The Streets

Falling wasn’t something Gestarin was accustomed to. He hadn’t had the occasion to fall off of a cliff, or be thrown from his horse. On this occasion he found the sensation rather calming. It was quite serene to feel nothing holding him up and the wind rushing in his ears.

It was hitting the ground that was the unnerving part.

Gestarin didn’t know what to expect- that was what made it worse. As he neared the ground he could see that there was something large and bulbous sitting underneath him. It was made of some sort of strange material, and it looked much like a wart. Gestarin hoped that it was soft.

The impact completely emptied his lungs, but it was like falling on an extremely large cushion. The thing absorbed most of the impact with a large popping sound. He bounced up and down like a wave on the sea before coming to rest a few inches above the ground, gasping for air.

I’m not dead. He thought to himself. That’s always a good sign.

He tried to stand up, but it was no use. The cushion roiled and billowed underneath him, to the point that he could barely even sit on it. Ignoring how silly he looked, he clambered ungracefully off of the strange thing. A hissing noise sounded next to him, and Gestarin felt a strange breeze blowing on his leg. He traced it to a large rip in the side of the fabric.

Filled with air? He thought, surprised. He hadn’t realized there was any material that could hold air so well. Something new from Reledan?

He shook his head. He couldn’t focus on this. He had to follow Yrit.

“Well, at least you’re alive.” Kiinrin said, landing softly beside him and folding his wings. “Jiriinii said Yrit is making his way down Hoff Street, toward the Lows.” He shook his head. “He’s wearing something very nondescript, so it’s hard to follow him.”

“We can still try.” Gestarin smiled, stretching his legs. “Let’s go after him.” Kiinrin nodded, and they took off at a gallop down the alleyway. Gestarin smiled as his son, after years of being weak and sickly, easily kept pace with his father. Gestarin thought it a strange time to be proud, but he was proud nonetheless.

They exited the alleyway and entered into the crowded Hoff Street, the main commercial avenue of Matrikai. People of all classes and sorts hustled and bustled between vendors of different kinds. Gestarin’s heart sank as he saw the incredible amount of people in front of them, augmented by the crowd that had come to watch the procession. How would they make their way through all of this?

An enormous whoosh of air sent Gestarin scuttling to the side in fear. He looked up to see Jiriinii flying low over the people, all of whom ran for cover on the side of the street.

“Make way for the king of Glausiania!” She yelled as she flew by. “Urgent royal business!”

Bless you, Jiriinii. Gestarin grinned as he and Kiinrin once again began running down the street, drawing stares from many of the frightened townsfolk. You’re as brilliant as your mother. They made easy progress of Hoff Street, since the only things they had to dodge were potholes and the occasional bundle of groceries dropped by a frightened citizen. Gestarin was happy of their progress- Yrit must have taken much longer to make it through. He didn’t have the advantage of being able to part a crowd.

“Turn here!” Kiinrin shouted, pointing at a dank side street. “It’ll intercept him!” Gestarin nodded and made a quick turn, jumping over a cat that had crossed over their path. It hissed at them as they passed before jumping onto a window and slinking out of sight.

You’re doing well, Gestarin. Nirastig’s disgusting face grinned at Gestarin from the shattered glass on the ground. It won’t be long until you have him. Gestarin nodded, actually encouraged. It was good to have a little motivation, even if it was from Nirastig.

They continued to sprint on the uneven cobblestone of the alleyway, barrelling past beggars and cutthroats. They seemed to be frightened by the presence of both the King and a Jod to pay much attention to their chances at gaining a bit of coin. They stepped quickly to the side to let the pair past.

As Gestarin continued to run, he began to notice the quick deterioration of their surroundings. Clean stone and solid wood gave way to splintered beams and dirty, cracked clay bricks. It saddened Gestarin even as he ran through the side streets. The Lows had always been a problem for Matrikai, but no monarch had ever come up with a good enough plan to restore it.

Gestarin was so busy thinking about the infrastructure problems of the city, he completely failed to notice Highking Yrit barreling heedlessly toward him. With a shout, Yrit ran straight into Gestarin, knocking both onto the ground in a flailing pile of limbs.

“I’m so sorry, sir.” Gestarin said,  thinking he had simply run into a citizen. His eyes narrowed, however, when he saw the man he had just run into. “Why, Highking Yrit, how clumsy of me.”

Yrit looked around wildly, his eyes flitting to anything he could use. With a grunt, he sprinted quickly toward the opposite wall and jumped away from it, sailing across the thin alleyway. He grabbed hold of an old rain gutter and clambered nimbly up, disappearing over the lip of the rooftop.

Aia’s blood! Gestarin swore. He’s fast!

“Vixin wasn’t lying about his living on the streets.” Kiinrin said dejectedly. He looked at his father. “Jiriinii says that it’s too crowded on the rooftops for her to grab him. We’ll have to follow him up.”

“Can you fly me up there?” Gestarin asked, squinting. Kiinrin hesitated, but he nodded slowly.

“It’ll be slow going.” He said, eying the walls of the alley. “There isn’t much room here.”

“That’s fine.” Gestarin nodded. “Take me up.” Kiinrin nodded and wrapped his arms around Gestarin before jumping into the air. Flapping his wings mightily, they began to slowly ascend. Kiinrin breathed deeply behind Gestarin as they went up, air seething between his clenched teeth. Flying must have been harder than Gestarin thought. After a moment and a fair amount of maneuvering between the edges of the rooftops, Kiinrin set Gestarin down before he sat down on the edge.

“Go.” He ordered, rubbing his temples. “I’ll be a minute.”

“Are you alright?” Gestarin asked worriedly. Kiinrin waved a hand.

“I just haven’t had much rest lately.” He said between breaths. “I’ll be fine. Just go.” Gestarin nodded, reluctant to leave his son. What if something happened? After a moment, however, the urgency of his mission forced him to leave. He sprinted toward the fleeing form of Yrit, dodging between even more beggars and urchins than he had previously thought possible. Aia above, how many people lived up here?

Yrit jumped over the gap separating two rooftops and kept running, his brown cloak trailing behind him. Gestarin followed close behind, huffing and puffing. He hadn’t done anything this aerobically strenuous in years- his age must have been finally catching up to him. He chuckled at the inopportune time his body had chosen to start to fail. As he too leaped over the gap, he almost thought he could feel his bones creak. Ignoring it, he continued to run, breathing quickly all the way.

Yrit reached the edge of the rooftop, and Gestarin was glad to see it was too far to jump to the next one. Yrit stood there for a brief moment, looking around wildly for a way of escape.

“You can’t escape, Highking!” Gestarin called as he quickened his pace. “No way out of this one!”

“That’s what you think, Gestarin!” Yrit shouted back. With a casual grace, he ripped a long strip off of the bottom of his coat and wrapped it quickly around his hands. “You haven’t been in this situation before!” With a sarcastic grin and salute, he dove off of the edge of the roof.

He needs to stop doing that! Gestarin thought to himself. He reached the edge just in time to look over and see Yrit sliding down a rope. He landed with the grace of a cat and began running again, down the alley and out of sight.

Highking Yrit seems to have a penchant for jumping off of buildings. Nirastig laughed from an unseen mirror. I think you need to keep a better eye on your nobles, Gestarin. Some appear to have the temperament of daredevils.

Shut up! Gestarin snapped, looking around for his own way down. He yelped as he was suddenly lifted into the air, the sound of flapping wings deafening in his ears.

“I’ll put you down where you can get to him!” Jiriinii yelled as she flew quickly toward Yrit. “See if you can keep him from running any more!” Gestarin nodded, and Jiriinii set him down gently in a particularly shabby alley.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Gestarin nodded, and began to run again. Aia’s blood, he shouldn’t be doing this. His legs screamed at him to stop, lungs heaved as he desperately tried to get enough air to keep up his hectic pace. His perseverance was rewarded, however, when he turned the corner and found Highking Yrit staring at a dead end.

“Run out of avenues, Highking?” Gestarin called, stopping and putting his hands on his knees. “No other tricks up your sleeve?” Yrit glared at him, his hand slowly inching toward his left wrist.

“You’re an older man, your majesty.” Yrit growled, drawing his Blade. The blood flowed out of his arm and formed into the cruel form of a Fishmonger. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” A shadow fell over Yrit, but he paid it no mind.

Gestarin, however, smiled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Gestarin said, nodding at Yrit. Yrit cocked his head to the side. “I’d worry more about yourself.”

Yrit laughed. “What do you mean? I’m fresher, younger, and are almost certainly more skilled-” He was cut off as Vilkanai’s enormous white form tackled him to the ground. They crashed into a heap of barrels, throwing up splinters and chips of wood everywhere. Gestarin smiled as the dust and debris settled.

“One thing you don’t have,” He said, like a teacher scolding a student, “is awareness. Always know if an angel is about to fall on you, Highking. It may save your life someday.”

Yrit’s only reply was a pained grunting sound.

“What was that, Highking?” Gestarin said, unable to resist goading the fallen man. He jokingly held a hand up to his ear. “I’m an old man, you know.”

Vilkanai stood and, quite surprisingly, helped the Highking up. “Do not throw daggers with your words, your majesty. Highking Yrit has been hurt quite enough.”

“I’m not so sure about that one.” Jiriinii said angrily, landing beside her father. “He did try to kill my father. Twice.”

“Jiriinii has a point.” Kiinrin agreed, falling on Gestarin’s other side. “He also had Cixusa killed.”

“He threw me onto the streets as a child.” Vixin said testily as he walked up behind the trio. “I’d say another good fall into the barrels is in order.”

Yrit looked at the angry warriors, and his face paled. “Now, hold on….”

“Oh come now, Highking.” Gestarin interrupted. “Surely a man of your station and knowledge shouldn’t be reduced to groveling. I thought you were better than that.”

Enough of this, Gestarin. Nirastig growled from a dusty mirror leaning against one of the walls. We need Yrit, so there isn’t any use provoking him.

Do we really need him? Gestarin said, almost pouting. He can’t possibly be that important.

Every chosen is important, Gestarin, whether you want it or not. Nirastig snapped. Now you need to convince him to help us.

Gestarin ground his teeth, but he reluctantly agreed with Nirastig. As much as he wanted to flay this troublemaker and hang him from the highest wall, he couldn’t. Yrit had a role to play, and none of Gestarin’s personal feelings would change that.

“Very well.” He announced, drawing the gaze of everyone assembled. “Highking Yrit, I would like to propose a-”

“My lord!” The voice of Efstany shouted from above them. Almost instantly, a pillar of black smoke fell against the ground before materializing into the form of the Flen. Except, this time, he carried someone in his arms. Valanal, the Seat of Jod, lay with a weak smile in Efstany’s arms.

“I defeated him, your majesty.” He said, gesturing to the crimson blood that marred the whiteness of his Blade. White liquid leaked from a dozen wounds on his arms, face, legs, and neck. “It took effort, but I did so.”

“Are you alright, Lord Valanal?” Gestarin said, rushing over to help the Jod stand. “How badly are you hurt?”

“Just a few dozen shallow cuts or so, your majesty.” Valanal said with a wave of his hand. “Nothing serious. I’m merely fatigued from lack of rest and loss of blood. I’ll be alright after I sit down for a bit.”

Gestarin nodded before turning angrily to face Yrit. “You will pay for this man’s blood, Highking. You will pay dearly once our task is complete.”

“Enough blabbering, Gestarin.” Yrit snapped. He sheathed his Blade with an angry motion. “I want you to tell me one thing, your majesty. Just one thing.” He narrowed his eyes. “What exactly is this task we are supposed to complete?”

Gestarin opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. His mind spun as he desperately tried to come up with an answer that would satisfy the Highking, but for all his effort he couldn’t think of anything. He simply hung his head and looked at Yrit. The Highking nodded gravely, as if this was the very answer he had been waiting for.

“See, Gestarin?” He said quietly. “For all your haughty, pious thinking, you have no idea what these spirits want you to do. You have absolutely no idea what you have signed up for.”

“Do you have an answer, Highking?” Gestarin shot back angrily. “If you do, I would be happy to hear it.”

“I have no idea, your majesty.” Yrit conceded. “Which is why I seek to go my own way. I do not know if I can put my livelihood and my station in the hands of an old king and two children.” He scowled at Efstany. “And the most enigmatic of servants I have ever met.”

“One of those problems can be solved easily, my lord.” Efstany in his normal, gentle manner. He puffed out his chest slightly. “My name is Efstany, and I am the only wrongfully Harvested Flen you have ever met.”

Yrit looked at him for moment before bursting into laughter. “You?” He began to laugh harder, and it was a moment before he could speak again. “A Flen?” He slapped his knee like an old drunk. “That’s the best story I’ve ever heard.”

Efstany scowled and, in one fluid motion, ripped off his white shirt. The sunlight glinted off of the four Bloodblade hilts on his arms and the one in the center of his chest. “Be wary of what you say, Highking. You speak of things which you know not.” He spread his arms, as if daring Yrit to question him.

Yrit’s eyes narrowed, and he stopped laughing. “So you are a Flen. Doesn’t change anything.” He looked back at the King. “I’m still not going to go with you.”

“I think that you have no say in this matter, Yrit.” Gestarin smiled, gesturing to the people around him. “You are slightly outmatched.”

Yrit smiled wickedly. “That’s what you think, your majesty.” A chill crept over Gestarin as Yrit nodded to someone standing behind him. “Kill him.”

The soft sound of metal scraping through armor and flesh seemed like the crack of lightning in Gestarin’s ears. He turned to see Radiran standing unsteadily behind Valanal, the crimson point of a Bloodblade sticking out of Valanal’s chest. After a moment, they both fell to the ground.

“Ventoros!” Jiriinii screamed, rushing over to his side. Gestarin turned back toward the Highking with fire in his eyes.

“You will pay for that, Yvilirin.” He growled, hand straying to his hilt. “By Aia and the Void, you will pay.” He hesitated, however, when he saw Yrit’s face. The blood had fled from the Highking’s face almost instantly, and he appeared to be trembling. It was a great difference from his smug demeanor from before.

“Ventoros?” He said quietly, almost to the point that Gestarin could not have heard him. “Is that what the girl had called him?”

“Yes!” Jiriinii screamed again, turning toward Yrit in a frenzy. “I will rip the bones from your body, Highking, for killing him!” She rushed toward Yrit, and Gestarin almost fell over trying to hold her back.

Yrit paid her no heed. He walked slowly over to the fallen Seat of Jod, eyes wide and lip trembling. “I had another son, a long time ago. Ventoros. I never loved him as much as I should have.” He looked at Gestarin with tears running down his face. “Until he was taken by the Jods.”

Valanal coughed weakly and smiled. “Yes, father. That is correct.” He tried to laugh, but it quickly devolved into a fit of coughing again. “I regret that this is our reunion.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yrit whispered, tears falling freely to the ground. “I would have done anything for you.”

“Because your decision had to be made of your own will.” Ventoros croaked. “No influences could be made, no convincing could be done.” He shook his head slightly against the ground. “And this is what you have chosen.”

Yrit looked at Gestarin helplessly. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Why would you want to do anything?” Radiran growled from where he lay, bleeding out of two large cuts in his stomach. “I killed him for you, father. Now you can continue.”

“Don’t you understand, Radiran?” Yrit shouted. “This is your brother!” Radiran paled.

Gestarin ignored Yrit’s outburst, angry that he was pitying the Highking at this moment. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do, your majesty.” How important were forms of address at this moment? Nothing felt important anymore. A friend, a comrade, was dying.

“There is something that can be done.” A gravelly, unfamiliar voice said from the mirror on the wall. A rotten face looked out at all of them, but it was not Nirastig.

“Liranif,” Yrit said gently. “What do you know? How can I save my sons?”

The shade, Liranif, shook his head. “Not sons, Yrit. Son. You have the power to save one of them” He grimaced. “But you will have to give me up to do it.”

Yrit gaped at him with wide eyes. “Choose which of my sons will live?” He laughed a tired little laugh. “What kind of a request is that?”

“One that no parent should have to fulfill.” Liranif agreed gravely. “But it is a choice you must make regardless. Choose, Highking, for the time for running is over.”

Yrit stood with his head down for a long moment. “B******s.” He spat, looking hatefully at Liranif, Gestarin, everyone. “You bloody b******s. Why would you do this to me?”

“You have done this to yourself, Highking.” Liranif scolded. “Do not seek to blame the chosen of Aia. This is your fault, true and true. You should be grateful that Aia has granted you this chance.”

“Grateful?” Yrit scoffeed. “Grateful that I must choose a son to send to his grave?”

“Would you rather they both die?” Liranif roared. “Because that could easily be arranged, Highking.” He shook his head. “I tire of this pointless whining. Choose, Highking, or the choice will be made for you.”

Yrit stared down at both his fallen sons. “B******s.” He repeated. Finally, he threw his hands into the air and wailed. “Radiran!” He screamed. “Save Radiran!”

Liranif’s eyes widened, and he looked at Yrit for a long moment before he shook his head in disappointment. “So be it.”

The shade in the mirror reverted to the black smoke of a Flen and, with a rush of wind,  pushed out of the mirror into the real world. It spun in the air for a moment before rushing toward the fallen body of Radiran. He sat up, eyes wide, as it entered his body through his eyes, nose, mouth. Any orifice on his face was an opening for the smoke to intrude. He began to scream, but the smoke cut the sound off abruptly as it roared down his throat. He could only gag and retch, eyes wide, as every last bit of smoke went into his body. After a moment, it all was gone, and Radiran stood strong on his feet.

But he was not well. Tears streamed down his face, and he looked at his father with hatred and contempt.

“How could you?” He said softly. He pointed at Ventoros. “How could you? After all you deprived him of, stole from him, you take this one chance away from him?”

“Radiran, I-” Yrit began, but Radiran held up a hand.

“You are not my father.” He growled. “I do not know you.” He looked at all the others. “I have no quarrel with any of you. Let me leave for the Void.” With that, he turned into the black smoke and soared away.

Before he had even finished speaking, Gestarin had rushed to the Ventoros’s side and knelt down next to him. He grabbed the Jods’ weak hand and held it in a grip that should have crushed both of their fingers.

“Stay with me, my lord.” He said quietly. “Stay with me.”

“Nay, lord Gestarin.” Ventoros smiled weakly. “I don’t have long. Do not try to stop me from leaving.”

“But surely, my lord…”

“No.” Ventoros said with finality. “It is my time.” He looked at Jiriinii. “I only wish I had longer.” Jiriinii knelt down on the other side.

“Why, Ventoros?” She sobbed. “Why must you leave me?”

Ventoros reached up and wiped the tears from her face. She grabbed his hand and held it against her cheek. “It is my time, Jiriinii.” He whispered. “Do not mourn me. That is not how I want to think of the woman I loved when I have gone.”

“Oh, Ventoros.” Jiriinii cried softly. “I loved you too.”

“Love is a present thing, Jiriinii.” Ventoros corrected softly. “Love exists forever, and has no end. Say not that you loved, but that you still love even now.” Ventoros looked at Gestarin. “Take care of her for me, your majesty. It would not do well for her to never love again.”

“I will, my lord.” Gestarin promised softly. “With all my heart, I will.”

Ventoros nodded and looked up at Vilkanai. The rough Jod stood with tears of his own falling freely from despairing eyes.

“Do not leave me, your majesty.” Vilkanai whispered. “You made me. I cannot be without you.”

“You will have to, Vilkanai.” Ventoros smiled. “I cannot help you anymore than this. Remember-” The light in his eyes dimmed, and his hands fell to the ground as he breathed his last breath. Jiriinii knelt over his body and wailed.

Gestarin stood, unsure of his own emotions. He began to pace, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t cry again in front of his own children. Kiinrin came up behind him and stood solemnly.

“That’s it, then.” Kiinrin whispered. Then he jumped. “Or is it?” Gestarin looked back to the fallen Seat of Jod, unsure of what Kiinrin was talking about. Then he gasped.

Ventoros’s body was melting. His skin, armor, wings. Everything was melting into the white liquid of the Aether. Jiriinii stood up and backed away quickly, eyes wide and hands shaking. As they all watched, a familiar scene began to emerge. As one fallen body melted, another standing body was formed. After a tense moment, the Lord of All Creation stood before them.

He sighed. “And so Ventoros is taken to be with me.” He shook his head. “His was a hard life, but he served it well.” He looked at Gestarin. “Hold no grudge against Radiran, your majesty. He only followed his conscience.”

“What is this?” Yrit said angrily. “What kind of disgrace is this?”

Aia turned toward the Highking with fury in his normally kind eyes. “Do not speak, Finaril. Do not say a word. You have chosen selfishly, and so you have no right to speak in my presence.” Aia sighed once again and rubbed his eyes. It scared Gestarin to see his god so exhausted. “But I am not here for you.” He pointed at Vixin. “I am here for him.”

“Me?” Vixin jumped, eyes wide. “What for?”

Aia held up a hand. “Fear not, Viceroy. Your task is short, but great.” He pointed at the mirror. “Look, and see your destiny.” With that, he dissolved into a pool of the Aether.

Naturally, everyone all looked at the mirror at once. They all saw their normal reflections, with the exception of Gestarin, who saw Nirastig. Kiinrin saw Nirnik. Jiriinii saw Iniriija.

And Vixin saw a rotten face staring back at him, his normally handsome features morphed into something that resembled a corpse.

“My name is Nyxiv.” The reflection said, and it smiled grandly. “Bow and worship!”

The blood fled from Vixin’s face, and his knees began to tremble. He opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by Efstany walking in front of all of them.

“There is no time for this.” He said, and pointed at the black wall that loomed over them. “The Void awaits.”

With a nod, Jiriinii and Kiinrin each grabbed one of their father’s arms and took off into the sky. Vilkanai grabbed Vixin and followed close behind, leaving an abysmal Highking Yrit standing in the dust, contemplating the wrath of his god and the wrongness of the choice that would haunt him forever.