Last Messenger - Chapter 21

Chapter 21 - Aael

He could feel the champion’s presence, the coiled energy and ferocity. He kept his face down, too intimidated to look directly at his hero. There was a long pause, but he didn’t look to see why.

“Old man, why do you insult me?” Washer asked.

“What do you mean?” replied the Abbot.

“What disease does the covered one carry, and why does he touch my weapon?”

“Sensitivity to the sun, nothing contagious,” the Abbot said.

Aael sensed Washer’s movement, but he held still. The last thing he wanted was a misunderstanding. Washer grabbed Aael’s hood and ripped it backward. Aael looked up and locked eyes with Washer.

“He’s disgusting! What covers his face?” Washer asked.

The Abbot stepped closer. “A birthmark, nothing that can spread. It is time for you to leave,” the Abbot said.

“No one tells me what to do,” Washer growled.

Aael couldn’t breathe and looked down. Mortified, he stood in front of the entire Abbey, and visitors, exposed. A single thought echoed in his mind: He repulsed the man he aspired to be, the man whose opinion mattered most.

Aael’s embarrassment overcame his fear. He wanted to deliver the weapon and run away. “I am honored to meet you. Please sir, take your blade.”

Aael glanced up and saw the madness in Washer’s eyes.

“How dare you speak to me,” Washer hissed. He leaned forward and whispered. “I will take more than my blades. I know about you and your parents, and I have come to collect your blood.” Washer held up the hand that had been mangled a week ago. “It is useful.”

Washer’s eyes dilated as he snatched the dagger from Aael. He smiled, pulled the blade from the sheath, and in a blink, plunged it into Aael’s chest. The force of the blow knocked Aael to the ground. He lay there, mouth open, his lungs refusing to inflate as his chest burned.

Aael felt the blade inside him, like the arrows, but a thousand times stronger. Through the pain he felt a coldness, a place inside him that hungered for the weapon and held it.

The scent of strawberries smothered Aael, and his body convulsed as his mother’s healing power engulfed him. Saniel appeared above him and she pulled at the dagger. His whole body lifted off the ground, and he landed on his knees. Saniel’s eyes widened.

Letting go of the dagger, Saniel rose like smoke from a fire and faced Washer, whose smile had become a grin.

“I thought we’d have to search for you,” Washer said.

“How dare you touch my son,” Saniel said, her voice flat.

“Don’t—” Washer started.

Saniel’s arm blurred, the motion faster than Aael’s mind could process. She slapped Washer, the sound like a crack of thunder, and the fighter collapsed to the ground. Washer touched his jaw, which looked broken.

“Do not speak to me,” Saniel said.

Aael sucked in a short breath, his mind frantic for oxygen. He grasped at Spinning Wheel, trying to slow events down, and understand what was happening. Was he dying?

Washer uttered a visceral growl, pulled the dagger from his belt, and leaped at his mother’s chin. The blow would kill her.

Aael managed to speed his thoughts, and the fight slowed in his mind. His mother should be moving, but she stood still, smiling. He needed to protect his mother, but his body, whipsawed by the injury and massive jolt of magic, remained paralyzed. He looked on helplessly. 

The air turned frigid, and Washer’s hand and arm turned white with frost. Saniel stepped to the side and relief flooded through Aael. She struck Washer’s wrist and his forearm shattered. Aael lost control of Spinning Wheel and time resumed its normal pace. 

Washer sat on the ground and stared at the stump past his elbow. The pieces of his forearm lay scattered on the ground. Steam rose from the frozen chunks and from the hand that still held the dagger.

Shouts rang out as Washer’s gang moved forward, murder in their eyes. Aael turned to alert his mother, but all thoughts of a warning vanished when he saw her.

Saniel lifted her arms, her right hand held a pillar of fire fifty feet high, her left a vortex of ice. Steam billowed into the air where they met darkening the sky. Aael had studied Violet Mages, who could manifest and control elements. But he’d thought they’d all died in the Separation War.

“None of you will survive,” Saniel said. Her voice echoed off the walls like thunder.

“Have you lost your mind?” Caden shouted.

Aael’s world went black and he couldn’t move. He heard panicked shouts from all around him and realized he wasn’t alone. He concentrated on his wrist for the feel of his token, but it wasn’t there. He was in a massive overlay.

Sudden panic engulfed Aael, flooding his blood with adrenalin. The shouts became screams and his sight returned, along with control of his body. Washer’s men retreated; all thoughts of a fight gone. Two had remembered Washer, who still kneeled in the sand, dazed and in shock.

“I’ve had enough, Caden! I will not tolerate this,” Saniel started toward the gate and Washer.

“Something is wrong with Aael,” Caden said.

Saniel paused. Aael could see the need for vengeance war against her love for him. She threw her head back and screamed, the sound a physical force, like a punch to your ears. Fire writhed around her for a few seconds and then vanished.

His parents and then Padda kneeled in front of him.

“The blade won’t come out,” Saniel said.

“It’s the darkness,” Caden replied.

“It is dangerous to touch it. Possibly catastrophic,” the Abbot said.

“I can’t heal him with it there. The Aln is too dense, and it warps the flows,” Saniel said.

Caden looked at the Abbot. “Try.”

Aael looked at them, his spirit broken. The man he idolized had looked at him in disgust and then tried to kill him. Everything he’d wanted and strived for had disappeared. Today’s events had destroyed his dreams. The coldness in his chest called to him, and he embraced it.

“Aael, what’s wrong?” Saniel asked.

“What’s happening?” Caden asked.

The Abbot stared at the dagger. “The blade is pulling him open. We don’t have much time.”

Aael felt a tenseness in his chest as Padda pulled on the dagger. The cold spread like a frigid blanket, but it came from outside. He had felt that coldness before. The night Mia had almost killed him, with the Shade Elu, and when Padda had moved the Aln. It felt familiar. With a thought, he grasped the coldness in his chest.

“Stop!” The Abbot screamed.

Aael took a breath, the deepest he’d managed since the stabbing. He still couldn’t talk, and he locked eyes with the Abbot.

“Raln have mercy, don’t touch it,” the Abbot said.

Padda closed his eyes and the pressure in Aael’s chest grew. The cold seeped into him and pooled, it pushed against the darkness inside him. There was a sharp painful sensation and Padda ripped the dagger from his body.

“Gods be praised,” Saniel said.

Saniel tore open Aael’s shirt, placed her hand over the wound, and magic poured into him, mending his injury. He reached up and placed his hands on hers.

“You were on fire,” Aael said.

His parents exchanged a look, thick with guilt.

Caden shook his head. “For nearly two decades you’re quiet, and then in front of the entire Abbey, you rip open the sky.”

“You’re no better,” Saniel replied.

“You left me no choice. You’d have killed them all.”

“They deserved it.”

“We don’t decide that.”

“They tried to kill my son!”

“Our son,” Caden said.

Aael laughed at the absurdity of the last few minutes, but it came out as a cough. His mother had crippled the most powerful man in the South, maybe the world, and welcomed a fight with over twenty trained killers. His father had blinded and panicked over a hundred people with a single massive overlay.

“You’ve both lied to me,” Aael said.

“Yes,” Caden whispered.

Aael closed his eyes, his despair complete. He had lost everything this morning: his pride, his trust, his hopes. The dreams that had kept him up many nights floated away, like the steam from Washer’s shattered arm. 

Aael found the cold darkness inside himself, and let the blackness drown him.