David Dalglish - The Old Ways

The sight of Cyric immediately sent her to her knees. Outwardly he was but a simple looking man, wearing the garb of a priest. He was only a pupil, she realized, given the chains he wore about his neck. But her sight was not like that of mortals, and as Cyric turned to greet her, a smile on his face, she saw the ethereal fire. It was a dark gray, flickering violently across his clothes and skin. It made no noise, and gave forth no heat, but the power within it would have taken her breath away, if she had breath to take.

“I…I am Valessa,” she said, lowering her head. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Karak has guided me to your presence, and I am but your humble servant.”

“Servant?” asked Cyric. His voice was deep, commanding. “I do not want servants. I desire followers. A servant obeys without thought or choice. A follower obeys all the same, but with a loyal heart. You do not strike me as a slave, gray sister.”

“I am a slave to our god,” she said. “For I would be a fool to think I could ever exist without his mercy.”

“Then you are as wise as you are beautiful,” Cyric said, gesturing for her to stand. As she did, her body swirled with shadow, and she knew he saw it. His eyes widened for a moment, and his smile thinned.

“You have a gift about you, Valessa. What is it?”

Valessa knew not how to answer, so she closed her eyes and let the image of herself fade. She became darkness, then bowed as her skin returned along with her clothing. When she looked into Cyric’s eyes, his smile was gone.

“I have read of your kind,” he said. No charm remained in his voice. No bemusement. “That is no blessing upon you. How did you fail Karak, gray sister? What is it you have done that would anger our god so greatly?”

To hear her spoken of so poorly, to hear her blessing from Karak denied, filled her with fear.

“I was to kill a traitor to our order, a paladin named Darius,” she said. “I failed, and died by his blade. Karak showed me mercy, and gave me this form that I might bring his vengeance upon the traitor.”

“Darius?” asked Cyric. “How…interesting. I am aware of him, for his bounty was a disgrace against our faith. If Karak has given you a second chance at removing him, then I will aid you, if I can. Do you know where Darius is now?”

“South along the river,” she said, feeling shame at letting him slip away. “He was taken into the nearest tower, but I could not cross the river to follow. My…form…does not allow it.”

“That close? Then he is with Daniel and the rest of Robert’s unfaithful lot.”

Cyric turned to the large map against a wall, which showed much of the North, and the many towers along the Gihon River. He rubbed at his smooth chin.

“If he joins with that rabble, then you will yet have your chance. Have patience, Valessa. From what I have read of your curse, none have ever failed Karak in killing their target. For now, I would have you accompany me as I travel. There is a village nearby, and I think your talents might have use for me.”

“As you wish,” Valessa said, dipping her head. The sight of that fire was so unearthly, so unnatural, that she wished for any chance to not look upon him. He was a man most faithful to Karak, she knew. She should feel comfortable in his presence, but for some reason, did not.

“Where is it we go?” she asked as he opened the door for her. Prudence kept her from mocking the unnecessary, chivalrous act.

“A small place of little importance, other than who I believe hides there. It’s called Willshire, and is not far.”

Exiting the tower, Cyric nodded to the guards, but dismissed them when they tried to follow.

“I will be safe with Valessa at my side,” he said. “And I trust Lilah to be close behind as well.”

“Lilah?” Valessa asked as he led her toward the gate.

“You will see.”

His smile only unnerved her further. They crossed the compound, exited the gate, and then turned north. Waiting along the path, fur bristling with embers, was a creature Valessa had never believed existed. It was a lioness of the Abyss, fire burning deep within her throat, her yellow eyes watching with frightening intelligence.

“What dream is this?” Valessa asked as Cyric rubbed the creature across its back. It turned and nipped at him once, but he did not flinch.

“No dream. This is Lilah. Karak sent her to me, along with her brother, Kayne.”

“You named them?”

“I would never dishonor them so. Lilah is her name, for she told me herself.”

“If you say so,” Valessa said, walking past the lioness, who continued to watch her.

“Do you question me?” Lilah asked, her voice a deep, feline growl. The sound sent shivers down Valessa’s nonexistent spine. The force of it was like wind pushing against her being. The lioness padded alongside her, eyes never leaving hers. Valessa’s mind spun. The creatures could talk?

“Of…of course not,” Valessa stammered. “I only…forgive me, Lilah. You are truly a wondrous gift to this world.”

The lioness growled, and Valessa feared she had somehow offended her further. But then Lilah stepped aside, allowing her to pass. Cyric’s eyes sparkled with amusement at her discomfort.

“Karak is power and fury,” he said. “These lions represent his strength, and they serve me now, for I am Karak in this world, his physical incarnation. We shall bring the truth to this hollow wasteland.”

Valessa looked at him, saw the fire burning hidden on his skin, the black star shining down upon him, and could not deny the possibility that he spoke truth. Could Karak truly have found a way to break free of his prison and assume mortal form? But why Cyric? Why a young priest in the relatively empty North? But the lion served him, and Lilah did not dispute his claim.

“I will listen and learn, so long as I may bring vengeance upon Darius,” she said, dipping her head in respect.

Again that smile from Cyric. She tried to see wisdom in it, to revel in his presence, but only saw madness instead.

“Lilah, we go to Willshire,” the priest told the lioness. “Do you know the way?”

“I have watched these lands bloom and fade over the centuries,” Lilah said. “There are few corners of this dark earth that I have not looked upon. Yes, I know the way.”

Lilah leapt ahead, and Cyric and Valessa followed. While there was no road, Valessa soon saw signs of wear along their path. Perhaps a farmer or two traveled from Willshire to the tower every week, just enough to beat down the grass. Ahead, the cracks in Lilah’s skin burned deep, like red embers. Every graceful step sent ripples through her muscular body. Valessa yearned to see the creature in combat, yet feared it as well.

“Why do we go at night?” she asked as they passed over the gentle hills.

“I am most comfortable at night,” Cyric said. “As is Lilah. Ashhur is slave to the sun. Let us find solace in the stars and moon.”

“The people of Willshire will be asleep.”

“Then we will wake them.”

Soon they reached worked fields. In the distance, she saw hints of smoke, and tiny flickers of torches. Valessa kept silent as she wondered why they came. Had the village done something to earn Karak’s ire? Did they come as messengers, or executioners?

At the edge of the village, the lioness stopped. Cyric turned to her, and he rubbed his chin as he thought.

“I once read that the unfinished can change their appearance at will. Is that true?”

Unfinished, thought Valessa. Was that what she was? Unfinished? Was it because of her failed task, or did the term refer to her faith, her very form?

“I can,” she said. “Is my form…unpleasing to you?”

“You are beautiful, Valessa, but I do not ask for myself. It is you. You cloak yourself as if you were still a gray sister, but you are not. You have been granted a rare second chance. Accept it, and be glad. Your very presence should inspire fear and awe. You are not meant to hide in a crowd, not anymore. Let the crowds bow to you. I am Karak, come to this village. Let them see a mighty queen at my side.”