James Davis: Circle of Skulls

Sathariel's voice thundered around her in a language of pure pain that wracked her spirit, the words unknown save for a couple, which Briarbones had muttered during his study of hellish prophecies- first and flensing.

The words echoed, over and over, in the angel's chant as cracks spread through the streets, each glowing with a pulsing, fiery light. The ahimazzi gathered below fell to their knees, hands upraised, bloody tears streaming down their cheeks. Their eyes flickered with reflected fire from the clouds, and they smiled mad grins, their souls returned, zealous witnesses to the breaking of the city.

Quessahn fought against the vision, straining to escape, to find what had come before to cause the angel's victory, but the vision persisted, holding her tightly. Watchmen and the City Guard encircled the property, their crossbow bolts falling short of Sathariel as he ascended higher, chanting to the sky. The Watchful Order and other wizards arrived, stopping short in their tracks, dumbfounded, reflected flames flickering in the spectacles of several, though others raised glowing staffs and shouted words of power.

More spires crumbled, crushing those too slow to escape. The ocean roared beyond the west wall, giant waves crashing and breaking through the gates, steaming as they poured into the glowing vents in the streets. The city turned beneath her as she was drawn inexorably to the sky, Sathariel reaching up as the clouds parted, revealing a fiery vortex dotted with a host of descending figures. Screams echoed throughout the ward, and crowds pressed away from the spectacle, smothering each other in their haste to escape.

"Let the first bastion be sealed," Sathariel said.

"Oh, gods no," Quessahn muttered as the vortex widened, revealing a fire-blasted landscape beyond, a world upside down, with massive cities of glowing iron and lakes of ash and smoke. Flaming spires dipped downward, as if reaching for the lofty heights of the greatest mansions and wizards' towers. She paled at the sight of it, shaken to her core and infected by the waves of fear that rose from the streets. Fire rained down from the sky as spells were hurled from the ground, powerful wizards fighting back, flinging magic at what, she realized, had become inevitable.

Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, Quessahn strained against the spell of seeing, banishing the vision and commanding it to carry her back, to show her the cause and the moment that the future she'd witnessed had been born.

In a blink the terrible battle was gone, leaving her in a silent, oppressive darkness. She gasped, fearing she had ended the spell prematurely until a familiar brick wall materialized nearby. Turning, she found the gates of the House of Wonder, its windows still dark, the doors closed and barred for the evening. In a rush of shadowy feathers, Sathariel appeared again, drifting low to the ground and kneeling on the cobbles, his form and Pharra's Alley wavering as she felt her hold on the angel begin to slip.

She struggled a breath longer, her distant pulse racing, to watch as the angel plunged his fist into the ground, his arm shoulder deep beneath the cobbles. The image flickered as he dragged his fist from the ground, nine tendrils of green flame licking through his fingers, each wailing in pain as he held them aloft with an unholy roar of triumph.

"The circle of skulls… the nine souls," she whispered.

The words felt suddenly closer, more intimate, as she felt the last of the spell fade from her control. She slumped into her body, wincing at the aches and pains that greeted her upon return. Her eyes felt heavy and ponderous, blinking with lids that seemed alien to her. She flexed her fingers, the final remnants of an emerald flame dissipating from her fingertips, and the inner circle of her ritual fell quiet, little more than a smoking stain on the cold, stone floor. Sathariel hung on the air like a puppet, green energy racing through his wings and evaporating slowly, his black-pit eyes still dark.

"The circle of skulls," she said, eyes widening as the vision hit her all at once. "How did he find them? Who could have known-?"

The question caught in her throat, and she stared at her hands, the stench of charred stone stinging her nostrils. A shiver ran down her spine.

"I know," she said breathlessly, trembling and trying to stand. Sathariel's wings twitched and his body shook as she nudged a toe close to the edge of the protective outer circle, cursing herself. "I know where the skulls hid their souls and he could… No!"

She bolted for the door, her body's pain forgotten as unimaginable fear flooded through her, twisting in her gut like a serpent-the potential doom of hundreds weighing heavily on her shoulders. The angel stirred as she passed, his voice growling in her head, unintelligible as he awoke, unharmed by her magic. She opened the door, and the cold lights in Sathariel's eyes glimmered to life.

"Eladrin…" he rumbled hungrily, the word spurring her to greater speed.

She crossed the garden in a few breaths, her heart pounding in her ears as she entered the street. The ground shook as she ran, and a bellowing roar followed her, shattering windows as the angel found his strength. Wood and stone cracked loudly, exploding outward in a shower of debris that skittered along the cobbles at her heels. Quessahn struggled to work a spell, her thoughts slippery and jumbled.

Ahead of her the ahimazzi turned, moaning softly with raised knives as she rushed toward them and choked back the doubt that threatened to paralyze her. She chanted and ran, each action speeding the other, words tumbling across her tongue, shoved out by quick breaths and heart-stopping fear. The dry branches of bare trees clacked and snapped as the angel stormed through the mansion garden, charging after her.

A brief spark of magic tingled around her as she ran headlong toward the curved daggers of the ahimazzi, having no recourse if her spell failed but to be slain by the soulless men and women, taking knowledge of the circle of skulls' souls with her to a bloody end. As the stink of their bodies struck her nose, she forced out the last of the spell, a wave of nausea caused her to stumble forward into a widening pit of swirling shadow.

Plunging into the limitless dark of the spell, a hideous howling followed her as she fell and fell, tumbling into a vast and silent void.

"Sathariel will devour you," Jinn said, pacing the edge of the ritual circle, his blade hissing as he traced it over and over, watching Rilyana and waiting for just one slip, one misspoken rune to foul the protective barrier and allow him entrance.

"He already has devoured me. He won me over, heart and soul. I was only ten years old when he found me. He was ancient… and beautiful," Rilyana replied absently, paying him no attention as she focused on her work, preparing the wooden chest and the pedestal it sat upon for the spell's last enchantment.

"He groomed you for this moment. I assume he arranged your adoption? Gave you a good life? And education? All just to get you to this place, to get what he wants and then leave you to die," Jinn said, trying not to imagine the angel's hands upon an innocent child.

"Perhaps," she answered. "But would you not also die for someone you loved?"

"Not like this," he answered, stopping short as she turned to face him, hands raised. Her bright hazel eyes narrowed as she approached the edge of the circle, and he stepped back, sword drawn back to strike. "But unless I am mistaken, you do not intend to die at all. Ever, in fact."

"Enough, deva," she said coldly. "Did you know that Sathariel told me to let you live? Back at the Storm's Front, I could have easily made you the puppet of the nine skulls, but Sathariel stopped me. And do you know why?"

Jinn shook his head slowly, watching her every move as she drew closer. The curved blade she killed Tallus with lay discarded next to the wizard's body, but he could feel the magic she might wield against him. He quietly cursed the barrier between them, preparing himself for the worst.