Jak Koke - The Edge of Chaos

Slanya found that she could move now. She stepped out of the center of the halo of flames and felt the infernal heat purge her as she walked into the fire. Flames consumed her, but they did not hurt.

And as she passed through, she was cleansed. Her material burdens were lifted from her. This is what she wanted, to be erased and purged, reinvented and incarnated anew.

Slanya found peace.

Sitting on the hard ground with Slanya’s perforated and leaking body slumped in his lap, Duvan stared at the tip of his dagger as he pulled it slowly out of her shoulder. He had killed her to take away her pain. She’d asked him to, and she had been of sound mind. What he had done was a good thing, right?

Knowing all of that didn’t make him feel any better. A deep aching pain filled his chest, making it hard to breathe.

His dagger was still in his hand, its blade glimmering oily green from the sheen of paralytic poison that coated it-the very same blade that he’d used to hasten Slanya’s journey to her death.

Duvan’s blade held plenty more poison to speed him along with Slanya. It would be so fast, so easy. Just a momentary jab and in moments he’d be dead too. No muss, no fuss. Painless and quick.

But she was already gone, he knew. She’d left him and passed to whatever lay beyond. He could die, but he could not follow. Kelemvor would not send him to where she had gone.

Duvan set his blade down. If he could not follow, then he would live. At least for today. For this moment in time, he would live.

Around him, the night was in pandemonium. Dead and dying pilgrims lay everywhere, scattered and bleeding, some screaming, some moaning, others passing beyond the pale in quiet anonymity. Those still alive and mobile fled the area by the hundreds, scattering as far away from the border as they could get. There was no way to know for certain that the Plaguewrought Land would stay secure behind the veil.

Duvan noticed that the only people staying to help were the clerics and monks from the monastery. The Order of Blue Fire members had fled with the others. Vraith and her inner circle of accordants seem to have disappeared. Even Tyrangal was not to be found, and her Copper Guard had dispersed.

Duvan couldn’t move if he’d wanted to. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps not ever, without help. He merely cradled Slanya’s body and concentrated on his next breath. He focused on his own pains and aches, of which there were plenty. His right leg was broken in at least one place, maybe two. His left leg might also be broken, but he wasn’t sure.

He bled slowly from a hundred tiny abrasions and cuts, but the pain of those was like a deep, burning itch all across his body. Unconsciousness crawled like a swarm of ants at the edges of his mind, advancing then retreating and advancing again. Several times he nearly passed out from weakness and loss of blood, but he was determined not to allow the scavengers or potential poachers near Slanya. By the gods, he would defend her.

Perhaps, she could still be brought back. Kaylinn or another of her clerics could accomplish that, like they had done to him. Duvan hadn’t given up hope yet. And even if Slanya could not be brought back, she deserved a proper funeral-a celebration of her life, her accomplishments and sacrifices.

“Duvan?” the voice came from behind him.

He croaked out an unintelligible reply.

“Duvan?” It was Kaylinn’s voice. The cleric gasped as she noticed Slanya’s dead body. But her words were soothing. “I’ve found you, now,” she said. Her voice was both motherly and commanding. “I will take care of everything.”

At Kaylinn’s arrival, Duvan let Slanya’s hand go. He released his embrace of his dead friend and curled up on the ground next to her body. As Kaylinn’s hands passed over him, examining his injuries, more people arrived to help.

Duvan heard Kaylinn finishing an incantation as though from a great distance. He felt warmth seep into him, and he sensed Kaylinn giving instructions, but he lacked the energy to focus anymore. Duvan let the dark tide of unconsciousness wash over him. Kaylinn would take care of things. Thank the gods for her.

Some time later, Duvan awoke from a dreamless sleep. The smell of jasmine and sage filled his nostrils. The smell reminded him of his home with Papa and Talfani. His wounds had been mended, and his body had been cleaned.

Lying flat on his back, Duvan opened his eyes to a modest monastery room. Through the small window, he saw the first hints of light from the rising sun. Morning birds called and chirped outside.

It was another day. The end of the world had been avoided once more.

Duvan gave a wry chuckle. Then the full impact of Slanya’s death flooded back over him, filling his chest with breath-catching pain. Duvan rolled on his side and pulled the pillow close. He wore a body-length tunic of light cotton, but the fabric felt rough against his battered skin.

Now, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, to disappear into the oblivion. It seemed that his shell of cynicism had lost its ability to deflect pain. He understood that, and he wasn’t even sad about it. He’d been living behind that shell for too long.

“You did well.” The voice sounded musical and enlightening, despite being barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I let you fall.”

She emerged from the shadows by the corner away from the door. Tall and stately, regal in her shimmering garments and coppery rain of hair.

Duvan found he was both glad to see Tyrangal and immensely sad that she wasn’t Slanya.

“I am sorry about Slanya,” Tyrangal said. “The clerics say they’re unable to raise her.”

His gut imploded as though she’d kicked him in the stomach. He gasped as the realization trampled him that he would never see Slanya again. Still, he wasn’t completely surprised.

“It was because of her-and you-that we were able to negate Vraith’s ritual,” Tyrangal said. “You two disrupted the ritual magic and put the border back to its original location. Stopped the dam from breaking. Thank you.”

Duvan hugged his pillow into the hollow of his gut, wrapping himself around it. Lonely and aching, the hole in his chest would not be filled.

“Of course it was far from a complete victory. I had to reveal my true self. I may have to move. There are those who will remember me from … before. You should know that I have been called by many names over the centuries-‘Gaulauntyr’ most recently on this world. I fled after the rage and returned only after Mystra’s death.”

Duvan blinked. Tyrangal grew more interesting and strange by the minute. And yet for all her power, she had been unable to stop the Order of Blue Fire by herself. For all her age and knowledge, she had been unable to prevent Slanya’s death. She could not bring Slanya back.

Tyrangal continued, “Vraith was lost to the Plague-wrought Land and is perhaps dead. But that’s not certain, and if her knowledge of the ritual gets into the hands of her masters, they will certainly try the ritual again in the future. Of course, with Gregor’s disappearance, it will take them a long while to find another elixir.”

Duvan blinked. Gregor was gone? Not that he cared for Gregor; the man had sold him to be tortured by Vraith. But he also had rescued Slanya after her house had burned down. He was not all bad.

Tyrangal’s hand touched Duvan on the shoulder. “I am not much good at relationships, Duvan,” she said. “Your lives are too short and your actions are colored by the fear of death. But you are different, my friend. It may not seem like it, but I care for you and I consider you a friend.”

Duvan felt the words chase away the emptiness, if only slightly.

“I am rarely one to wax emotional, so please know that I mean it when I tell you this. I want you to stay with me at my mansion or wherever I settle. I have many lairs.”