Torment, pain, a Watcher's game

The blue eye burns all minds insane.

Lieutenant Raemint and Carmine burst into the room to find Mekka having a seizure.

Shimmering blue light burst from his eyes and body, leaking around the bandages. More light streaked over his wings.

"Use the Sword!" Raemint cried.

Carmine looked at her in panic. "I… but I'm not a sorcerer!"

"Use it anyway!"

Gripping the Sword of Healing in both hands, she approached the bed. Mekka's head was thrown back, his limbs shaking. She had no idea what the hell was happening…

Striking him with a sword felt all kinds of wrong. She had pulled it out of her own body without injury, but still…

"It will not hurt him, Carmine!" Raemint urged. "If he is a wraith, we must know!"

If he is a wraith…

If Mekka was a wraith, then striking him with the Sword of Healing would kill him.

She tried not to think about it, tried to ignore her heart crashing around in her chest. Just do it!!

Closing her eyes momentarily, she took a deep breath. Then she tightened her grip, opened her eyes, and letting out a cry, swung the long silver blade…

It passed right through him, through flesh and organs and bone and feathers with only slight resistance, and Carmine stifled a wave of sickness.

Then it was free and she staggered away from the bed.

Nothing happened.

Mekka continued to quake and scintillate with blue light.

The Sword had had no effect whatsoever.

Carmine shook her head, looking down at the silver blade in despair. "I told you, it's useless! We need a sorcerer!"

"We do not have one!" Raemint tightened her hands on her spear, which was was levelled at the bed. She shook her head, looking stricken. "I do not know what manner of sorcery this is, but I do not like it!" She lifted the spear.

Carmine grabbed her arm with a gasp of horror. "Raemint, no, wait!"

And then the blue light disappeared.

It vanished abruptly, leaving the room in darkness. Slowly, the black-winged Angel toppled backwards, slumping onto the bed.

Dropping the Sword with a clatter, Carmine ran to his side.

Raemint pulled open the chest of drawers beside her, rummaged around in it for some matches, then lit a candle standing on top in its holder. A dim orange flame sputtered to life, seeming feeble and weak compared to the brilliance of the blue magic.

It was enough to see by. Mekka lay very still, his eyes closed. The glowing headpiece was gone, along with the rest of the strange light.

Carmine leaned close to his face. "Mekka?" she whispered.

He did not respond.

Setting her spear aside, Raemint stepped forward, and Carmine moved out of her way as the Centaur bent over him, checking his vital signs.

"Alive," she murmured. Taking his head in her hands, she turned it slightly, running her fingers along his jaw, where a stitched gash had been. "Healed."

Carmine blinked in surprise. "The Sword worked?"

Raemint stepped back. Taking up her spear, she frowned. "I do not think so. Something else has healed his wounds."

Carmine stared at her. "That… that huge black sword thing outside? Whatever was attacking people with trigonic tentacles?!"

The Centaur shook her head again, looking puzzled and anxious. "I do not understand."

They listened to the storm outside. The sound of screaming had stopped, ominously. There was a dull murmur from the common room below them.

Carmine pushed herself to her feet, picking the Sword up from the floor. "That thing was heading for the Guard House," she said, starting for the door.

Raemint blocked her way with her spear. "I will go. Stay here with Mekka." The Centaur looked at her seriously. "If you notice any hint of blackness upon him, use the Sword immediately, do you understand?"

Carmine nodded, swallowing.

Raemint searched her eyes a moment more, to be sure of her resolve, then turned and left the room.

Carmine returned to the bed and sat on the edge of it, staring at Mekka, feeling desperately afraid.

The door of the inn slammed open, the black Centaur charging through it into the murk of the still-blustering storm.

Then she stopped abruptly, her breath catching in her throat.

The black tentacles were gone, the only movement now from the splashing rain and swaying trees. She had expected to find the square littered with dead bodies, or perhaps dark, ghostly demon-wraiths lurking on the wind, but what she saw instead was far, far stranger.

In the dim light and mist it was difficult to make out anything distinctly, but she appeared to be surrounded by shadowy winged figures.

Angels. Scores of them; perhaps hundreds, their clothing torn and bloodied, standing still as statues in the rain. All with black-feathered wings and black eyes.

All of them staring at her.

But that wasn't the worst.

Animals were standing or sitting or lying around the square; bison, horses, donkeys, some still bound to carts or wagons or hitching posts. They were all horribly and partially deformed; limbs grotesque and muscular, covered with black scales; hooves turned to claws; leathery wings drooping uselessly from their backs. Many could not stand, due to varying-sized appendages or other aberrations, and they wailed and hissed in a distressing way.

Something flopped and splashed at Raemint's hooves.

It was a pigeon, with bat-like wings and a black head with a pointed reptilian snout full of sharp ebony teeth that was too large for its body. It lolled about in the puddles, too heavy and awkward to fly.

The Centaur thrust her spear into it, ending the poor thing's life.

She found that she was shaking.

What manner of new horror is this?!

She looked around again at the watching Angels. None of them had moved. Then she noticed that some were wearing black tunics with blue left sleeves, round silver badges glinting in the half-light…

Freeroamer uniforms.

Thunder crashed overhead. Lightning danced amongst the clouds. In a dazzling flash, Raemint caught sight of something unspeakably huge and monstrous.

A mass of black shards had settled itself over the roof of the Guard House. It was like a giant, nightmarish bird's nest, shreds of mist floating around it. A shape rose higher than the jumbled blades, more than big enough to encompass the entire square, smooth-sided with perfectly straight edges slanting to a point, partially obscured by the low clouds but discernable as a pyramidal shadow…

A Black Pyramid.

Carmine had said that Reeves mentioned such a thing…

How is this connected to Mekka? Raemint thought, quivering. It was turning Humans into black-winged Angels and animals into monsters…

Had Mekka done this??

Was this why Reeves had attacked him? To stop him? Had the Sky Legion Commander known that this would happen?

And...

What would it do to an Angel??

Reeves was locked in the Guard House.

Rain poured over Raemint. She knew that she had to go and find out, but she was frozen in place, her body stiff and hard, her trembling hands clamped on her spear in a death grip.

No tentacles held her there; no dark magic stopped her.

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Only her own fear.

She breathed heavily.

An overwhelming urge to flee came over her, to run from this town as swiftly as her legs could carry her. Whatever this pyramid-shaped horror was, it was beyond anything she could hope to deal with. She felt like an insect before it, her silvertine spear little more than a shiny twig…

She felt her reason, her will crumbling, making way for pure instinct.

She fought it. No! I will not run! I vowed never to run! I shall not be branded a coward again! Cairan and I both gave our word: never again!

But she did not understand this thing, and thus had no means of defending herself against it. She could feel the terror of it stripping her sanity away like the leaves from the trees…

A vast blue light traced itself upon the face of the Pyramid, forming the shape of a blank eye. It stared down at Raemint, straight through her, burning like the God of the storm, showing her the truth of what she was, and what she might become…

She disintegrated before its power. With an anguished cry, tears mingling with the rain, she turned away, towards The Line, into the wind, and fled.

Carmine sat quietly on the chair beside the bed, in a small circle of restless candlelight. She held the Sword of Healing against her, uncovered, cradled in the crook of her arm like a precious musical instrument that she did not possess the talent to play.

The sapphires embedded in its hilt glinted deep and mysterious, like glimpses into an unfathomable ocean. There was magic in them, she knew, but it slept, and she was not the one destined to call it out.

She ran her fingers over the gemstones, over the small, cool, oval shapes of them, feeling melancholy. The Sword felt so familiar, somehow; strangely nostalgic, as though it belonged to her, like a family heirloom. The thought of giving it away to someone else filled her with an unexplainable ache of jealousy. But she had never seen it before – had never even known it existed – until she pulled it from her own body, and was told its story.

Part of its story.

It was hiding secrets, she was sure.

I knew him, she thought, her brow furrowed, passing her hand over the smooth curves of the snakes. But not as an adult. As a child?

Yes. That felt right.

She closed her eyes. A memory that she had forgotten…

I have forgotten so much…

Pieces of her existed that had been buried, or erased, and this simultaneously frustrated and scared her. She did not care to remember the part of herself that had warped into a murderous wraith, but there was one memory that she desperately wanted back.

Sirannor.

Apparently, she had been present on the Middle Isle when he had perished, perhaps even witnessed his death. But Raemint had not been able to provide many details, except that he was slain by General Dreikan, who had himself turned into a demon-wraith.

Did I meet with Sirannor before then? she wondered. Did I speak with him? What did I say? What did he say? Was he angry with me, for coming to find him? If I was there, then why couldn't I save him? Why couldn't he save himself?!

Emotion welled up inside her.

Did he die angry with me?

She brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. This was no time to cry or ponder useless questions about her dead father; there were terrible things happening right now…

But her thoughts had already ventured unwisely into the past, and thinking about the Middle Isle turned them somewhere else she really didn't want them to go…

Hawk.

Raemint had explained, as gently as she was able to, what had happened to Hawk. The Centaur had tried to be succinct, to spare his fiancée the worst details, but Carmine had pressed her, wanting to know everything.

Afterwards, Carmine had taken herself away into a corner of the inn at Meadrun and bawled her heart out, until she thought it irreparably broken.

Hours later, stony-faced, she strode down to the common room, grabbed the Sword of Healing from the table, bound it to her back and set out, without a word to anyone.

Raemint had accompanied her, asking no questions, sending the other Freeroamers back to their headquarters.

During the long journey east, Carmine had packed Devandar Hawk carefully away into the back of her mind, along with her grief, armouring herself in cold, hard determination – just as Sirannor had done – distancing herself from everyone and everything she had been.

But she didn't have the iron will of her father, no matter how much she told herself she did, and her resolve was cracking.

She felt impossibly lost and alone.

"Hawk," she whispered aloud, her lips trembling. "Hawk!" Tears dripped onto the Sword. She wanted him back! Where are you, Hawk? What have you done? Have you become a monster, too?

Is EVERYONE a monster, now?!

Carmine.

The voice made her look up with a gasp, but Mekka was still fast asleep, unmoving save for his steady breathing. She looked at the door, but it was firmly closed, as was the window. The room was small and sparsely furnished; no one was in it save her and Mekka. The voice was soft with a slight echo to it, as though spoken right in her ear but very far away at the same time.

There was a gentle laugh, in the same echoing tone. I suspected that you would have forgotten me. Do not worry – that is as it should be. But you are crying all over my Sword. Forgive me for feeling a little… concerned.

Carmine leapt from her seat so quickly that the Sword tumbled from her lap unceremoniously onto the floor. She backed away from it.

Did that Sword just… SPEAK to me?! Or am I going crazy??

The wind rattled the shutters. The candle flame flickered, throwing shadows around the room. Rain hammered on the slate roof of the inn. Mekka slept deeply on the bed, oblivious. All was quiet both inside and outside the inn, save for the storm, while unknown terrors happened out in the dark.

She wished that Raemint would return.

Carmine stared at the Sword uncertainly. So many strange things were happening that she didn't know what to expect. But it simply lay on the floor, gleaming and elegant, like a… sword.

She scowled at herself, feeling suddenly foolish. It was a Sword of Healing, what could it do to her? And if she was going to continue carrying it around, it was silly to be afraid of it…

Stepping over to the Sword, she knelt on the floorboards and placed a tentative hand on the hilt.

She shook her head. This is absurd…

"Lord… Requar?" she whispered. The voice had been masculine, and she did not think that it had come from Lady Araynia…

A cloud of white mist materialised in front of her, forming itself into a Human figure. A warm glow sparkled within the mist, like sunlight on dust motes. It knelt on the floor, one hand outstretched to the Sword in a pose mirroring her own.

But this was a man. He was tall and graceful, wearing elegant robes and a cloak. His white hair was bound in a braid that fell over his shoulder and brushed the floor. Loose strands wafted about his face, which was of noble bearing and extremely attractive, though of an age impossible to determine.

There was a faint smile on his lips. Indeed.

Carmine realised that not only had she stopped breathing, but that her mouth was hanging open. She gulped a breath, closing it quickly. Her face flushed with embarrassment and anger. "Were you… listening to my thoughts?!"

Requar hesitated. It would be more accurate to say that your thoughts intruded upon my blissful ignorance, he replied. He shook his head. But you weren't to know.

That hardly put her at ease. "Everyone told me you were dead!"

Requar sighed, as though he were getting tired of having to explain himself. Quite. But one cannot die in peace, it seems.

Carmine felt suddenly ashamed of her own ignorance. "I'm… sorry."

The dead sorcerer's smile returned. Do not be. He placed his free hand over hers. Please. Tell me what is wrong.

She couldn't feel his touch – at least, not as she would a normal person's hand. Rather, it felt as though a ray of warm sunshine landed upon her skin. It was strangely comforting, in the gloom and cold of the room.

Some of the tension eased out of her shoulders, but at the same time she felt dangerously close to tears again.

What's wrong? she thought.

What wasn't wrong?!

She looked aside at the candle, struggling against the darkness. The whole scene felt surrealistic – she was sitting on the floor talking to a dead sorcerer by means of a magical Sword – and it occurred to her that she might well be hallucinating. She'd certainly lost her mind before. But at this point, it hardly mattered; things couldn't really get worse…

She took a deep breath. "My father died and I don't remember what happened. My fiancé Hawk is missing, and infected with trigon, and turning into a wraith. My friend Everine is infected as well. Mekka is leaking weird blue light and speaking strange languages. There's a massive black blade advancing on the Guard House, and Lieutenant Raemint has gone to check on it and is probably dead. There are black tentacles attacking people in the streets." She took another breath. "And that's on top of everything I did when I was a wraith!"

A long silence fell, in which Requar said nothing, his eyes closed. Mmmm, he murmured finally. I see. He rested his left arm on his knee. Interesting.

Carmine turned to look at him incredulously. "Interesting?! The world is going completely to Hell and that's all you can say?"

He only smiled, infuriatingly.

"Do you have any idea what is going on? Or how to stop it??"

His eyes opened, glowing white, looking up at her. Hmmm? Oh, no, not at all. No idea! He waved a long-fingered hand. I haven't a clue as to what goes on outside of the Sword!

Carmine stared at him.

Requar's eyes twinkled in amusement. Did you expect me to have all the answers? Being dead does not make one omniscient, you know.

Carmine glared at him. Looking down at the Sword, she started to withdraw her hand from the hilt.

His hand gripped hers again. He was made of nothing but light and air, with no power to hold her in place, but she hesitated regardless. Tears wavered in her eyes.

I apologise, he whispered. You must think me flippant. I do not lack compassion. I understand your pain and frustration. The truth is, I have lost the ability to feel anything other than fascination, fondness and… amusement.

She lifted her head to find him staring at her intently.

You almost destroyed me, Carmine, he told her. You infiltrated the Sword as a wraith and caused me to relive my own pain. I did not survive that; not entirely. You nearly destroyed yourself, and had you done so, you would have finished what was left of me and corrupted the Sword. The consequences of that outcome would have been far more dire than anything you have described to me.

She went white.

But you did not, he went on. You found the strength to fight yourself and win. You have hope in you, Carmine Vandaris. You have determination. You have courage. You have not lost these things. I have seen them for myself – you would not be here otherwise.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

He smiled again, and his eyes glittered with empathy. Ah, Carmine. Your little child self was a wonder. She kept me company, for a time. And she left something of herself behind in the Sword: a beautiful magnolia tree. I sit and contemplate it, sometimes.

Carmine brushed at her face. "Is that how I'm able to speak with you?"

Requar nodded. Yes. You have a connection to the Sword, now.

"But… I can't use its magic?"

The Sword's healing magic? No. Only Lady Araynia can do that.

Carmine swallowed, and nodded. "I'm trying to find her."

Requar nodded back. Good. Then you need no advice from me. You already know what to do.

Carmine took a deep breath and let it out in exasperation. "But… she's so far away! And… Mekka, and Raemint…"

The Sword is made of silvertine. If you are threatened by wraiths, it will provide some defence without the use of magic.

Carmine nodded. "Yes, I know." She chewed her lip. "But I don't think we're dealing with wraiths."

Requar was silent. Mmmm. A Black Pyramid.

"You know about that?!"

He gazed at her. Somewhat. Ferrian described it to me. It appears to be something constructed from Ancient magic; the same kind that built Grath Ardan. But I do not think its intention is to kill.

Carmine stared at him. "How do you know that?"

The fact that it did not kill Ferrian outright. He nodded at the bed. Nor your Angel friend, who seems to have been treated with some form of healing magic. I felt it pass through the Sword. He hesitated. But this is only what I have inferred. This Pyramid is beyond my knowledge.

Carmine sighed in disappointment.

Requar gave her a rueful smile. I regret that I cannot be of more help to you.

Carmine stared at him, thinking that he had helped her more than she could ever understand. She closed her eyes. "I'm… so sorry," she whispered. "For… whatever it was I did to you." She swallowed. "What… did I do to you?"

Requar's smile was still in place. He reached out a hand and touched her arm. Nothing that I did not already do to myself. He nodded. Be well, now.

He began to pull away from the Sword.

"Wait!" Carmine clutched at his arm, or tried to – her hand went straight through it. "Can you speak to Lady Araynia?"

Requar nodded. I can.

"Will you give her a message for me?"

Of course.

"Tell her… tell her that I'm keeping the Sword safe and that I'm bringing it to her as quickly as I can."

Requar nodded again.

"And…" her voice quavered. "That I'm sorry… sorry beyond anything I can ever say for whatever pain I caused to her or to anyone that she cared about."

Carmine, Requar's expression was sympathetic. That is something she already knows.

"Tell her anyway!"

Very well.

Then he released his hold on the Sword, dissipated into mist, and was gone.

The room was much darker in his absence.

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