Christopher Kellen - Elegy

For an instant, the bonds loosened.

An instant was all he needed.

Immediately he yanked his hand free and cut through the glowing rope holding his neck in a single stroke. It separated at the point of contact and the blue flames leapt forth from the sword, traveling quickly down the severed connection towards the living corpse. It shrieked and dropped the connection immediately, loosening the rest of the bonds attached to him.

He drew in a breath, the death-scented air tasting sweeter than any other.

“It’s time for this to end,” D’Arden gasped, charging forward.

The corpse seemed stunned by the fact that he’d escaped the deathtrap that he’d fallen into, and barely moved as he brought the sword up, separating the desiccated skull from the shoulders. The skull flew through the air and hit the ground some feet away – D’Arden could hear the powdery crack as it struck the stone floor with enough force to shatter it.

The manna fire leapt from the point of contact and began devouring the dry and dusty corpse. There was no shriek, no sound of protest as the blue fire burned almost brightly enough to illuminate what appeared to be a truly massive chamber.

When the corpse was gone, the fire leapt outward still, through the air with nothing to keep it afloat, purifying the corrupted lines of manna that flowed through here and were caught in the corpse’s web. D’Arden breathed slowly and smoothly as much of it flowed through him as a vessel for purification, passing through his spirit and his body in its search for purity. It was a blissful agony, one he always endured.

The fire popped and crackled in the air around him just as it burned in his veins. His muscles strained against the misery inflicted by the massive amount of corruption that needed purifying, and worse, the knowledge that it would only remain pure for so long, unless he was able to find the demon in the city and destroy it once and for all.

He let out a long, low cry of pain.

When finally the pain subsided, he fell to his knees. The crystal sword dropped from his hand, and immediately its light was extinguished as the contact from his flesh was broken. It clattered to the floor, forgotten as he struggled to draw breath through his damaged throat.

All was dark.

His mind slowly returned to normal as he felt the collection of manna begin ebbing into the earth. The twist that had caused the corruption had been unraveled, and now the manna would begin flowing back in its usual patterns. The lasting effect still might drive up a font here, but if that were the case he’d simply have the citizens of Calessa board up the mausoleum and build a new one so that there would be no chance of anyone being harmed by accidentally venturing down here.

He picked up the manna blade, and it immediately lit up once more, buoyed again by the life force flowing through his veins. It was his torch as he made his way back across the stone floor and up the steep stairway, back towards the light of outside and the haven of civilization.

It was time the guard captain gave him what he wanted.

“You look like hell,” Captain Mor observed.

D’Arden had returned from the graveyard looking somewhat the worse for wear. Angry red burns festered on his wrists and his neck and, he supposed, his ankles, where the beast’s corrupted manna had held him fast. He bore them proudly, though not without pain. He suspected the one around his neck might leave a ringed scar that could stay, possibly forever.

“A most astute observation, Captain,” D’Arden said dryly. “Now, about our arrangement? Your cemetery has been cleansed… the beast that dwelt within the depths of the crypt no longer walks.”

“Of course, of course,” the Captain said. “I’d take you there myself, but I’ve got a watch to attend to. I’ll summon one of the soldiers on duty now in the area to take you to the chapel. Just make sure that he doesn’t get any of that stuff on him… I can’t have my men turning into fel beasts.”

“I believe we can manage that,” the Arbiter said.

“Mikel!” the Captain thundered. Another soldier, one D’Arden did not recognize, quickly entered the room. He was young, fresh-faced, barely into his facial hair – D’Arden guessed he was no more than sixteen winters old. “Take the Arbiter to the font chapel nearby. Make sure you’re standing clear out of the way, boy… I don’t want to be the one to put you down if you turn into some ravening, flesh-eating lunatic.”

The boy swallowed visibly. “Y…yes, sir.”

D’Arden exchanged an amused look with the captain. He found himself liking the man, despite his initial impressions. Mor seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, and a sense of humor to boot.

“F…follow me, if you will, master Arbiter,” Mikel said.

D’Arden suppressed a chuckle as he followed the lad out of the barracks and onto the street. It was light out, now, and the merchants were on the streets in force. The sun was casting everything in a warm light, but there was nothing warm about the day. A bitter chill ran through the air and he guessed that the temperatures would have frozen standing water inside of a few moments. Still, there was little water to be seen – there were no clouds in the sky and no chance of rain or snow. He wondered how these people had survived for so long with no falling water.

“The font chapel is this way,” the lad said, pointing down one of the streets.

D’Arden could see the front of it now, nestled amongst the other buildings. Font chapels had to be built wherever the font sprang up – they had to be contained immediately, lest they begin wreaking havoc amongst the populace. If that meant destroying wings of ancient buildings and relocating housing and storefronts, then that’s what was done. There was never any question or protests when a manna font sprung up – it was just the way of life.

The streets were empty here, and the buildings all deserted for a block around the chapel. No one wanted to be near the thing.

Mikel stopped several yards from the front door of the chapel and held out the small silver key that would unlock the door. “Here you are, master Arbiter. I’ve been instructed to wait for you out here, but I won’t get any closer than this if you’re going to be opening that door.”

D’Arden grimaced. “I’ve no choice, lad.”

“I know,” the boy said simply.

With a small sigh, D’Arden approached the wooden door that was barred and locked from the outside. No one would ever dare lock a manna font chapel from the inside – it would be the last thing they ever did before they were swallowed by the earth.

Checking over both shoulders, D’Arden unlocked the door and swung out the hinged metal bar that provided the primary method of holding it shut. The thing was so heavily fortified that it seemed as though it would take an army to break in without the blessing of the city’s guard captain.

Opening the door no more than a crack, he slipped inside and closed it shut behind him.

The manna within blinded him. It was so twisted, so foul that he could almost smell it, taste it, hear the screaming of the tortured earth. It filled all of his senses with hatred and rage and pain and enduring torment that he nearly let out a cry of his own to match. There was no calming blue light of purity here, only the crimson of corruption and anger and evil.

Barely able to bite back the pain he suddenly found himself in, he took the three short steps to the center of the chapel and thrust his hands into the crystalline font. If what had been before was unbearable, this was simply impossible. He was almost shredded alive by that which lay within.

There was corruption everywhere here. There was perhaps not a square inch of the city which was not completely confounded by evil. He was awestruck for a moment that there were not manna fonts littering every street corner of this god-forsaken place with the amount of twisted life-force that was buried beneath the frozen soil. It was immediately apparent to him why there was no life here – no plants, no living trees, and no snow on the ground or clouds in the sky. It was all being absorbed into the earth and twisted by something that was far more powerful than anything he had ever encountered in his twenty-seven winters as a living being, and far more dangerous than anything he’d ever imagined in his worst nightmares.