A Tale of Traitors

The Spirits

          Clanging sounded throughout the lonely halls, constantly reminding the prisoners how pointless their hope-deprived lives were. Their shackles dug into their exposed flesh and hung their wrists from the ceiling of Tormod's jails in the basement of his fortress. With every step he took, dust shook from the corners and walls of the room and came to rest on the faces of worn soldiers who had seen enough of war. The metal chains shook viciously against the bars of the cells, and guards paced back and forth, jabbing with their spears when they haughtily declared that a prisoner was out of line. On the outside, massive walls guarded the immense structure. A moat of lava flowed from a drain in the wall and into the dead planet's core. There were five massive spires shooting into the polluted sky, where gargoyles hunted above. The worn, ancient stone of the castle had lost its original color but none of its glory as it protruded over the dead ground. An explosion of white light erupted from the tallest tower and shattered the clouds, sending electric signals through every realm. The king's message had successfully reached its intended audience. The resounding roars from indescribable beasts flooded the atmosphere as they entered in clouds of black, gold, and maroon, which swirled about the towers and burst into the throne room of the castle.
          The black and white checkered floor had five steps upward to the second portion of the room, where a massive black velvet throne had rested so long it was practically one with the floor. An elaborately decorated carpet stretched out over the stairs and all the way to the entrance to the room. Tormod, the essence of evil, was waiting impatiently on his throne, tapping his finger against the armrest to sound his call. One after the other, six spirits appeared in full form, with trailing robes that faded into the air, and skeletal faces that resembled nothing living or good. Their faces were stained with the jealousy, rage, and bitterness of a thousand life times, with nothing to live for but to serve their king and master until he release them. Which would be never.
"Well," Tormod said, making a fist with his hand, "have you located the target?"
Each spirit looked to each other.
"Not one of you could bring--" Tormod flung to his feet and began to yell viciously, like a rabid beast let out of a cage, before he quieted. There was no use wasting his breath, and he fell back into his throne. "None of you," he spoke again through gritted teeth, "can bring me my son."
The spirits wallowed in silence.
"Last place you saw him?"
"Realm One," the tallest of the spirits spoke in a voice that was terrible to hear, like nails on a chalkboard.
"And what was he doing?"
"Aiding the resistance, Your Highness."
The king tore into the air, smashing a marble counter in two as he grew to the size of a giant. "Where is the last of you?" Tormod spat as he counted six spirits and not seven.
"One has gone to search Earth," a second specter interceded.
"You mean to inform me that you have gone to search Earth, of all places?" Tormod's roar suddenly ceased, and after a moment of soul-shaking silence, he chuckled heartily. "My son is not stupid enough to jump the border without my assistance."
"I suspect he went after the Warrior," six spirits said simultaneously. "Here comes the seventh."
The final and most powerful apparition passed through the window and came to rest by the side of the king.
"Speak." He commanded.
"He hides a great power," the spirit smirked and let out an evil shriek.
"What does he carry?"
"A Mind Seeker; he pursues our lost Warrior. For many days, I could not find her." The spirit laughed, which resembled the screams of one who is burning alive. "Our agent informed us that she had accessed the key card, but there was no way to know how much information she truly had, as there was a very powerful spell over her mind. Two days ago, the spell was broken, and we know that she knows the location of the pieces Magdalena hid from you."
"And we have no access to that information?" The king ungratefully growled.
"Commander Forestt located it in the secret village we attacked last year; one of the Warrior's advisors had been guarding it when she lost her life. We suspect, but are not sure of, a few locations where the pieces are hiding."
"Get on with it."
"I've spotted her."
"Very good," Tormod nodded in approval, "and my son is trying to find her before me?"
"Indeed; the rascal has gone against us, Your Majesty. His loyalty is not with you, but with the Warrior."
"Kill two bird with one stone," Tormod smiled smugly, resting comfortably in his chair and swirling dark magic about the room. "Bring the Warrior to me. Alive."

          The assassin tugged his hoodie further against his face as the cold Chicago wind rustled through his hair. He watched traffic go by, waiting for the spell to break once more. He had felt it when Willow's memory returned. Someone else more powerful than him had to have broken the amnesia spell he cast on her the night she ran away; he shouldn't have been so surprised when she couldn't remember who he was, but he had never been good at casting spells. Pure ones, at least. He grew up learning how to manipulate dark magic and spells, but quickly realized that was unacceptable outside of Realm Seven. Typically, he screwed up even the simplest of spells. That night when he pulled the intruder off of her, all he could think about was to make sure she was safe. He didn't even think about the words he said, or how loudly he announced the spell, but everything came naturally to his mind. He was not one to act on feelings, but he couldn't ignore himself then, or when he tried to stop her from jumping the border. Not when he begged Lairian, the man who trained her, to let him go after her. The assassin knew he might never come home, and that she might never remember him, but it didn't matter. He needed to try.
          He had bought a new watch at a store in a mall whose name he couldn't remember, and he glanced at the silver face of the leather-banded watch before shoving his fist into his jacket pocket once more. Cigarette smoke wafted through the air and threatened to strangle him, and he coughed to be rid of the poisonous stench. The signs up ahead advertised for hotels, shows, and restaurants, but he didn't care for any of them. Perhaps he would have liked to try what the Averages called lasagna, but it was not the time. He glanced at the watch again as the winds picked up and clouds blocked the would-have-been sunny day. Confused parents ushered their little ones into their cars to head home, and the homeless men and women prepared for the coming storm. Something was happening; he could feel it. He popped a Shadow Catcher onto his head and felt the nasty click as it attached to the base of his head. The assassin wouldn't be caught by his father, and wouldn't be forced home by the spirits. It was the powerful one who was calling his name now, whispering it over the skyscrapers and screaming it through the car windows.
"Adresin," a raspy voice bellowed in his ear, the connection weak because of the distance. "I swear, if you hurt Willow in any way, I'll make you wish you'd never been born. We clear?"
"Of course, Lairain," the assassin would have rolled his eyes, but was intimidated by the roughness in the man's voice.
"Give me your word again."
"I swear I'll protect her and bring her home." Lightning flashed across the sky, and he would have missed the figure if he hadn't known to look for it.
"Good. Updates?"
"I've almost got her... but so do the Spirits."