Splintered Souls

✎ | The Sainted Sword

; high-fantasy

#shorts

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"Silence," snarled the Sword-Saint, raising his blade, the tip hovering dangerously close to puncturing the sorceress' throat. 

She ducked her head momentarily. Through the gaps in between the deep forest, arouse a sudden gust of memories. As the breeze caressed her amber skin, the sorceress began to reflect on the matters and transpiring events now long past.

The curtains on their longspur conflicts had come to a close at last.

The sorceress, more commonly known as the Enchantress of the Woods, bore neither disdain nor admiration for her opponent. 

Her mesmerising, maroon eyes scanned the Sword-Saint's posture; there was no opening. 

The Enchantress had admitted defeat, at least, so it seemed.

She closed her eyes, taken aback as a sudden revelation washed over her mind and soul alike.

"On behalf of my noble commander, Lord Shigumi, I, Sword-Saint Icarus, Blade of the Seven Winds, sentence you to die," exclaimed the man; his long silver hair locks were flowing across the passing gales, yet his sword did not waver, for it was bound in place through fierce loyalty and unyielding honour.

In a passing moment, his blade became the light that tore asunder the clouds and heavens above. Icarus had called upon the vigour of his ancestral forefathers, for he knew his strength alone - and his fabled sword, the Skypiercer - would not wound his foe, let alone force Death's touch upon her. 

As the Sword-Saint brought up his blade for a lethal strike, the Enchantress sprung up from her knees, grabbing onto the handle.

"Hold on," mumbled the sorceress, "Strike me down now, and you will clear the path for a force of evil untold."

"Your forked tongue speaks of lies, foul wretch," remarked Icarus spitefully. He had thought his opponent a more noble foe, one who, like himself, welcomed death in defeat. "Know you no honour in the face of death?" 

Their skirmish had begun, both gritting their teeth.

Icarus swept the Enchantress off her feet.

He raised his blade overhead before it came back crashing down.

It halted.

Roots had sprung to life, shielding the sorceress afore they swatted away the Sword-Saint. Razor-sharp twigs had rived the flesh upon the Saint's face, bloodied marks ran diagonally down his left cheekbone onto just below the jawline. 

He smeared his face clean of dust and mud, spitting out a small puddle of blood.

Though Icarus had narrowly managed to prevent a bone-crushing injury, his body ill-sustained the great force behind the upheaval's impact. 

Both individuals stumbled back onto their feet, and Icarus clutched onto the Skypiercer, requiring its aid to regain a sense of balance.

The Enchantress called upon the vigour of the ancient woods, a throne of flowers, vines and tree bark emerging from below her. However, as soon as she stood on her own, she faltered in her motion. 

She looked down at her torso, below the breast. A sharp pain originated from the lower abdomen.

Her frost-touched eyes soon spotted a splash of crimson mocking her amber skin.

The mere sight startled the sorceress, for her skin was as tough as a dragon's scales.

The Enchantress' rigid breathing was suddenly no more. Instead, it had turned shallow and ragged. As the tip of her finger touched upon the stained flesh, she found her vision lacking all clarity. Her perception of the world had run into a deep fog. Then it stuck her - what had occurred dawned upon her. 

As her vision temporarily 

In the heat of the moment, as the Skypiercer had been jammed in the protective husk of the woodlands, the Enchantress had seen a bright blinding light. Yet, she had not realised it was Icarus' doing; for he had, once more, called upon the souls of warriors long gone.

The blade turned ethereal to exist outside the material plain. It had phased through the embrace of wood, to pierce through and strike her deep it did. 

Her body would obey her commands no longer, for it had sustained such great damage.

The Enchantress attempted to crawl back onto her feet but fell yet again as Icarus stumbled ever closer.

A look of exhaustion was ever present on Icarus' face. Having suffered and prevailed over a serious injury for the time being, he was ready to finish his given task; to eliminate the cleric who cast aside her fealty to the Sixth Church of Irithdale. 

The Sword-Saint set his eyes on the Enchantress, who was bleeding out on the floor.

"Our endeavours were nobly fought, Yennefer. However, your path of blasphemy ends here," spoke an injured Icarus, the occasional cough bleeding through his words. 

Yennefer's eyes were glazed, fixated on the skies beyond. "Sheathe your steel, Icarus. We must join forces to ward off the great calamity that comes shortly."

"Cut it out, woman. Your feeble pleas will not alter the course of history." Icarus mocked his former companion again -  though now both wounded to different extents - he raised Skypiercer, pointing the tip at Yennefer's throat once again, remarking, "Your death looms overhead, old friend. I had rather seen our future go differently. But you, too, know your heresy and blatant disregard for the Church's will; those actions are to receive a punishment befitting of the crime."

Yennefer shook her head weakly, her chin dipping.

"Very well, so be it," mumbled she, "Then, please, upon the graceful memories of our servitude to the Church of Irithdale, allow me to succumb to my injuries in peace. I beg this of you, dear friend."

Icarus nodded in agreement with the request, stepping closer to a tree trunk and sitting down. He lifted Skypiercer up, calling forth a blinding surge of light. 

As the rays disappeared, so had his sword. 

There was no trace left of it.

Yennefer looked on, contently. 

Though she remained silent, she reflected back on their days serving Lord Shigumi's vanguard - moreover, the very day she taught an incapable Icarus how to combine his unparalleled sword skills with the great utility of Arch Sorceries. 

The sorceress held back a mild urge to chuckle, knowing the ordeal was tough on Icarus as it was. Instead, she raised her arm, permitting vines to rise from the sacred soil upon which she laid. 

They entangled her battered and bruised body. 

Yennefer found comfort in nature's warm and gentle embrace. 

Icarus sat in silent awe, observing the passing of his foe - his former master - and his friend.

"Goodbye, Yenn, let your soul rest."

Golden, radiant twigs began to protrude from the Enchantress' amber skin, blossoming into a sapling of sorts. The light that dwelled within the bark was transient yet brighter than the very stars. 

"Farewell, Icarus."

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- 23/02/'23