In the Dim Planeby Dean Francis Alfar |
Part 1 appears in this issue. |
| conclusion |
“We fought, of course,” Braxas said. “We each felt betrayed, each thinking we were the only recipient of Maia’s love. The room erupted in fire, was torn apart by wind, ravaged by an earthquake, and almost washed away in a deluge as my brothers and I fought each other and our master. It ended as suddenly as it began, with Master Antilos collapsing to his knees in tears. My brothers and I — our hearts were filled with an undeniable heaviness and felt full force the senselessness of fighting among ourselves when there was clearly only one person to blame.”
“The heart betrayed has no secrets left to hide,” murmured Resa Undermasque, a halo of salt crystals barely visible above her head. “And everything to prove.”
“Oh, no,” said Lizel Gorgist, holding the high collar of her tattered overcoat to cover her nose.
“The trollop deserved it,” said Lord Jussin, stepping a small distance away from Resa Undermasque.
Braxas fixed Lord Jussin with a steady glare before continuing. “We apologized to our master and swore to set things right. Master Antilos proved he was a better man than any of us by forgiving us. Together, we decided how Maia would pay for her quintuple deception.”
“Men,” said Lizel Gorgist, lowering her collar to spit. “Did any of you stop to think that you, each one of you, were just as complicit as she was?”
“Sadly, no,” replied Braxas. “We decided that death was too good for her.”
“Really?” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Let me guess,” offered Lizel Gorgist. “You decided to mar her beauty.”
“Yes,” nodded Braxas. “It would be worse than just killing her. After all, that was her only coin, being untrained in the ways of elemental art. We also decided that none of us would do it, being unwilling to further sully ourselves with her presence. So we commissioned a man to do it. A man whose word was his bond.”
“Who?” I asked.
“We hired Ordun the Handsome, the Gray Knife, to cut off her ring finger,” Braxas said.
I felt words recoil on my tongue.
Lord Jussin the Betrayer shuddered in the silence that followed. Lizel Gorgist, the Widow’s Bane, could do no more than sit back with a pained expression. And from Resa Undermasque’s place in the circle of stone came only an almost muted susurration.
“You commissioned Ordun the Handsome, the greatest assassin of Forlorn?” Lizel Gorgist shook her head. “As black as my heart was at the height of my powers when I broke away from the Sorceriat, Ordun’s feats outshadowed mine.”
“You found him? You could afford him?” Lord Jussin the Betrayer asked. Everyone in the circle of stone knew that Ordun’s fees were outrageous and that his craft prevented him from being located if he did not wish it.
“Master Antilos found him, pushing his abilities to their limits. And as for the fee, my Master offered him a principality in Nevim, and much more besides.”
“Who cares what he asked for,” Lizel Gorgist said. “Did he succeed?”
“Don’t you think hiring Ordun the Handsome was excessive?” asked Lord Jussin. “To cut off a woman’s finger?”
“We wanted the best and we wanted to make sure,” shrugged Braxas.
“Well,” said Lizel Gorgist. “I am certain she finds a way out somehow. She does, doesn’t she?”
“Doesn’t she?” I echoed.
“When Ordun the Handsome found Maia hiding atop an abandoned tower in the woods near Karvel, he took one look her and found himself startlingly, helplessly, in love.”
“In love?” asked Lord Jussin in disbelief.
“What?” I said.
“Yes!” cried Lizel Gorgist. “Now she has a chance.”
“But I thought the woman had no powers,” asked Lord Jussin. “How did she ensorcell Ordun?”
“She’s a woman,” Lizel Gorgist told Lord Jussin without looking at him. “That’s power enough.”
“It is love.” Resa Undermasque’s intricate veil fluttered, favoring us again with her brackish breath.
“Then what happened?” I asked, surreptitiously gasping for air.
“In that moment, they were all that mattered to each other. They held hands and spoke in the brief time they had. Maia confessed everything to him, leaving nothing unsaid, and Ordun the Handsome listened and loved her more for her courage and honesty.
“But there was still the matter of Maia’s ring finger. Without a single tear in her eyes, Maia offered hers to Ordun, taking a blade and putting her unsteady hand against a stone. She did not want him to be at odds with my master, my brothers and I. Having heard from him about his commission, she knew death awaited him if he failed to deliver. Ordun stopped her with a kiss and told her not to worry.”
“Oh,” said Lizel Gorgist. “Oh, I think I know what he’ll do next.”
“Ordun the Handsome had delicate hands, a requirement of his profession. He went to the other side of the tower roof and, unknown to Maia, cut off his own ring finger.”
“Oh, oh,” said Lizel Gorgist softly, covering her mouth with her hands.
“He did this quickly and in silence, then heard a gasp from Maia. While his back was to her, she had cut off her own finger. She raised the bloody digit and begged Ordun not to cut off his. She was speechless when he presented her his own severed finger.”
Resa Undermasque slowly shook her covered head.
“Such love is impossible,” Lord Jussin spoke quietly, as if besieged by memory.
I was already in tears. I looked around the circle of stones and found moisture welling up in Lord Jussin the Betrayer’s eyes; perhaps the old boor had a heart after all.
“Then we arrived,” Braxas said suddenly. “Soon after we sent Ordun the Handsome off, we started talking and realized how much we all loved Maia and were more than willing to forgive her and settle things somehow.
“After the tide of anger we were consumed by deep remorse and set off to stop Ordun from completing the terrible thing we had tasked him with. By combining our powers with that of Master Antilos, we were able to discern where they were, heard their conversation and surmised what was about to happen. We moved as fast as we could, by flame and wind and earth and water.”
“But you bastards were too late,” Lord Jussin interrupted.
“When we completed our ascent to the tower roof,” Braxas continued, “we came upon Maia and Ordun the Handsome, each with a finger cut. Ordun exploded into action and fought against us. Try as we might, we could not stop to talk — so puissant and vicious was Ordun at his craft that none of us could risk a word to enlighten him about our intent. He thought we were going to kill him for his betrayal.”
“I would have fought you all too,” I said, clenching my fists.
“As would have I,” boomed Lord Jussin, his tired eyes consumed with lost fire. “For love. And survival.”
Braxas nodded. “None of us wanted to harm or kill either Maia or Ordun the Handsome. At least that’s what I believe to this day. But with Ordun’s prowess and our summoning of the elements and various expressions of power, what happened next was inevitable. There was a tremendous explosion that devastated the tower.”
“No,” exclaimed Lizel Gorgist. “What happened to Maia?”
“When I regained my wits, I found myself on the ground, surrounded by the remnants of the tower — and the bodies of my three brothers. I wrenched myself free from where I was pinned and was moved to tears when I came across the hollowed-out form of my Master. Maia I found, barely alive. Cradled in her hands were two severed fingers — hers and Ordun’s.”
“And Ordun?” I asked, almost breathless.
“There was no trace of him at the rubble, so I assumed he survived and fled while he could. Though it must be said that the end of Forlorn was less than a year away, so I don’t know if he survived the Ebonnites.”
“Gods,” I whispered, my mind awhirl.
“And Maia?” Lizel Gorgist asked.
“I carried her back with me, did what I could to restore her finger to her hand. The physic who helped us told us that it would not be the same but offered as a consolation that at least she wasn’t incomplete. She sat through this all in silence, while the physic set and stitched and I explained to her about how everything came to pass.
“She wouldn’t say a word to me, and, if I remember correctly, never shed a tear. I left for a few hours to inform the necessary people about the deaths of my master and of my brothers. When I returned, she was gone.”
“She was gone?” asked Lord Jussin the Betrayer. “Just like that? Couldn’t a man of your abilities find her?”
“He let her go,” said Resa Undermasque quietly as the penumbra of salt around her head gently dispersed. “There are those who are not ours to keep.”
I felt the sting of her words and closed my eyes briefly.
“I did not wish to impose upon her heart,” Braxas admitted, lowering his head into his hands. “I knew that at the end, it was Ordun whom she loved. I never saw her again. The end of Forlorn saw to that. Well, until tonight when I thought I saw her ghost.”
The five of us sat in silence for a few moments, unmoving statues lost in reflection.
“She would not have stayed with you,” Lizel Gorgist softly told Braxas. “I know that kind of woman. She made her choice. I hope she found sanctuary somewhere, like we did.”
Lord Jussin stood up slowly and stretched his arms and legs in order. “I’ll take my leave now,” he told us. “Thank you for the small diversion, Braxas. It amused me, quite unexpectedly. ” He bowed and moved away.
“Gods of Forlorn,” I said under my breath, my thoughts on the contents of the ghost’s box I kept hidden on my person. I knew now, even without looking, what it contained, and how it would change my life.
“Listen, Braxas,” Lizel Gorgist said. “If it was her spirit you saw, then she was looking for him and not for you. Take what comfort you can from that.” She stood and took her leave, parting the shadows with her outstretched arms to return to her secret place on the Dim Plane, where she kept all her dead artifacts.
“I’m leaving as well,” I told Braxas, donning my equally useless skullcap. “I have something I need to do. Thank you for the story.”
“But Maia’s ghost...” Braxas said, looking up to where I stood. “It was her I saw earlier. You must believe me.”
“I do. But like the Widow’s Bane, I also believe that she is gone and had no quarrel with you.”
“But how did she get here?” asked Braxas. “You know all about the undead. Tell me.”
It was the salt-tinged whisper of Resa Undermasque that answered him, fading, as its owner did, into the dimness. “A questing heart knows no boundaries.”
Braxas lowered his head.
“Fare you well, Braxas, Harrower of Flame,” I said, offering my arm.
“Fare you well then, Teros, Doom of Dirmoth,” Braxas said formally, clasping my arm in the manner of his people. “And thank you.”
I thought of the ghost and how it was me, and not Braxas, that she sought as I made my way through the dimness back to my haunt.
How did she know?
I could only admire her courage. And her devotion.
I reflected on the unassailable fact that years in exile changed people. I was simply not the man I used to be — which made my next choice easier to make but no less difficult to bear.
I entered my cave and moved into the central chamber where the last skeleton under my power sat mutely, tapping away time with nine fingers on a smooth stone.
Sensing my presence, he tilted his head toward me.
At that moment, I felt profound sorrow. Up until the time I left my cave earlier, just before Braxas and his story, I would never have considered, never even dreamed, of my next action.
Gods of Forlorn, how did she know?
He was mine. He was all I had left of the old world, my old world. By completing him I would lose him.
“Ordun,” I called to the skeleton, determined to act before my heart betrayed me. I retrieved the ghost’s box from within my vestments, my eyes wet as I prepared to say goodbye.
“I have something that belongs to you.”
Copyright © 2009 by Dean Francis Alfar
