Deathless

Deathless Chapter Forty-Three: Alvarin

Chapter Forty-Three: Alvarin

Vanya's eyes flit open, and the first thing she sees is the sky. Birds flap their wings overhead, and white clouds pass over them, indifferent. The sky is a brilliant blue, tainted only with plumes of smoke rising in the distance.

Her eyes then widen, and she remembers.

Vanya sits bolt upright, her heart pounding like a giant's footsteps. She raises a hand to her face and it comes away streaked with blood. Suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes her, and she stumbles.

She glances around, and finds herself lying amongst a vast pile of rubble. The remains of Morsar's Golden Keep.

"Take it easy," a voice calls from somewhere behind her.

Vanya calls out the first name that comes to mind.

"Sirya?"

The voice does not answer, but instead, she feels hands grasp her shoulders and force her back into a lying position. The hands are smooth, tender, and delicate. The hands of a healer.

Her perception of the world around her is hazy at best, and it feels as though she had just woken up from the worst hangover of her life. But as she runs her hands over her head, feeling her already unkempt hair streaked with sticky blood, she cannot find a wound.

Just as that thought crosses her mind, the events all come rushing back to her. She remembers their encounter with that... creature.

She calls to mind his face, pale and sunken, tall and thin.

She remembers a glowing black blade brimming with energy extending from the creature's arm.

And the first tears fall from her eyes as she remembers.....

Sirya, her eyes proud and defiant.

Sirya, her eyes wide with fear, a black blade between her ribs.

Sirya, collapsing to the ground, the light leaving her eyes one final time.

Tears rain down Vanya's soot-stained face as those images assault her, too fast for her to make sense of it all. The events play again and again in her head until she cannot be sure of their accuracy.

She sits upright once more, her head no longer spinning, and stands, finally seeing the world around her with renewed clarity. The creature's spells had brought the entire Golden Keep to ruin around her. What had once been a proud structure was now just a pile of debris.

She searches for Lindale's considerable bulk in the rubble. Surely if she had managed to survive, her friend might have as well? Her eyes are still blurred by the salty tang of bitter tears. She wipes them away with her hand. There will be a time to grieve, but now is not that time.

She turns, and is greeted by a sight that is most definitely not Lindale.

A face stares back at her, white, pale, and translucent.

A normal person might have been surprised. But at this point, Vanya had seen enough of the supernatural. Enough that the ghost of some old man staring straight at her did no more than cause her a second's unease.

"Who are you?" she asks him as she takes him in.

The ghost appears to be wearing a long robe, the kind that is worn by kings, although no crown sits atop his head. His hair, long enough to come to his shoulders, is messy and unkempt. His face is lined like cracks on shattered glass.

The figure does not answer her immediately. Instead, his mouth extends in a slow, sad smile. The wrinkles around his mouth tighten as he does so.

"My name is Alvarin," the ghost then says carefully, each syllable stressed with practiced eloquence.