[Author's Note] Here it is, the beginning of Part V. This is the final book in the story and will bring everything to a close. I'm hoping to have everything tied up by the end of February, but we'll see how it goes.
If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading my story. There is still a lot for me to finish up. Lot's of character arcs to finish, lots of loose ends to tie up, and of course a grand finale. I hope that I'm able to wrap everything up in a satisfying way.
Thank you <3
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(1)
A few days after the death of Ahndor the Immortal...
Roran sat across from Nul in a dark cabin. His body burned from the fresh etchings now covering his skin. Together, they sat in a circle of concentric patterns burned into the ground and painted with his own blood. In the very center of the circle was a small pile of purple and blue glass, the remains of Alsarahnia the lyhlim.
"Are you ready?" asked Nul.
Roran nodded.
"This won't be like your other godspell. You'll lose sensation for a while, it will feel like you're floating in an abyss. From there...I don't really know. Akanos was with me. We were able to figure out how to activate the etchings from within. With Sarah in her current state...I don't know what will happen."
"I'll figure it out," said Roran. "Do it."
Nul placed their hands on the floor. The etchings began to light up, giving off a faint red glow. The smell of burnt blood filled the air. Roran placed his hands alongside Nul's. Adding his energy to theirs, Roran began to feel light headed. He felt the familiar tension of a godspell trying to activate. Leaning into it, Roran poured himself into the markings and fell into darkness.
Roran didn't feel like he was floating in an abyss, he felt like he was being smothered by it. Darkness devoured Roran, pressing in from all sides and gripping him tight. Despite the overwhelming feeling of being crushed, there was a quiet comfort to it. He could lie still and let the weight grind him into nothing. He could let go and forget about everything. All of his troubles would be passed on to someone else. All of his suffering and misery would finally be over.
Pushing away the feeling of comfort, Roran began groping around in the darkness. Putting his hands to the ground, Roran found jagged shards of glass. Sarah. They dug into his palms and flayed him open. Hissing in pain, Roran carefully scooped up the shards. There was only a small handful. He needed to find the rest of her.
Slowly, Roran stumbled around in the dark, finding Sarah's shattered remains by cutting himself open on them. They dug into his feet as he walked and gouged open his hands as he picked them up. His palms were bleeding freely by the time he'd collected the majority of the fragments. Something inside him said that he didn't need to find them all, just enough. This space was unique to them, as long as Sarah was somewhere in here, she would be safe. What he needed now was enough of her to begin putting the pieces back together.
Sitting down, Roran placed the pieces in front of him and tried fitting them together. Lacking any form of light, he was forced to do it by feel, carefully running his fingers over the shards to determine their shape and how they might fit back together. The jagged edges cut open his fingers as he worked. Ignoring the pain, Roran began using his own blood to glue the fragments back together. Much of it was guesswork, but he slowly managed to cobble together the vague shape of a sphere.
When he'd done as much as he could, he cupped the bloody mess in his hands and squeezed, hoping to press the ball back together. While the edges dug into his palms, Roran felt a warm pulse come from the orb.
"Sarah?"
There was another warm pulse, along with a flash of purple light.
"Sarah, I'm sorry. I couldn't let you go. I'm trying to fix you. I can't go on without you."
Another flash of warmth, followed by a soft sad sound.
"Nul created a design that should put you back the way you were, but it will take time. And you'll need energy to recover. I'm giving you mine. I know the cost and I'll gladly pay it to have you back. I'm sorry that I made this decision for you. I hope that you will find it in you to forgive me. I'm scared, Sarah. I'm scared and alone and I need you. I wish I was strong enough to go on without you, but I can't. Please forgive me Sarah, but I can't do this without you."
The orb made another soft sound, the jagged edges digging a little further into Roran's palms. There was a sweetness to the pain. It served as proof that Sarah was there with him. Even if her current form caused him agony, she was there, she was real.
A warmth joined the pain in his palms. It took Roran a moment to realize that it was Sarah. It was her energy. She was pouring it into him the same way that he poured it into focus markings. Closing his eyes, Roran let the energy flow through him and into the new markings etched into his skin. When he felt the tension of another godspell activating, Roran added his own energy into the flow, letting it mix with Sarah's. Slowly, their wills became one and the godspell snapped into being.
Roran's eyes snapped open. He was lying on the floor of the cabin, his head cradled in Nul's lap. They were no longer alone. Kell sat a ways away, stoking a small fireplace, while several dark robed figures stood in the room, watching him with mixed expressions.
Roran sat up, his gaze flicking from lyhlim to lyhlim.
"How are you feeling?" asked Nul.
"I don't know," said Roran. "The same?"
"Are you sure about that?" asked Kell.
"What do you mean?" asked Roran, still disoriented and confused by the sudden appearance of the lyhlim.
"Well, you're wearing a fancy new robe."
Looking down, Roran found that he was draped in a silky black robe. The fabric was soft and cool against his skin. The sleeves were trimmed with tattered lace and the hood pooled around his neck in gentle folds. It gave off the gentle scent of salt and sand, like the beach on a summer day. It smelled like Sarah.
"Is this because Sarah is now bound to me?" asked Roran.
"Yes." Kell and Nul both jumped, Kell going for a weapon and Nul producing strands of gossamer. Rathaneal smiled at them and held up his hands. "No need for that."
As Nul and Kell relaxed, Roran asked, "What are you doing here? Why are there so many of you?"
"We all wanted to witness the birth of a new lyhlim," said Rath.
"I'm not-"
"But you are," said Rath. "When I turned Sarah's remains over to you, I wasn't sure what would happen, but it's clear now that you two share the same body, meaning you share the same abilities. You, Roran, are for all intents and purposes, a living lyhlim. You are Death given flesh."
(2)
Months later...
Roran felt consciousness creeping back into him. He had to cling onto it like a rope and pull himself out of sleep. Waking up had become exceptionally difficult ever since Sarah had been bound to him. Groping around, he found blankets, the edge of a bed, and a cold brick wall. Leaning against the wall, Roran forced himself to sit up and began rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the lethargy.
"How are you feeling?"
Roran curled up and rested his forehead on his knees. Shaking off sleep was now an active process for him.
"Tired," Roran said. His voice was hoarse and he felt something gumming up his mouth. Licking his lips, he tasted blood.
"You passed out. Care to tell me what's going on?"
Finally opening his eyes, Roran found himself in a small room sitting on a bed. Pelkha sat next to his bed, set up at a small desk covered in ledgers and paperwork.
"I'm dealing with some health issues," Roran said. "Where are we?"
"One of the sick rooms in Sanctuary Tasos. You started bleeding and passed out after I told you about your father's death."
Roran shuddered. "Right. What happened to my father?"
"He fought Mentass for a chance to become King Tasos's new Chosen Champion."
"Then, Mentass killed him?"
"Yes, but it wasn't one sided. They fought on even terms, and now both of them are dead."
Roran expected himself to cry but he felt nothing. He was completely numb. Everyone around him kept dying. They kept getting caught up in his goals and being torn apart. As much as Roran wanted to lay down and go back to sleep, he said instead, "Tell me everything."
Pelkha gave him a rundown of the whole sordid event, from the moment she sent Toran off to get a new arm, all the way to him cleaving Mentass in half and losing his life in the process. Both of the swords were leaning against the bed. As Pelkha finished her story, Roran pulled them across his lap.
Pulling the Sentinel's blade out of its scabbard, he found it dented and dinged, worn from decades of use. Despite the abuse, the edge was sharp and the metal was well maintained. Next, he pulled Pathfinder out of its scabbard. The blade was as pure and white as ever, the etchings shimmering in the faint lantern light.
"I've never seen a sword like that before," said Pelkha. "It's what he used to slay a demi-god."
Roran ran his fingers along the etchings. They felt smooth to the touch. It was only the second time in his life that he'd held the blade.
Setting the swords aside, Roran moved to the edge of the bed. His muscles protested as he pushed himself to his feet. "I should go."
Pelkha rose opposite him. "Roran, wait."
Roran ignored her. He looped the new scabbards through his belt, draping his robe over them so that they were hidden from view. When he went to leave, Pelkha blocked his path.
"Roran, we need your help."
"There's nothing I can do that your god can't, please let me leave."
"That's where you're wrong," said Pelkha. "We need your lyhlim."
Roran felt an incredulous laugh bubble up inside him. Of all the things Pelkha might have asked him for, requesting Sarah's aid was the last thing he expected.
"What could you possibly need Sarah for?"
Pelkha hesitated. She seemed uncertain. It was a new side of Pelkha that Roran hadn't seen before. She'd always been so calm and collected, always in control. At most, she'd shown a flicker of fear when Roran had made bold claims about Vassilis's son in front of the King himself, but even that had been measured. Now, she looked lost.
"We need her help finding ghosts."
Roran motioned for her to continue.
Pelkha swallowed, the anxiety clear on her face. What she was about to say was not something she enjoyed talking about.
"When the Kings choose a Champion, that Champion receives special etchings that give them the strength to carry out the King's will. Those etchings require some form of power source to work. In this case, we used ghosts. When one of the Chosen dies, the ghost remains and is bound to the replacement."
Roran waited, already knowing what Pelkha was going to say next.
"It's gone, Roran," said Pelkha. "The ghost that gave Mentass his powers is gone. The Kings have had every etcher, every diviner, every person with an ounce of power searching for the ghost. Please, Roran, I need your help to find him."
In many ways, Roran felt better knowing that Pelkha was completely unaware of how much he knew. If she thought he didn't understand how crowns worked, that meant she was less likely to connect him with Ahdnor's death. It also meant he would have the element of surprise when fighting Destra and the Kings.
"Okay," said Roran. "I'll meet with the Kings."
Pelkha visibly relaxed. "Thank you, that means a lot to us."
Roran looked at the ground. He still felt exhausted. The coppery taste of blood clung to his tongue and a headache was brewing behind his eyes. He was feeling more and more certain that the lasting symptoms were due to the lyhlim wards in the upper portions of Sanctuary Tasos. He'd have to get Nul to adjust his etchings so it didn't happen again.
"I have somewhere I need to go," Roran said. "We're staying with Darling. You can reach me by letter or messenger there. If I'm not there-" Roran paused and let out a yawn. He was so damned tired. "If I'm not there, Matriarch Gwendalyn will be my primary point of contact."
"Are you sure you're alright? I've seen people faint from bad news before but you didn't seem like the type. And most people don't get nosebleeds."
"I suffered an injury after our ship crashed," said Roran. "It left me with some lingering issues. Nul says I'll be fine in a year or two, my body just needs to adjust."
That was close enough to the truth. The less people who knew about Roran's bonding with Sarah, the better. He was having a hard enough time understanding it himself, he didn't need others worrying about him. Especially not someone like Pelkha.
Roran let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the past two years settling onto his shoulders. He was going to have to tell the others about Pelkha's relation to Ahndor. Roran made to leave and this time Pelkha let him go.
(3)
Roran went to his father's hut on the side of Mount Balaki. The long walk helped him shake off the symptoms from earlier. He was still tired but the headache was gone and he was able to work the taste of blood out of his mouth. It was still exhausting, but he'd gotten better at carrying Sarah with him everywhere he went.
Finding his father's small abode, Roran gently shoved the door open and stepped inside. It was neat and tidy, with a fine layer of dust covering everything. It looked more like Toran had simply up and left rather than died.
Closing the door behind himself, Roran went to the table and sat down with a thump. Letting his head fall back and his eyes half close, Roran extended the new part of himself, the part he'd gotten from Sarah, out to fill the room. He could see everything inside the house as clearly as if he had brought up to his face and was peering directly at it.
He looked under the bed, through the cupboards, and into his father's trunk. He examined the small sink with its dry basin, the cold empty hearth, and even the little stall with the chamber pot. It was all empty. The only items in the entire house were a pair of cracked tea mugs, a cheap teapot that had been used only a handful of times, and some spare clothes in the trunk. There was nothing here for Roran.
Roran pulled his presence back within himself and leaned forward, cradling his face in his hands. He was getting better at using his newfound abilities, but hadn't learned to cope with the constant exhaustion yet. After this morning's debacle, he'd need a proper sleep before he was back to normal. Well, as normal as he could be anymore.
There came a knock at the door. Roran extended his presence out again, peeking through the door to see who was trying to bother him. With a sigh, Roran fell back into the chair and made a come here gesture. The door unlatched and swung open. Roran didn't need to make the gesture, but it helped him to focus his extended presence.
Rath stood on the other side of the door, regarding him with the sad expression Roran had come to associate with the Caretaker of the lyhlim.
"You could have just appeared inside," said Roran.
"That would be rude," said Rath, entering the small home and looking around. "This was your father's abode, I wouldn't want to intrude."
"Why are you here?" asked Roran.
"You seemed upset. I wasn't able to follow you into the sanctuary, and when you finally came back out your face was covered in blood and Pelkha was carrying you."
"Did you listen to our conversation?"
"No, I assumed you would explain everything to me once you left that place."
Roran rubbed his face. Despite dealing with him for several months, Roran still hadn't gotten used to Rath's constant watchfulness.
"Did you know my father was dead?" asked Roran.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought Matriarch Gwendalyn should be the one to tell you. I didn't think you would go to Pelkha first, my apologies. Your father left your inheritance with the Matriarch. She's been keeping it safe for your return."
Roran nodded. That made sense. That all made perfect sense. The only reason Roran had gone to Pelkha first was to see if it would be safe for them to stay in the city at all. Now he felt stupid. Of course their secret was safe. If it wasn't, the Kings would have sent someone after them months ago.
Rath leaned against the counter, regarding Roran. "How are you feeling?"
Roran wanted to tell the old man that he was fine, but lyhlim could tell when someone was lying. Roran knew that because he now had the same ability. Sighing, Roran said, "Numb. I never thought my father would be dead. I thought he would be here waiting. I thought I would have someone to talk to about...about Sarah dying."
Rath listened and nodded. He could have made several comments, comments about how Roran had a plethora of people he could talk to, how Sarah wasn't truly dead and was actively being revived, how there was an army of lyhlim ready to support him; but, instead of saying anything, the old man listened without comment or judgment.
"I guess, it was the one bit of normalcy I was hoping to return to," said Roran.
"Your life has become quite chaotic. You've come a long way since you were a young man fighting in the Crucible. Further still from the boy who made tea for his mother after a long day's work."
"It never tasted as good when I made it, but mom would always insist that she preferred it that way."
"She was telling the truth. Emotions often cloud our senses in a very real way. Just the fact that her child was willing to take the time to do something nice for her at the end of an evening was enough to sweeten the tea. What she truly wanted was to feel loved by you, the tea was simply a vessel for that feeling. Your father was similar. He wanted a reminder of the woman that he loved and the knowledge that her legacy lived on. It didn't matter if the tea was burnt or bitter, seeing Alira's progeny brew it made it the best tea in the world."
"You seem to know a lot about my parents," said Roran.
"I spoke to them both, if only briefly. We kept an eye on your mother during parts of her life. Not as closely as we've watched you, but enough that we knew her name."
"You called her the Flower of Chaos. Why?"
Rath sucked in a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out. The elder lyhlim often made such gestures. He was fond of expressions that belied his age.
"That is something that is best explained in her diary," Rath said. "She wasn't aware of the nickname, not until after her passing, however it was one that felt very appropriate to me and my kind. Your mother...your mother was the spark for change. I fear that saying any more than that would violate her privacy."
"Violate it more than reading her personal diary?" asked Roran.
"Her legacy is your inheritance. She could have asked that book be burned after her passing. Instead, she left it for you. All I can say is that many of the answers you seek are in there, along with many truths you'd rather not know."
"You're a cryptic old ass," said Roran.
Rath smiled. "You act like your mother but sound like your father."
Roran rolled his eyes. Forcing himself to his feet, he left his father's home for the last time, descending the mountain and heading back towards Darling and his friends. Back towards home.
(4)
Darling's house looked the same as when they'd left. It had been repainted and the garden refreshed while they were gone, but it was still the same house, it was still home for the Cataegis family.
The door was locked when Roran approached it. With a quick nudge of effort, and a twist of his hand to help focus, the latch snicked open and Roran eased the door inward. He was greeted by the smell of freshly baked bread and cooked meat. There was a gentle bustle filling the house and Roran could make out voices deeper within.
Roran began extending his presence, probing the house for people. He was hoping to sneak back to his room undiscovered, lest he be drawn into any awkward conversations. His hopes were dashed when he felt the first familiar person enter his expanded aura.
"I was wondering when you would come home," said Matriarch Gwendalyn.
"I had some business to attend to," said Roran.
"That's what Kell said. And how did it go?"
Roran shrugged. "Nobody tried to kill me."
"Were you expecting them to?"
"A little, yeah. I also learned that my dad died."
The Matriarch deflated. She looked at Roran with sad eyes. "I'm sorry dear, I was hoping to be the one to tell you. He left some things with me for safekeeping, just in case he didn't survive the fight. I was supposed to collect his swords as well but that obnoxious woman refused to turn them over. I put in a petition with the King, but I suppose being the right hand of a god gives people certain privileges."
"It's okay," said Roran. He held open his robe, revealing the two swords. "Pelkha returned the swords when I visited her."
"I'm glad you were able to recover your inheritance. I've left the rest of it on your bed. Breakfast has already been served, but we saved you a plate. You look exhausted, poor thing, shall I have one of the kids deliver it to your room?"
Roran tensed. The kids would want to see him. They would also want to pester him with questions.
Seeing his reaction, the Matriarch went on, "I know you're tired from your travels. I've asked the kids to let you rest for the time being."
Roran's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that."
Matriarch Gwendalyn continued to stare at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. "The others asked me to not mention it, but I am a nosy old woman and find myself compelled to ask, are you ill?"
"Sort of," said Roran.
"Does it have to do with Sarah? They specifically asked me not to press you about her."
Roran swallowed. He nodded, afraid that speaking might trigger another crying session.
"Then I shall wait until you are ready to talk about it. In the meantime, I'll brew up some tea and have it sent to your room. You look like you're in desperate need of some rest. We'll get you fed and tucked in for a nap, that should help. Come along then."
Shooing him out of the entryway, Matriarch Gwendalyn ushered Roran up the stairs and towards his room. It was the same as he'd left it, though his travel pack was sitting on his desk and a small bundle of items were on his bed. The Matriarch went to move the bundle but Roran stopped her.
"I'll take care of it," he said.
"Right, then I'll be off, I still need to finish settling Nul and Kell back in."
Roran thanked her, then closed the door as she left. He wanted to be alone for the next part of his day. He had a feeling he was going to spend it crying.
Pulling the chair over to the bed, Roran sat down and began undoing the bundle his father had left for him. It contained only a handful of items, the first being a crumpled letter. Underneath that was a sword maintenance kit, a heavy steel tea pot, a bank note, and an old leather bound journal.
Opening the letter, Roran smiled. Then he laughed. It was filled with several openings, all of them scratched out. One said, 'I've already said this...' while another began, 'Your mother told me...'
Roran knew exactly what his mother had told him: Say everything you need to say while you can, leave nothing for a later day because you may very well lose the chance. Instead, Roran's father had written at the bottom of the page, in big bold letters, "Read the damned diary!"
Roran set the letter aside. He picked through the sword maintenance kit before placing it on his desk. The teapot he held in his lap, running his fingers over the filigree etched into the steel. It was heavy, perfect for keeping tea warm while it steeped. The little pot was similar to the one Roran's mother had owned.
Setting that aside, Roran picked up the bank note. Roran wasn't concerned with the amount written on the front, though it was quite small given that his father worked for one of the Kings. On the back of the note, his father had scrawled, "I spent most of it on fixing my etchings. The rest is yours. Go buy a bottle of something good."
Roran laughed. That was exactly what he'd expected from his father. Setting the bank note aside, Roran finally picked up the little journal. Roran ran his fingers over the cover. This little diary had been in the periphery of his life since he was born. He remembered watching his mother write in it. He remembered her making him promise not to read it. He remembered feeling uncomfortable when his father tried to give it to him for the first time. He had that same uneasy feeling now.
Taking a breath, Roran slipped his thumb under the cover, ready to open the first page. Then someone knocked on the door. Roran quickly placed the journal back down on his bed.
Opening the door with a gesture, Roran said, "Come in."
Sasha stood there, holding a plate of food in one hand and carrying a steaming mug in the other. She stared at him with wide eyes. Roran smiled back as best he could.
"I uh, I brought you food," she said.
"Thank you. You can set it on the desk."
She did as he asked.
"I'm glad you're home," Sasha said.
"It's good to be home."
Sasha waited, as though wanting to say something, or hoping that Roran would continue the conversation. After an awkward silence, she said, "I guess I'll go."
"Yeah, sorry, I'm exhausted. I'll talk to you later, after I've gotten some sleep."
Sasha smiled at him. "I'd like that."
She left Roran to his food. The plate was piled high with eggs, meat, and bread. It smelled better than anything he had eaten in months. Despite that, Roran found himself lacking any sort of appetite. Still, he forced himself to eat. If the Matriarch didn't scold him for not eating then Rath certainly would. Roran was surrounded by busybodies that wouldn't let him rest.
Once his plate was clean, Roran downed the contents of the mug, some sort of mint tea that had steeped for too long, then he crawled into bed. Full of food and hot tea, Roran felt tired. He was still suffering from the effects of the lyhlim wards in Sanctuary Tasos and was ready for a nap just as soon as he could relax.
As he stripped down to only his silky lyhlim robes, he crawled under the covers. Rolling onto his back, he grabbed his mother's diary and flipped it open to the first page. The page was smudged with dark marks and the handwriting was shaky, but it was definitely his mother's. Slowly, he began to read.
Today is the best day of my life. They're dead. They're all dead. The whole family, the mother and father, both of the children, and even the dogs. They're all finally dead. And I was the one to do it. Their blood still stains my hands and their death screams still ring in my ears. I murdered them all in cold blood, and it's made me the happiest person alive.
[Happy New Year!]