David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

“But what of my question?” he asked. Tessanna did not answer. She closed her eyes, appearing deep in thought. Her eyelids fluttered. A look of pain crossed her face. When she reopened her eyes, a new identity spoke, one he had never witnessed before.

“The girl is a maelstrom,” she said. All emotion, all fear, all shred of anything human drained out of her. “Her selves swirl about the edges. I am the Center. I am Celestia’s chosen. Speak!”

Qurrah felt a phantom presence pass over his body. Shadows stretched and crawled along the floor toward them. The wood creaked, the bed shook, and all about darkness formed where darkness should not have been. He stared at her face with detached horror. Her black eyes were aflame, consumed with purple fire. Swirling deep within, he saw the face of a woman glaring out, similar to Tessanna except older and wiser. The creeping darkness took corporeal form, wrapping around her naked body like a phantom dress.

“How may I cure the madness within?” he asked, his voice almost lost in a sudden roar of wind.

“Do not meddle, half-orc,” Tessanna said as her hair danced wildly about her arms, back, and breasts. “Otherwise Time itself will protect her from you.”

The darkness flared, washing over Qurrah with burning wave after wave. His skin crawled with vile sensations. His mind reeled against horrible images of a vast emptiness beyond comprehension. Mortal power could maim, could kill, but this was beyond that. This was the power of a goddess.

The final wave came and went. The shadows returned to their rightful positions. A fragile calm overtook the cabin. Tessanna’s hair halted its writhing. She stared at Qurrah with a terrified look, tears running down her face.

“I thought you would be dead,” she said. She flung her arms around his frail body and cried against his neck. “I thought…”

He held her, his eyes staring into nowhere. After a few minutes, her crying ended, her sorrow and fear vanishing as if it had never been.

“You should be bleeding right now,” she said, pulling away from him. “Everyone always is after that.”

“After what?” he asked. In answer, she shrugged.

“I don’t know. Be thankful you aren’t dead. It seems someone favors you.”

“Perhaps,” he said, rising from the bed to seek fresh air. “But I intend to find out.”

F or weeks, Qurrah poured over Pelarak’s diary, learning all he could. His brief encounter with Tessanna’s inner…well, whatever it was, had certainly proven Pelarak true. This strange Center did indeed exist, and apparently disapproved of his efforts. A part of him was afraid, but a larger part ached with curiosity. He thought he knew much about the mind, but this girl mocked him with her complexity.

“When will you try to change me?” she asked him one day. A small squirrel sat in her hand, amazingly docile in her presence.

“In time, Tessanna,” he said. “But I have found a new obstacle, and must find a way to overcome it.”

Nothing from a book helped him to his next revelation. One night, as he sat in his chair with his head aching, he watched Tessanna carve runes into her arm. Her precise, intricate movements entranced him. She scrawled seven runes before stopping. While she watched the blood flow, she licked her wrists.

“What is it you write?” he asked her, standing from his seat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Whatever feels good.”

“There is too much detail for that to be random,” he said, crossing the room to grab her elbow. “Do you know what these say?”

“Does it have to say anything?” she asked, attempting to yank her arm away. Qurrah latched on, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned over the blood-soaked runes, attempting to discern any form or meaning.

“Let go,” Tessanna said. A new cold had entered her voice. “Let go of me, now.”

“Spell runes,” he said, releasing her. “By Karak, they are spell runes!”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“What else could they be?” Qurrah asked.

“Others have tried to speak them aloud. Nothing ever happened.”

“Those that tried, did they die?” Qurrah asked. Tessanna shrugged. The half-orc tossed her a rag. “Clean off the blood. We will see if I am wrong.”

A fire raged beside them as they stood underneath the stars. Already, the cuts on her arm had faded to angry red scars, the rate of her healing remarkable. Qurrah had studied them carefully, perusing his spellbooks and finding runes matching the ones Tessanna carved. Some were identical, while others had slight deviations that he hoped were insignificant.

“Give me your arm,” he asked her. She obeyed, seeming indifferent about the whole situation. She expected little to happen. As much as she loved Qurrah, she did not think him correct.

He, however, was certain he had stumbled onto something significant. What that significance was, well, he hadn’t a clue. He put away such worrisome thoughts and held her hand. One after another, read the names of the runes.

“ Delk Mord-thun, Vaeln Nelaquir, Tirug, Nolfwud, Xeudayascar! ”

He spoke them as he would a spell from a scroll, feeling the power reeling out his body. Wind swirled around him, blowing leaves and sending their clothes and hair dancing. The runes glowed as if the cut skin were embers of a lingering fire. All about, the night grew dead. When the final word was spoken, Qurrah looked to his beloved, taking pride in the lack of fear in her eyes. He held her hand and prepared for the storm.

“Qurrah, stay with me,” she said, moments before lightning struck her from a cloudless sky. The bolt lifted her into the air, her lithe frame hovering a foot above the ground. Her hand clutched his, her nails piercing his flesh. He felt no pain.

“Let all those who endanger the balance wither away as dust,” the girl said. Her tone was flat, all emotion gone. It was the voice of the Center. She pointed a finger at him. “Be gone from her.”

“Qurrah!” he heard her cry, a second voice from one mouth. Black power collected at the end of her accusing finger. Walls of wind ripped from the ground, sealing the two in a gray prison. The half-orc did not think, only react. He flung his arms around her, holding her tight. As a small ball of emptiness shot from her finger, he kissed her lips and awaited death.

The magic hit him. He wished for death. When he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came forth. His soul shrieked in agony immeasurable. The two hovered higher and higher as his vision blurred. A song rose over the roar of the wind, one of longing and desire, sung by an unseen choir of thousands. The magic ripping through him intensified, adding a physical component to his torture. The pain crawled up his arm and into his lungs. All breath ended, and his lungs filled with fluid. His arm were aflame with the pain of a thousand burns.

“What have you done?” Tessanna asked. The Center was gone, yet still she felt no fear, only wonder at the chaos surrounding her. Qurrah tried to respond, but his jaw locked as his neck muscles pulled tight. A black fog poured from his throat, which she breathed in like smoke. Her dark eyes flared with color, and then all he knew turned white. Continuous the choir sang, a chorus whose line he did not understand, but knew within it there was reason.

On and on, the ebb and flow of time. Balance, the balance, it will come eternal.

Ghastly was the pain, shredded was his soul, and all else a pure, numbing shade of white. So white, all thought, all breath, all heartbeat, halted. Arm in arm, the two swirled ever higher, stretching into a vast space beyond the sky, beyond the stars, and beyond time itself.

Part Two

H ow long you think they’ll be like that?” asked the ruffian. His leader grunted an unintelligible response. The man drew his dagger and thrust it into the ground, accompanying it with a grunt of his own. “Come on, we’ve been here for weeks. Why don’t we just gut them and get out of here?”