CHAPTER 8 Ru'Vin'ole
Ru'Vin'ole. Ancient elvish for Winds. Invisible spiritual beings charged with carrying out the Master's plans. They fulfill his will and guide prophets and travelers. They are formless and sexless souls. When they appeared to Man and elve in the past, they were dressed in linen and wore belts of purified red gold. Their faces and eyes were as magnificent and luminous as the most precious stones. They wore boots of burnished bronze, but the Winds are cautious to show themselves in solid form. They appear only when necessary, offering their voice to those who would only listen.
They offered their voices to her and warned the enchantress to change her ways and leave Cardamon. The voices fell on deaf ears. For only a fool rode the Winds with a dark heart.
Vanice made herself comfortable in her Seseh suit. Nothing would call her to leave. The Winds, the Master, or sickness. She was the Master now and all would kneel before her. Even Ezekiel the Spiderling.
"Where is my wife?" he yelled, his Spiderling frame in pain.
"Calm yourself, Ezekiel?"
"You have imprisoned us and I have no idea where Aracnia is. Calm myself?"
"Aracnia's disposed at the moment." Seseh paused. "But I need your help"
"Not as far as I can see." He glared at the queen, still bent before her. "It seems you are comfortable."
He began to stiffen, trying to calm his heated nerves.
She leaned forward near a torchlight revealing her skin melting like a candle. She had gone pale, her blue eyes now a faded grey like death. Her lips drooped and drooled. If he could run away, he would. He knew better and she held the life of his children in her hands.
She stood and walked forward, her skin falling loose and grisly onto the floor. Her arms stretched and twisted to her knees. If she wasn't disfigured, she would've lashed him. Instead of her grace, she looked like a drunken draugen.
"I'm losing form," she cried.
"That's obvious." he leaned back to try and get away but the guardsmen held him.
He flinched. Seseh came close to his face and he could see every grueling detail. Every dripping clump of waxen, clay-like flesh. She was like an art piece that had paint removal dripping down.
Her jaw cracked. The woman ignored his fear and pulled him up, seeking balance and holding his arm. It should have been easy for him to fight back; he had seen her weakened state. Yet, again he thought of his children held captive. He scowled, shifted his weight, and tried to break free with an uncomfortable tingle.
"As you can tell, Ezekiel. I don't seem too comfortable."
"You're a golem!" Cried Ezekiel, surprised.
Irritated, she shouted back, "Seseh is! I am not! Your queen is in agony, help her?" She dropped back to her throne and sat with an uncomfortable poise as her ears dripped with waxy ichor.
Silence fell upon them.
He looked up at the dark figure.
"Your subjects are in agony!" he replied, his voice low and harsh-sounding. "My family is going to die. Help them! Don't you care?"
She squinted back at the frustrated Spiderling male. Vanice sat motionless and her heart stopped for a moment. Here was her chance. Seseh spoke with warmth. Her face was sad and lost.
She cleared her throat and tried to speak through gasps. "Yes, I do care. Vala--"
"NO," she said with a firm jerk, through clenched teeth, only it wasn't Seseh. "Seseh, you stay out of this! You are mine, you hear?"
The guardsmen did not respond. They had become accustomed to their queen's newfound eccentricities.
Yet Ezekiel stared at her with wide-eyed bewilderment.
"Whats wrong with you?" asked the Spiderling, fear splayed open on his face. "What can I do?" He played dumb and had an idea of what was happening. He saw his queen trapped by an evil spirit. Seseh had to have been created.
"Do not play coy," she said. "It's time someone knew the truth."
"Mistress?" Ezekiel blurted out.
"Guardsmen, leave us."
The men had gone.
"Seseh is merely a thrall. I created her from clay in a fiery furnace. I called upon my powers to mould her muscles and tissue into a waxen, soft smooth skin."
"I figured that was the case," Ezekiel replied.
"A vessel. A new appearance so that I may keep my form," Seseh continued. "I am the Nymph of the North, as they call me. Some know me as Valaria, the elven witch. Though I prefer Vanice." She felt her hair fall out. "Well, I am not elvish anymore. I broke away from that tribe a long time ago. I wanted power, so I created this figure to rule Cardamon alongside Tullious. After his death, I was to commend my spirit into Seseh."
"So what's the problem?" asked Ezekiel. "You have both your skills and your queenship. What went wrong?"
"I lost my form. I became nothing more than a spit in the wind. I lost my ability to transport from one place to another, lost my ability to take on other forms. In a desperate attempt to pull myself together, I transported one last time into the queen I had created. Because I did it so fast, she became unstable."
"That makes sense..."
"How so?" She replied.
"Two voices, one heart. You created this poor creature and thought you could live inside it. It does not work like that," Ezekiel replied. The blood drained from Seseh's face. She stared at him, letting the Spiderling know she was losing patience.
"How can this be?" She asked with a rare stutter in her voice.
"Why did you call me here?" added Ezekiel, "What am I supposed to do about your condition?"
Valaria squirmed on her throne and smiled. She had heard it from the guardsmen and knew that he might be able to help her. Remembering what they had said, she answered him, "You are a spicer. You're an herbalist and an alchemist among the Spiderkind. You can offer me your services."
Ezekiel stood and stepped back from her. They both held their gaze as he drew back and leaned towards the double doors behind him. His nimble fingers touched the bronze handle. Then he pressed his back against the wood. His Spiderling frame tensed inside him as pain shot through his spine.
He would have attacked her, but she was bold enough to be alone with him. She could be capable of anything.
'What power could she have left?' Ezekiel thought.
He forced himself into obedience and stepped away from the huge oaken doors.
He sneered and knelt down again in pain, lowering his head.
"Why should I help you, Valaria? Surely it was you who killed my kind and drove us from our home in the North?" Ezekiel breathed. "Oh yes, I remember the name Valaria!"
"Why should you help?" said Valaria. "Behold your children locked in my dungeon."
Valaria waved her hands in the air and created a portal. A visual representation of his captive offspring. She had him now, she knew he would fulfil her destiny to rein Fonde SSique - a goal that seemed within her grasp.
"I will do as you ask..."
****
The energy burned her eyes and ached in every part of Lisa's body. Nyxith destroyed her furs. She created a dark aura around her. It had weakened her senses. Yet, Lisa struggled, still conscious and in control of her voice and movements. She looked at Tallik, who was still lying on the makeshift bedding.
The sting of Nyxith was undeniable, but Lisa could not deny the beauty of the Westerian either. Nor could her friend, Tana deny that something was wrong. No magic that Nyxith exuded could distract her from admiring the Westerian. She thought the changes would frighten Tallik more.
It could also provide evidence to him that her body was being punished by a night demon. She felt that her time in the sun was but a glimmer of the past and darkness settled over her sad eyes. The sun faded and the sky darkened, but Tallik stayed her focus. The world that once was had run away from her. Fonde SSique, as bright as it was only looked as dark as the fruit cellar she woke in, sack over her head. The sun gave Lisa warmth despite her agony. It's rays that lit up Tallik gave her back the will to live and meet the Cardamon Queen.
She looked up at a river circling over and around a tree on a hill. The sight of the elven redwood gave the elvenkind a measure of comfort. It reminded her of Adeve and fueled her faith in Eddipus to bring back the cure. What little sun left in her site disappeared, leaving Lisa in darkness. Yet, she smiled and turned back to Tallik. She sat down on a stone near the river. Lisa rested her eyes in the dusk. Tallik turned on his side and a breeze brushed the rough bristles of his moustache, waking him. As soon as Tallik sat, his eyelids blinked from sleep. Lisa saw him as ethereal, a misty glow radiated from him as a symbol that he was awake. Now it was time for Lisa to know the truth. Would he run away in fear? Or would he stay and hear her out? She looked over at Tana, who whimpered. 'You'll be okay.'
Tallik looked at her, one eyebrow raised. He was only a few steps away from her.
Given the dark energy emanating from Lisa, she felt she must look like some nameless haunter.
Even so, he didn't run. She knew he had never seen such a being. She had a pale complexion and full, blackened eyes with wild, frizzy white hair.
Everything about her was fearsome and beautiful, with a heavy, dark aura.
Tallik looked at her closer with a shocked expression.
"Sister Lisa?" he spoke. He was now ready to listen.
****
"Am I a cat?" he meowed as he approached a humble wood tavern. Someone had managed to bring him back, but what good was that to him as a small four-legged feline? Being trapped inside a black cat's blue-cheeked body didn't seem like an original plan. The last thing he remembered was being attacked. By whom? He could not remember. His name was Antoni? Anticroft? Anteve? Antora? He groped for his name, trying to remember what had happened. He settled on the name Kisa, elvish for Kitty. He hissed and growled at the name.
He could have come back in his original form, whatever that was? He remembered being a king once. That was it. But apart from king, he remembered a hunger for blood and a knife swung across him by a strange merchant. Yet, what was this hunger for blood? Could he have been a Darkling before his predicament? Kisa shuddered as he entered the warm inn.
A fireplace burned in the elves' taproom and blood stained the floor. A murder? He had already sensed that someone had called him back from death. The call had not come from here, but from somewhere else in the small village. He pattered out, through the swinging doors, following the smell of where the call had come from. Even in the torchlight, there was still darkness. Steam led him by a glowing silver thread to a small hut that smelled of bread and baked apples.
Despite the rain, he clawed at the wooden door and meowed. He hated crying like a frightened cat. Still, he would do anything to find the truth. From the shadows, only a few metres away, a wild cur began its chase. Kisa ran, his heart pounding. He had to find who had called him there. He tried to lose the dog despite its speed. He had circled the mutt for hours until Kisa was sure he lost him.
He returned to the hut and noticed a small hole. Using his feline body, he squeezed through into the house. The sweet smell became lost in a cloud of strange, pungent aromas. His keen sense of smell detected that a TetraHuldra had been there. A note lay nearby.
'To all whom it may concern. I am possessed by a night demon. I dare not write her name, for she has a hold on my mind. I am on my way North to find a witch named Valaria. If you do not hear from me, you will know where I have gone. ~Lisa, sister.'Kisa reasoned, sniffing roughly at the parchment. No, this Lisa had not been the one who summoned him. He was sure it was the Tetra. When he looked back towards the door, he thought he detected the smell again. It faded more and more. He concentrated on the faint odor. An elve entered, accompanied by a strange being. They approached him and stroked his fur. "Meow",' 'Was-that-me?' he thought. 'That low cat moan?'
The two looked at Kisa and the blonde picked him up. He looked up at her. She raised an eyebrow but continued to stroke him. The other retreated toward the door. She shook her head ~No~
The blonde took a closer look at Kisa and blinked her uncovered eye. She put on a cautious, curious expression. She muttered something in elvish that he did not understand. She opened her eye wide and wondered at the cat's attitude.
"Such strange white eyes." she said.
Kisa fidgeted in her arms. She lowered him down.
'Draggadoth?' 'The Draggadoth?' 'Vladoth?' 'Abbeth? Abbamond?' His real name scrambled and flashed through his mind like a jigsaw. He remembered falling through the floor of a waggon, pulled down by Death Wanderers. Yet, that seemed a lifetime ago. No, he remembered something most recent. It was an old elven spirit who had attacked him.
'Abbaustin? Abbarol? Abbosh? Abbandra?' 'Abeve?' 'Alora' He shook himself and racked his brain. He knew the name was there.
When none of the names made sense anymore, he blurted out the one that seemed to jump out in his mind. "Abbadoth! I am the king of death!"
****
Hilda could not believe her ears! "Did you talk?"
Of course, he did. There was no other way around it.
"Abbadoth. No wonder you ran for the door, stranger." The maellem woman nodded in agreement. Lisa's hut was dark and covered with thick dust. The air still smelled of bread and apple but only faint.
Hilda discovered traces of fighting. She grabbed Abbadoth in his kisa form by the nape of the neck. The cat demon whimpered and growled at her, hissing in defiance.
"Unhand me, peasant!"
As a cat, he was a smaller, diminutive creature. But Hilda was not taking any chances.
Abbadoth moaned.
Playing with a ball of string or chasing mice was not in his plan. He found the whole form most humiliating, but he accepted the punishment.
She set him outside and shut the door.
The meadows were full of curs, nibbling grass in the darkness. When they spotted Abbadoth, most of them either hunted after him or tried to play. Abbadoth was strong, the lord of the fiery kingdom of Abbadoth. He was not Abbadoth the cute. His mind was at odds with his instincts. His teeth were sharp now, but pointless and quite weak. He was a cat with the high intelligence of a demon lord, now ashamed and powerless. Abbadoth's perception provided more information than the senses of elves or Man combined. In this case, the sense had deceived him. He had found no satisfaction as a kisa and he hissed again. He could smell their persistent laughter, incense, and elven wood. It all irritated him. Lord of the Underrealms versus a cat's survival instinct. How he longed for tuna or a string. This must have been the Master's doing. He punished him once long ago to live as a Darkling and roam Fonde for the rest of my years until that knife struck him. He remembered only pieces of his former life. Abbadoth walked to a grassy area and sat. He closed his eyes and thought back. What happened? His world spiraled and he fell. He dug past the deepest recesses of his brain until he found the memory he sought--
Abbadoth struggled to compose himself on his dais. Dante's fearsome voice boomed with thunderous abandon like the Master. Dante stood his ground, his bright blue soul dazzling, and ethereal sword at the ready.
"Face me, Abbadoth!" Dante taunted.
Abbadoth stood, his fiery sword burning bright. He stabbed again and again. Dante dodged the blows and spun around him.
Dante aimed the edge of his ethereal sword and readied himself. Creeu drew forth a red-hot glowing blade. Abbadoth instructed him to stay back, "He is mine."
Creeu sheathed his long crimson blade and puffed like a child.
The death king lunged at Dante again, his blade tearing the spirit's bright blue tunic. Abbadoth took a high stance.
The bearded apparition twirled around his opponent's form.
Death Wanderers came from the left in a full attack. Again Abbadoth waved them away.
He leapt, missed Dante's weapon, and rushed into a fool's guard stance to block another blow. Abbadoth shouted "Victory!" as he leaned into a lunge. The tip of his sword struck Dante's arm.
Dante hurled a power that knocked Abbadoth away from him. But Abbadoth was not deterred. He stood again and ran to Dante, striking hard again and again at his spiritual opponent.
Dante had no room to use his sword and Abbadoth drove him back towards the demon Creeu.
In the air was the stench of death and sweat mixed with blood. Dante's blade struck Abbadoth's heart, sending him crashing to the ground. His vision darkened, then Dante roared a chant "Unetlanvhi helaa harr." 'Master on high' Dante said. His speech shook the fiery realm to its foundations.
Creeu, unprepared, plunged into a vast lake of searing water and swung his arms in pain. "Shana nasgias-gaya kisa!" Turn this demon into a cat!
****
He pattered away. Abbadoth muttered with sarcastic frustration, "Behold, the power of Abbadoth, a cat." So Abbadoth searched for the trail and found the misty glowing thread again. He followed the Tetra scent and came to a woman by night in the Forest of the Red.
"A cat?" She spoke. "I am Angelita, my little one, and you are?" The woman asked him.
"I am not a cat. I am Abbadoth."
"Dante cut me and the rest of the TetraHuldra off from the land. My summoning had failed. Lisa, my conduit to you, had failed. Her Master set a trap for my life and sent me to exile."
Abbadoth then cursed and hissed as he spoke, "Since I am alive, Your summons worked. Yet, someone interrupted you mid-magicka." Then he continued, "Because of that interruption, "I came too late." He licked his paw, then jumped onto a redwood stump, "Bring up Dante for me."
"Dante's dead?" Angelita said with a sly smile.
TetraHuldra, wicked animals that can summon and chant to communicate with the dead. She spoke ancient Westerian words, "Ego Vocatio Dante!" I invoke Dante.'
Seeing Abbadoth's glowing white eyes, she cried out in a loud voice, "Why are you really here? Will you kill me?"
The King of Death replied, "Do not be afraid, for I am only a cat. Now tell me what you see?"
"I see a soul rising from Fonde SSique's soil."
"How does he look?"
"An old man is rising. He is wrapped in a glowing robe."
She recognized the old elven spirit and huddled trembling against a nearby tree, her eyes wide.
"Why have you turned me into a pitiful Kisa?"
"I thought it was ironically funny."
Abbadoth hissed, "It's not funny."
"Yes, it is and you know it. It was not part of my plan or the Master's for you to show up here in the land of the living." He paused. "No, my original plan was to turn you into a cat and lock you away in your realm forever until this witch thought it would be a brilliant idea to conjure you up."
Then, all at once, Abbadoth fell full length on the ground as Dante's spirit grabbed his tail and pulled the little beast towards him. Abbadoth had no strength left and was being pulled back into his realm.
Angelita stopped cowering, and seeing how frightened Abbadoth was, she tried grabbing him. Her hands passed through his tiny body.
"Your servant has obeyed you. I have brought forth Dante into your hands. Remember me in your kingdom, my Lord Abbadoth."
"I will remember you," he cursed, clawing furiously at the ground. He meowed in painful yelps and felt himself pulled back.
So he fell through the Fonde and cried 'Meow'
Abbadoth's tail was still in Dante's grip as they fell through dirt, mud, lava, and the firmament. He swung the demon kisa around his head like a lasso and plunged him downwards. He flung it in front of him in a blaze of furious fury, meowing all the way down.
The spirit of Dante made its way to Abbadoth, striking through magma and rock. The fire had clothed them. Thus, Abbadoth rushed on in a small fireball of fur, away from Dante's grasp. He knocked him to the ground and struck the villain with his sword. Then they rushed on faster, with Dante still holding his glowing weapon. He plunged the tip of the sword into the ground of the Abyss. The plunge broke Creeu's great chain as he and the cat landed with a heavy rumble, leaving huge cracks in Abbadoth's dais.
Dante grabbed the hissing demon by the nape of the neck to hold him there. Then he took the broken chain from Creeu and pierced Abbadoth with the flaming sword.
He wrapped the locks around him and let go.
The ancient Abbadoth, bound now for a thousand years. Kisa, the pitiful demon kitty, trapped in his flaming kingdom. The gates were now closed and locked, and Dante ascended to Hovenlla...