She raised her hands to him as an invitation. “There is no lasting stain that spoils. Tell me what brings you here, Crusader.”
Erelim swallowed his distrust and stepped forward, letting her softly grip his sides with tender strength. “I had no reflection when I awoke,” he said. “And I saw a white horse.”
“Your reflection became the horse,” she declared, holding him in place to study his body. “The majestic creature is you.”
“I met a Dryad who was crying about her chains.”
The Queen rolled her eyes. “Sanziana is always lamenting her status, but if she wanted to reside over a land of green shade, she should’ve chosen the Isle of Eire. Then she would’ve had to contend with storm gods, and they are far more torrential than the faeries of flame.”
“Sanziana tries to exist in a desperate place,” he said. “She doesn’t belong here.”
The Queen lifted his chainmail and put her hands on his charred clothes and darkened skin. “You found her sisters, didn’t you? Did they burn you with their mindless work? Beautiful women attract men like soldiers of God who fly with such daring against the very one you admit to serve and then wonder why your wings melt.”
Erelim tried to ignore her gentle fingers upon him. “Did you build this place or do you just inhabit it?”
“Such literalists,” said the Queen. “Did you think that the Underworld existed in a cave?” She called his attention to his thorn slashes as the wounds healed, then he wiped off the blood left behind. “This is no Crusader’s honor at all, it should shine.” She leaned back after touching his mantle and the burnt layer lifted in a cloud. “You believe I’m casting a spell.”
“You’re not an elemental like the others,” he observed.
“That’s true.”
“So you’re a Queen?”
“Yes,” she said, sitting upright in regal pose. She offered him a seat beside her and handed him a cup of red wine. “But in the hierarchy of demigods, I am not the wind.”
He nodded and sat. “A Queen without a King.”
“I chose this castle to imitate your world. This is where the tide of Roman occupation pulled back. No one can rule the mountains, not even with empires.”
He sipped from her cup. “You could choose anything?”
“Yes.”
“But you cannot rule the mountains,” he repeated her words. “Your King is your dominion, so maybe you’re a shapeshifter and not a nymph.”
“What can a single lifetime teach a mortal?” she asked, smiling in comical warmth.
“To mistrust all but your own heart,” he replied. “You lured those warriors to be your protectors.”
“I did not lie, they were already dead.”
Xenakis tried to go deeper into her illusion. “And you didn’t choose to be here, you’re in exile. These mountains are your sanctuary.”
“These are difficult times,” said the Queen. “Many spirits are lost without a home.”
“If you don’t need protection, then you must be protecting something.” He took another sip, and after he drained the glass, he noticed that it was still full.
She invited him with an advancing gaze, leaning forward on her knees as she gave him attentive care. “Isn’t that the wish of all warriors home from battle, an endless cup?”
“Who do you protect then?” the knight continued. “As the mountain dominates a region, you use the mountain, but who are you protecting?”
“I am a Queen without a King, and you have gone so long without feeling like a man.” She kissed his cheek while he kept his eyes averted. “You’ve chosen to live without love, but I can remind you what’s real.”
“What’s real,” he said, thinking about the slow disease of his son’s death. “You don’t live by such things.”
She pushed closer and he could see down the robes hanging from her shoulders. “I’m still a woman, am I not? Drink some more...”
Erelim did as she commanded. “This is better than dragon’s blood.”
“Yes, blood is how you see this world. Wicked blood for wicked sight. You are lucky that the Goddess is kind, or else you would have gotten a taste of Rebel’s Light.”
“The Rebel to the Goddess, whom you protect,” he said, and when she touched his lips he was lost in the fantasy. “You’re still a woman and I am the horse.”
“Yes, the pale rider of the Third Age. We do as we must and now you must stay with me. I am Padurii Stryx,” the Queen whispered her name. “And you should question how much freedom you really have. Drink up.”
He lifted the cup and saw his reflection. “Angels cannot touch this world,” he said, remembering Sanziana and how he stood in the meadow on four legs, hooves sunk into the moss while she wept. “You’re a woman,” he said, looking the Queen in the face. “You’re a witch.”
“The Rebel Serpent has eaten your friends,” she said with a smirk. “You have nothing left in the world to make it real. If you stay here, the Goddess will rule over all.”
Xenakis was annoyed by her hand on him. When he grabbed it she hissed in protest, apparently burned when he touched her bare skin. “It’s your spell,” he said as he stood up, seeing the dried blood on his fingers from the thorn bush that had scratched him. “Righteous blood hurts you. The Moroi are your protectors, aren’t they?”
“Not all of them,” she said, suddenly full of mortal fear.
Despite the fog in his mind, he threw the wine cup to the floor. “You wish to trap me here.”
“Elementals are not interested in anything but themselves. They do not hate or deceive,” she said. “I, on the other hand, must survive.”
“Your master is the Goddess?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“The chaos of original creation,” answered the witch. “Or so she has been called. Chaos is deceptively powerful, but in truth you witness the will of demigods beyond your understanding. The only real chaos is the work of the trickster or a product of free will, a gift your species laments too often and misuses quite frequently.”
“You think I’m a warrior of the Third Age, that’s why your minions pushed me here.”
Padurii Stryx came closer as she attempted a distracting spell. “You are the horse, proud knight. You can return to the first eon at will and experience a place of purity and silence. What if you never left the river?”
“I didn’t leave the river,” Xenakis repeated. “But my reflection did. It’s what you seek to take from me.” He pulled his sword and toppled the table. “You want to keep me from a war that I have nothing to do with.”
“You’re here to save the world,” she said with her skin still smoking from his touch. “But you don’t even know that you’re a guardian.” She moved towards the great hall until he lifted his sword to her throat. “Virtue and vice have eternal sources,” she said. “Archons bring us the light while the Asuras obstruct it. These are pathways through time, choices to be made.”
“But I get to choose, it’s my freedom,” said the knight. “Not a spell.”
Padurii Stryx closed her eyes and tried to force relaxation upon him. “Some choices are more important than your self-serving will.”
“Keep your magic, witch.” Erelim was close to striking her down when he heard clanking metal behind him.
“You lost touch with God long ago,” she said with a cackle in her gutteral voice, her giggle no longer echoing the delicate charm of a woman. “And the war surrounds you whether you accept it or not.”
The inanimate suits of armor stepped from their display to protect the Stryx. After one threw a battle axe that parted the curtains, Xenakis raised the broad end of his sword to deflect it. The witch opened her mouth with a cacophonous scream and hurried past her minions. He struggled through the pain of her sonic defense, afraid that she would reach the door and be lost among her undead army.
He swung at the first hollo
w metal warrior that stood in his way and his sword passed between the iron plates without doing any damage. When the empty armor attacked him with a mace, he ducked and the soldier behind him was broken to pieces that crumpled to the floor. He knocked the mace wielder’s helmet loose from the rest of the body and turned his attention to the witch.
As she reached the entrance and moved the wooden locking post with a gesture, Erelim crashed through her animated defenders and struck them down. Padurii flung the castle doors open and landed face-first in the dirt, letting out a screech with his blade shoved through her back, impaled like all the men she had lured to her mountain since the age of Rome to display as trophies and drain their spirits. After centuries under her spell, the land changed back to its original state. The forest was still covered with snow when he pulled his weapon from the Stryx, but he was hit by a sudden warmth and found himself standing at the river’s edge, looking across the shallows at himself on the opposite side.
The knight was peering into his own reflection in the water, rubbing his eyes as the experience of the faeries drifted like a dream. He carried the impression of the white horse in his mind, but his chainmail was still sullied from years as Templar Sergeant. Though her black blood was still wet upon his blade, the witch’s illusion faded as he remembered the divine. His mind was trying to convince him to discard what was irrational, even if the Queen’s life-force was a blunt reminder of her power, which had been severely limited by the energy she gave to protect the Goddess.
Xenakis was walking back to camp and hoping to gain more information from the Order of the Dragon when he came upon the scene of a vicious attack. Where the Romanians had congregated, the fire was trampled by claw marks as if something monstrous had ambushed them, knocking over trees and leaving puddles of blood in its wake. The broken reigns of their missing horses were still tied to the branches, but it appeared as if the dead had been carried away or eaten on the spot.
Worried about Edmund, Erelim ran to the boy’s shield and turned it over to discover the child’s ripped shirt and a trail leading into the frigid forest. Padurii told him that something had eaten his friends, so Xenakis grabbed the shield and walked into the wasteland. Upon entering a land untouched by the faeries of flame, the path dropped into a valley between mountain peaks. Due to constant rivers from melting snow, the region was bright green.
He followed the tracks until they disappeared near a solid rock wall, leaving him lost in a foreign land. He let out an angry yell at the titans of the Carpathian mountains and was close to giving up when a noise returned from the mouth of the cave. A mound of reddish hair stood up on two legs from a seated position. The gigantopithecus was almost ten feet tall, with an ape-like face and intelligent eyes under a protruding brow. As it came towards him with bounding steps, Erelim shifted his sword out of sight.
The creature put its hand over its mouth to indicate that he should be quiet, then it smelled Edmund’s shirt with compassionate eyes and seemed to understand that the missing child belonged to him. It lifted a hairy finger in the correct direction to travel and Xenakis continued on, leaving the beast behind. After running until his legs were tired, he heard a pack of wolves calling out in the distance and saw movement high in the canopy.
Near falling leaves, a long tail shifted behind a giant reptile as it descended with claws digging into the bark. Erelim barely raised his shield before it slammed into him and circled with serpentine movement, showing spikes that ran down its back and jaws lined with pointed teeth. The black-scaled lizard was shining in the dull light of the woodland, looking down at him curiously with piercing yellow pupils. Xenakis had found whatever stomped through the Romanian campsite, but there were countless pairs of glowing red eyes where other monsters waited in the trees, the smaller offspring of the four-legged Serpent.
The creature noticed the boy’s shirt and its rough lips pulled back with a smile. A voice entered Erelim’s mind, a rumbling mimic of human language. “Why do you follow me, did you own the boy?”
He remembered what the witch had said. “You’re the Rebel to the Mother Goddess.”
The Serpent was surprised by the acumen of the insect. The reptile shook its head and sent a wave rolling down its back. “Who do you serve that would know such a thing when every man considers himself a god? Answer before I let my children feed upon you as you fed upon them.” The cold-blooded lizards called out in hollow tones. Though they were much smaller than their parent, they were still big enough to easily swallow a human.
“You are Zalmoxis.”
The creature nodded. “And you are a warrior for the Order of Thelema.”
“I am not,” replied the Crusader, who was quickly becoming a mouse surrounded by lions.
Zalmoxis looked around for the presence of danger. “Of course you wouldn’t follow me alone, would you? Where are the others?”
“You fear the warriors of the Third Age?” said Xenakis, realizing the power of an Order that was capable of inducing fright in such a monster.
“Before you become a snack for my young, I should tell you that your horses were a filling meal after the Romanians, but your child was a pathetic dessert. I was so hungry that I forgot to chew and it was an effort to swallow his skull.” Zalmoxis laughed while its minions closed in. When the knight pulled his sword, the reptiles shrieked.
“I am the archangel and the beast, born from the void lusting for power,” said the angry Templar. “I am the guardian of worlds beyond your imagination, and for your evil I promise that I will bathe in your blood before I die!”
“Witches are servants to the Mother Goddess and her connection to the Earth, how did you come across their poisoned blood?”
“I killed Padurii Stryx.”
The Serpent appeared thankful for the ignorance of the mortal. “Then you have helped me in my war and I will give homage to you in the Underworld. No Archon would commit such an act against Tiamat, her vengeance is the wrath of God.”
The wind whistled as a volley of arrows sailed through the trees, burning its scales when Zalmoxis was hit. Heavy boulders rolled by, leaving dents in the Earth, and the Zilants crawled over their parent to block it from the incoming missiles. Erelim was using his shield against the chaos when he was pulled from the battlefield by a young woman with short black hair shrouding her eyes. She was small and beautiful, with the stare of a warrior as she urged him away from the frontline.
She was clearly part of an organized attack on Zalmoxis, so he followed her to a group of archers dressed like forest dwellers in the skins of reindeer, all dipping their arrowheads in buckets of oil before firing. Among them were hairy giants like the one he met by the cave, using ropes that circled huge rocks to hurl them through the air. Soon the spotter at the top of the hill reported that the monsters had escaped and the warriors looked disheartened.
The woman squeezed Erelim’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s not your fault.”
“Our ambush was set further down the trail,” said their tall leader. “You hindered a well-planned attack.”
“Ignore Armozel,” she said. “He was hoping to end the war before it started. I am Illeana, daughter of Sisnero Varsala, the master of the Order of Thelema.”
“You must be the warriors of the Third Age,” said Erelim.
“Yet I’m the only realistic one of the bunch,” she replied. “I knew this was going to fail before it happened. How do you know about the Third Age?”
“Romanian soldiers gave me a drink of strange madness.”
“Dragon’s blood,” said Illeana, sharing a glance with Armozel. She nodded in the direction of the Rebel’s retreat. “And now that you’ve met the source, I guess you should be told the truth.”
“That this is all a dream?” Xenakis guessed. “Or perhaps I’m dead.”
“Dreams, memory, and madness are all the Rebel’s Light, but what you’ve seen is as real as the blood upon your swo
rd. One creature’s life-force kills another, though it is rare to come upon witch’s blood, the only thing that will hurt the Serpent.” She referred to his stained sword and the buckets for dipping their arrowheads. “The blood of Zalmoxis can kill the Mother Goddess Tiamat, but it can also inebriate a human until your perception folds upon the Otherworld. This is Armozel, our leader.” Illeana nodded to the warrior ordering everyone back to camp while the giants lumbered around, packing up the heavy stones of their arsenal. “That strong man is Zurvan and the young one is Nephoros. He has an eagle eye. The pretty lady is Iviica Rajic, my cousin.” The woman moved blonde hair from her eyes and smiled cordially. “We’re the Archons for the Order of Thelema, the Order of the Will.”
“You think he’s a Godsend.” Armozel noticed her interest in the knight. “He’s just human.”
“As children of the elementals, they are closer to divinity than you realize. And to be underestimated in every war you fight is one incredible advantage.”
“Don’t get too attached,” her brother warned. “Mortals don’t survive long here. Material existence is on the edge of the abyss, where all things collide.”
“Don’t let him throw your confidence,” Nephoros told the Crusader. “Your kind just doesn’t last and we’re dancing on the precipice of war.”
“What war?” Xenakis asked them.
“The war,” said the quiet-mannered Zurvan, who was big enough to wrestle the hairy giants. “To bring about the next cycle of this world.”
“Your time isn’t as limited as you think. Other realms are afflicted,” said Illeana. “In this place, the smallest element can change your destiny.”
“This coming from dragon hunters,” Erelim replied. “The Romanians said that the war is between Zalmoxis and the Mother Goddess.”
“Tiamat traveled here from Sumer,” said Armozel. “She is one of the oldest emanations.”
Illeana walked with the knight at the rear of the group as they moved through a dry riverbed. The hairy bipeds lugged their throwing rocks in a different direction.
“Where are they headed?” Xenakis wondered.
“The Jidovi and Novaci breeds are helpful to our cause, but they are not our servants. They fight to save this realm as we do, then they go back to their caves.”