walked over to her. “She’s still…” was all she could say, the will to say more was just not there.

 

Alban folded his arms. One of them was covered in bandages, the remaining clerics being too busy to properly close his wounds with a spell, as the wounded had filled the barracks, making the rooms into makeshift clinics. “I understand.” he simply answered, trying to relax his bruised knuckles, which had been wrapped with linen under his gauntlets. “Some people aren’t meant for war… and some people are forced to fight, even if they never asked to.”

 

Allision hadn’t fared much better than the ranger. Her scarlet hair was singed and she bore scars from raking claws along her arms and legs, now covered by an untainted bishop’s robe. Underneath the thick cloth, her skin was protected from by thick wraps to avoid bleeding and rubbing.

 

“If that’s true, then why did she volunteer?” the priestess added, showing signs of mistrust in her own faith. “Perhaps… perhaps another wizard or sorceress could have cast-”

 

“I’m afraid not.” Turalyon answered as he limped up the staircase, his weight balanced against the stone walls and his half-splintered staff. The battlemage was supposed to support the north-east flank, and although he showed less battle scars than the others, his tattered robes showed that he did have to resort to melee when the skeletal forces’ bait charge had gone awry.

 

“This was no mere spell, friend.” he added, discarding his staff as if it was nothing but a piece of lumber. “That incantation was known in the old language as Aestra, the ‘voice of the stars’. Only a person of immense magical potential could summon such power.”

 

“Aestra…” Allision thought as her mind raced back to her friend’s state. According to legends, this spell was created by Asuna and taught to Reveen back when the world was young. That incantation allowed the Magelord to speak and listen to the stars as they danced in the night sky. Still, only a handful of mortals had the potential to call the stars for aid, and only in dire situations would they answer. “But… how is it possible? Raemu does not hold such a power.”

 

“Perhaps Karyana wasn’t blessed by the Lord of Justice…” Alban answered. “Perhaps… the Maiden spoke to her.”

 

“It could be Progeny, for all I care.” Onyx commented as he strode up the stairs. “This is our friend you are talking about, so you shouldn’t speak of such things like she is but a tool of war.”

 

The dwarf’s lack of scars was mostly due to the full-plate armor that he had doned in battle. The only scars he had were on his cheeks, and near his throat, signs of struggle against one of the lesser demons that formed the elite of the unholy army.

 

“You’re right…” Allision noted before letting out a heartfelt sigh. “But… what can we do to help?”

 

“I might have have an idea…” came Arcius’ voice as a door opened, revealing the spellblade.

The elf was probably the most wounded of the group, as he had volunteered to lead the charge. His armor was gone, and he actually had several wounds on his torso and chest, not to mention scars that snaked along his arms from Pison’s whip.

 

“That girl… she looks like she needs to lighten her mood.” The spellblade commented. “Father Korgan said that tomorrow evening, there would be a grand celebration. I’m sure being among friends, simply for a drink and some music, would do her a world of good.”

 

Allision’s eyes grew wide. “Of course!” she replied, her voice raising to almost a shout. “She did say she was from Warmcreek, and the town’s known for its numerous celebrations!”

 

Alban smirked for a moment. “Not sure if she likes Winterdew Mead, but I’m sure she’d feel a little better after a night of celebration…”

 

 “I’ll ask Father Korgan if he needs help.” Arius concluded before turning his heels and running down the staircase, almost knocking a friar off his feet.

 

 

Xelnos gazed at the destruction left in the wake of the battle. The cost was immense, but the result were very satisfying. The fields were scarred with destruction and it would take the priests a full lunar cycle to properly restore them to something worth using. As for the city of Bolestra… it was like examining a diamond in the rough. Ravaged fields, scorched buildings, desperate people rushing to the temple for food, water and shelter… It didn’t matter that he lost the battle, as war always led to the destruction, and the coming wave of suffering made his sinister grin that much wider.

 

Sitting on his throne of bones and charred cadaver skin, the Planar-Demon reveled in his masterpiece like an artist unveiling a painting or statue that he had worked on for months. Death and decay would be purged from the lands, but in the meantime, the sight of hundreds suffering while the Shrine of Raemu stood defiant amongst the destruction made it appear as a mockingbird, perched on the tallest branch of a tree, while the roots and bark had been laid to waste by ichor and fungus.

 

“Such a wondrous sight to behold, is it not?” the Aspect of Destruction asked Pison, the assassin sitting on a smaller throne at the right side of the immense manifestation of death that perched the obsidian giant’s elated form. “The Planars, in their desperation to protect a home that they will desert in time, unleashed destruction to a level that would wrack even the Childlord with guilt! Even the pillage of the Jeweled City is no match to the marvel of chaos this battle has brought!”

 

The mercenary kept quiet as Xelnos gloated. He knew far too well that this had been nothing but a ploy to force Karyana �" the prey who survived his hunt twice �" to tap into powers she was yet able to control. The entire outcome of the assault on the temple was to find the Chosen of the Planars �" those who would defy the Planar-Demon �" and test their mettle.

Thinking back to the battle, the half-demon remembered each of the champions and how they changed the outcome of the battle. Alban, who led the main attack forces and decimated scores of undead soldiers with his immense blade… Onyx, the Rune-forger who had strengthened the inner walls enough to withstand the rams that broke through the outer layer, and who had turned their meager defenses into a resisting fortress in a matter of days… Turalyon, whose magic obliterated squads of skeletal militia before the main forces could advance…

 

And Demyan. He could smell the blood of the fallen Magelord coursing through the young man’s veins. He recognized the same inner strength, the same devotion… the same power. There was no doubt; the masked mageling was the reincarnation of Lord Medai, the man he killed with his own hands.

 

“The Champions still live… and you celebrate?” the mercenary finally spoke while Xelnos poured himself another cut of bloodwine �" probably more blood than wine. “Do you honestly believe that this… masquerade is worth patting yourself on the back over?”

 

The Aspect of destruction placed the immense steel cup on the right armrest and looked down at Pison. “You never did care for stories and tales…” he commented, not even asking if he was right or wrong. “In all the written legends of the Chosen, the Planar-Blessed always waged the greatest of battles to protect what they believed in before deciding, in their pompous pride, to try and storm the lair of the ones who attacked them. It’s a matter of foolishness, as everytime, the Chosen would storm the lair of the dark one, hoping to smite the evil within, and everytime, the death of one of their own would lead to the end of their journey. It is only a matter of finding the weakest link… and breaking it before their bewildered eyes.”

 

The colossal tyrant grabbed his cup and raised it. In unison, all of the devils and demons of the Underdeep raised their own goblets as Xelnos continued his tirade. “In all their times, the Chosen have always fought against time, against death, against destruction… never knowing that their downfall was always creeping one step behind, waiting for them to hesitate for a second before corroding their will… Many times before, the Chosen fought and defeated my physical forms… and always I would return. Creation and destruction are intertwined, one never truly complete without the other…”

 

The Planar-Demon looked back at Pison with the same sadistic glee a madman would have while mutilating his victim. “Nothing will ever stop my power!” he roared, the devilish cohorts cheering in a maniacal cacophony.

 

Pison looked into his glass, examining the surface of the crimson liquid, as if gazing into a mirror �" which he was, as none but him could see the one man within the Shrine’s walls who obeyed his commands. The one man who would truly find the weakest link… and guide it into his waiting grasp.

 

 

Karyana felt hunger grip her body. Since the battle ended, she had not left her room, if only to sneak out while no one was about, in the dark of night, to gaze at the skies, the rain washing away her weariness, but not her pain. Some lookouts heard the weeping of a young woman in the vicinity of the bonfires, but never knew who or why.

 

All of her comrades had tried in vain to have her leave her room, but she always seemed too tired, sad or in pain to do anything. Even sleep had become difficult, so much so that Allision, Turalyon, and even Arius used their skills to concoct sleeping draughts or medecine to help her body and ease her mind. The results had been almost negligeable to them, but to her, it acted like dropping a vial of water onto a cooking fire: a moment of flicker, a mild qwelling before it started anew, if only partially weaker.

 

One thing that she kept thinking about was something that Raemu’s Ascendant told her before the communal blessing: “The Planars shape all, but only those who believe in themselves can shape their own future.” At first, these words felt like a challenge to her. Was she strong enough to believe in herself? Could she shape her own future, or would she just walk along a trail left behind, without daring to take a step outside the boundaries?”

 

Lifting herself from her bed, Karyana looked outside. The sun was starting to set, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky. After days of rain, even the sunset was a welcome sight. Walking towards the window, she wove a simple spell into the glass, making it vanish so that she could bask in the last rays of light of the day.

 

“Mother… father…” she uttered, thinking back to the few months she spent with her parents before this ordeal. “I know you told me to keep smiling… but what if I can’t? What if I’m… what if I’m just another pawn in a game I can’t control?”

 

A male voice came from the now-opened door. “You know... the pawn does become a queen when it reaches the other side of the board.”

 

Karyana let out a gasp and turned around. On the other side of the room stood Demyan, holding a bag in his hands, large enough to fit a fully-ripened squash. “Demyan! When did you-“

 

“The door was unlocked, and I was hearing your voice through the walls.” he answered, though it was obvious that he was lying, as she had made sure to magically lock the door, and her voice was just above a whisper to herself when she wistfully gazed outside.

 

The black-haired girl shook her head. “You and your silver tongue… how can you keep a straight face even when you lie to me?”

 

The young man chuckled before walking over to her. “Hence the mask. I was on my way downstairs for the celebration the Shrine has called for.”

 

“What’s to celebrate?” Karyana retorted. “The war-“

“The war is exactly the reason why.” he replied before placing the sack in her hands. “People need to see that the Planars are watching over them, so if we can share our food and shelter with the people of Bolestra until the priests and mages can rebuild the city, than it will only bring them good graces.”

 

“Are you sure there will be enough?” the black-haired woman added. “What if all that will-“

 

Demyan placed his hand on Karyana’s shoulder and pulled his mask up to show his eyes. “Please, believe. In all of us and in yourself. We can help them, and we will. Besides, you didn’t hesitate when you made him.”

 

Before she could ask what the young man was talking about, Karyana felt something stir inside the bag, followed by a shuffling of paws and a familiar mewling. Her eyes soon widened as a tiny pink nose sniffed out of the bag, soon followed by the tabby fur of a cat-like creature, a pair of tiny horns poking through the linen fabric.

 

The creature shook itself, causing the bag to fall open, revealing a pair of small dragon-like wings, and more yellow and black fur. The creature’s wide, pinkish-red eyes blinked before recognizing its master.

 

“I thought you’d miss Chime, so I decided to call him here…” Demyan said, though his words went unheard, as Karyana grabbed onto the felinesque creature and hugged him, pressing her cheek against his.

 

It took a good, long moment before Karyana’s cries of joy stopped, even as Chime licked the tears that soaked her cheeks. Waiting patiently for the right moment, Demyan grabbed a small wooden box from his satchel and examined it.

 

“Since I told everyone that we would be going to the celebration, I thought a little apparel would be best.” the young man added before handing the blue-eyed young woman the box.

 

Karyana looked at Demyan for a moment, then back at Chime. In an odd moment of thought, the young woman grabbed her furry companion, turned him about, then raised him over her head and laid him down gently so that his head and front paws rested on top of own head. After making sure that the critter was holding out and she had enough balance to keep it from falling over, she picked up the tiny box and opened it.

 

A gasp escaped her lips as she gazed upon a silver pendant, which represented a five-pointed star held inside a woven circle that looked like a moon entwined in branches of a tree, a small emerald resting at the center of the pendant, underneath the star. “Demyan… it’s so beautiful…”

 

The young man, who had replaced his mask, looked up as he scratched the back of his neck. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just a little something from Citadel.”

The young woman’s smile, which Demyan was now looking at, was enough to relief his doubts. The now sleeping familiar on her head, along with the Magelord’s mother’s heirloom, was more than enough to make her forget her hardships, even if it was temporary.

 

“Oh, before I forget...” Demyan added, turning towards the door. “Allision said she used her magic to weave something special for you. How about you wear it for tonight? I’m sure you would look like a princess in it.”

 

Before Demyan could take a step, he felt Karyana’s right hand catch his. “Demyan, you… you’ve done so much for me… how can I repay you?” she asked, her tone somewhere between relief and eagerness.

 

The young man turned on his heels and latched onto the young woman before tilting his head to the side, closing his eyes as he locked lips with hers. After a long, heartfelt moment, he broke from the kiss and looked in her eyes.

 

“Save me the first dance.” was all he asked.

Author's Note

This could be the last chapter for this tome, as I will split the other section into a second book. Any and all comments, critiques and reviews are welcome.