The Warlord

Chapter 33: Lorelei

Six years ago, on the outskirts of Lorelei's hometown, Glacene...

My hands are locked together behind my back, both wrists clamped down by the leather-gloved fingers of a Serestinian soldier. Through the brush and the leaves, I see Glacene spread out below me; sloping hills of green and yellow dwarfing dots of tiny huts. In the distance, Mount Sentil looms like a purple guardian, bright and clear in the afternoon light. Usually I would feel at peace staring down at the town like this, surveying it like some sort of untouchable goddess. But now my skin is prickling with sickening dread underneath my plain frock, matching the erratic, static tension in the air.

There is a very good reason for why the Queen's army is camped out here in the woods, perched high above but still very near my village. I had been exploring the forest, staring up at the sun-dappled leaves, when the glint of armor had caught my eye from deep within the foliage. And when they saw me, they bound my hands and told me to stay quiet. Stay quiet, or you'll ruin it all. 

"What do you want?" I ask, my voice trembling and quaking; tumultuous words tossed with cracks and whispered tones.

The soldier holding me still leans in, his breath against my cheek as he speaks. "We're waiting for the army of the gods to come, girl." Chuckling, he pulls back, the silence resuming.

The army of the gods? But the war is so far away... The latest battles have all been at major hubs of trade and magic; Delter, Hebra, and Ravaneth. And if the army is supposed to descend... It's going to drop right on Glacene. Time slows down, each and every noise becoming muffled, my surroundings blurring into nonexistence. My body locks together, freezing up, chills crawling over my arms and up my back. Do something. Do something. Do something or they'll all die! I start gasping, grunting, clawing at the soldier standing behind me. He lets out cries of protest in response, yelling at me to stay put, but I yank my arms out of his grip, spinning around. I race towards the path winding through the forest, my feet pounding into the grass. 

But then I am jerked back, my right hand crushed in a firm hold, the soldier pulling me away from my escape; from my salvation.

"No, stop!" I let out a strangled noise as I try to fight, try to thrash and break free. Yet I keep falling backwards, the path growing farther and farther, my outstretched hand an unheard plea. The soldier curses as he continues to pull me away, making me stumble and kick against the ground.

As I am jerked back to where I once stood, a cloth presses against my lips, and a gag is tied around my mouth. I try to speak, but the oily fabric makes me choke, and as I struggle, they manage to bind my wrists with strong rope. Squirming, I rub my hands together, attempting to break free, but all that does is itch and burn my skin.

"Stop it, girl!" A soldier snaps at me, and the harshness in his voice makes me fall still. All I can do is stare in helplessness as time makes Glacene a living target, dragging it towards its fate.

No, no, no! Everything feels hot and fragile, my breaths becoming shallow, a tingling sensation dancing across my shoulders and my chest. No, no, no! With an achingly slow pace, the beautiful, blue sky above my village begins to cloud over. The land darkens, turning as thunderous and ominous as the floating beasts above. No! I start shaking, gasping, trying to control the wails pressing against my mouth. Father, mother, brother! Each of their faces comes to mind, each of them smiling and laughing with a pure, innocent joy. As the clouds swirl to form a black, gaping hole in the sky, tears leak and squeeze out of my eyes. Help them! Why aren't you helping them?! I want to shriek and smash something against the ground in panic, but all I can do is tremble and cower like a whimpering animal.

Then the army of the gods leaps through the hole. They come down in a beam of pure light, engulfing Glacene with murderous intent, swallowing it under the beat of horse hooves and the raging cries of warriors. The sight stings my eyes, and I turn away, stumbling back, only to snag my ankle against a tree root. Falling backwards, the world whirling around me, I slam onto the ground, hitting my head against the short and feeble grass. My body crumples on top of my hands, my head lolls sideways, and my eyes shut, accepting the dizzying blackness. Down below me, Glacene burns with destruction as the gods hurl thunder and lightning at the earth.

I come to underneath the night sky. My legs sting, as if they have been scalded. Aching, I drag my hands out from under my body, the rope singed and torn. My palms are red and raw, just like my eyes, as I tear the gag off of my mouth. Sore, shaking, stumbling like a newborn calf, I brace myself against a neighboring tree. Everything is damp and black and inky, and for a moment, I think that the world has ended. That I am dead. That I am alone and gone forever. But the cool bark underneath my palm keeps me anchored, keeps me breathing, keeps me calm. 

Then my skin burns, and panic chokes my throat as it all comes back to me. The soldiers, the army, and the terrible, terrible sight of Glacene being trampled underneath the blinding light. Before I know it I am racing in the darkness, racing with the cold air, racing against time. Please, please, please. But there are no gods I can pray to, no deities I can bow my head to and believe in. And it kills me as I make my way through the forest, tripping over stones and pebbles and bumps in the uneven ground. I push through, shoving myself up and away whenever I fall, whenever I scrape my skin against an unseen tree.

Yet I am greeted with the sight of a wasteland when I emerge. The lush, green grass is gone, replaced by the lingering smell of smoke. The flowers are nothing more but snapped and dirtied stems lying underneath the steaming metal of broken swords. And the earth where we grew our crops, where we danced and played and ran, where we lived, is charred and withered; reduced to nothing but dry, crumbling dirt. Glacene has been completely wiped away, straw and burnt wood from the huts lying on the ground, death and desolation rife in the air.

I drop to a crawl, almost pawing at the dirt, letting out choked cries. There must be something I can do, something I can find, something that can make this all right again. But I am greeted with absolute failure and despair. Absolute loneliness and devastation. They're all dead. They're all dead. My father, my mother, my brother. Their smiling faces vanish, leaving without a final caress, without a final goodbye.

Through my tears, which stream down my face underneath the moonless night, a purple gem shines with an unearthly glimmer. Nestled in the broken dirt, it calls me, beckons me, and I pick it up, turning it around and around, letting its cold surface cool my skin and my nerves. Something to focus on, something to do. Slowly, I calm down, staring at the purple gem. A soothing voice whispers in my head, and I latch onto its tone. The world softens, the catastrophic scene mellowing out in my mind.

And then cruel, stabbing contempt wells up inside of me, so fast and bitter that it almost makes me choke. It's the queen's fault. The queen's fault. The queen's fault. She did nothing, her soldiers did nothing, they did nothing! I bite my lip to keep myself from screaming, my palms now shaking, the gem jittering and rolling around against my skin.

Yes, she did nothing. Nothing at all to help your village, to help your family, to help your friends. And what will you do, little witch?

I do not even question the voice. I succumb to it, to its creeping quietness, to its guiding nature. One day, I will find the queen. And one day, I will spit at her feet and ask her. Why did you do nothing? Why did your soldiers do nothing? Why did they all die? 

Slowly, I rise to my feet, and the gem starts to glow. It warps into a purple light, pulsing up and down, before it twirls up above me and onto the top of my back. Warmth spreads across my skin, then it dies back down, and I am left standing in the lightless night, surrounded by a void of quieted souls.

You have been blessed with Hethra's mark, the mark of powerful witches. Seek out the coven nearest to the Perished Lands. You will become the savior of the gods, little witch.

Present time, in the ruins of Katacris...

Then the memory ends, and I am hurtled back into reality. Something plunks on the ground behind me, and I turn to see the gem lying on the temple floor, cracks stretching like spiderwebs across its surface. The mark is gone, and I am free. Free from the voice in my head, who was never really guiding me, but controlling me instead.