Jean Rabe - The Silver Stair

"Whisperers," he growled. "Kill the whisperers."

We are more powerful in death. Sweet, sweet death.

High overhead, Goldmoon felt the icy touch of a wraith, the sensation like a massive blow that threatened to knock her from her perch. She kept her hands locked on the step and made no move to defend herself, concentrating on the doorway in her mind.

"Best left closed," she breathed.

You are nothing, fleshy one.

There were pinpoints of red and white lights beyond the doorway, the eyes of spirits Gair had touched. They cursed her, and the vilest among them frightened her with visions of death. Their eyes were so bright, they made the doorway gleam. There was no door, and Goldmoon knew the vision was symbolic of her student breaking down the barriers between the realm of the living and the dead.

"Closed!" She screamed the word as another inky talon sliced into her, drawing blood and sending such a frigid jolt into her chest that she lost her grip on the step. She felt herself falling, tumbling down the steps, arms flailing for a hold.

You cannot defeat us. Everyone dies. The wraiths continued to cackle in their whispery voices. Death makes us powerful. Join us!

"No!" She found a step to hold on to, her legs dangling over the side of the Silver Stair. Her hands gripped the edge tightly, even as another wraith floated down to take a swipe at her back. Goldmoon slammed her eyes shut and concentrated on the step she was clinging to so precariously, concentrated on its energy, pictured the doorway, and pictured a door forming to blot out the glowing eyes of the dead.

Again talons raked her, though this time they did not hurt so badly. The heat of the stair's energy was pulsing through her and shutting out some of the pain.

A growl cut through the whispers of the creatures, loud and close. It was followed by a keening wail, then another.

"Whisperers!" Orvago shouted. The gnoll was perched on the stair. His sword reflected the light of the Celestial Ladder as he arced it above his head and drove it down into a wraith diving for Goldmoon. Black rain fell on the steps, sizzling and boiling away.

Only a half-dozen of the black creatures remained, and they backed away as Orvago slowly climbed higher. He was near Goldmoon now. Keeping one paw firmly on the sword, he carefully bent over and locked the other around the healer's arm. He pulled her up until she was lying on the steps beneath him.

"Goldmoon?"

The healer didn't answer him. Eyes closed, hands still touching the Silver Stair, she was focusing all her attention on the realm of the dead. "Closed," she said.

"Noooo!"

The new voice drew the gnoll's attention, and he looked all about to find its source. There, a dozen feet above his head, perched on the Silver Stair, was Gair. The elf looked mangled. Hand broken, leg twisted terribly from Orvago's sword blow, he somehow managed to balance himself on a step.

"How did you get here?" the gnoll asked. Orvago narrowed his dark eyes. "Whisperers."

Gair did not reply, but he hobbled closer, leading with his undamaged leg.

Orvago didn't wait for the elf to close. He swung madly at the retreating wraiths, and he edged by Goldmoon, stepping over her to get beyond her and nearer to the elf. "Whisperers!"

"I have no weapon, old friend," Gair said. He was balancing on a narrow step, favoring his wounded leg. "I cannot possibly… Goldmoon, don't do this!"

The gnoll growled and hesitated. Behind him, he heard Goldmoon murmuring something.

"Closed," she repeated. In her mind, she was picturing the door, growing more solid with each passing heartbeat. The eyes that were shining through it were becoming softer. Suddenly they were gone, the door thick and unyielding.

"Noooo!" Gair hollered again.

The wraiths that had been retreating from Orvago's enchanted sword vanished.

"They're gone!" Redstone shouted from the base of the Silver Stair. The few wraiths remaining there were nowhere to be seen.

Far across the camp, the wraiths feasting on the bodies melted into the ground, and the undead Solamnic Knights crumpled. Whoops and cheers echoed around the settlement.

On the Silver Stair, Gair's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Whatever it is you did, Goldmoon, I will undo it! All my work, all the spirits I've culled." He sat on the step, several feet still above the gnoll, and he gripped the edge of the Celestial Ladder with his good hand. "I'll undo it!"

Goldmoon stirred. "Stop him, Orvago."

It was all the encouragement the gnoll needed. He locked his gaze onto Gair and continued on up the stair.

The elf was mumbling something, words that meant nothing to the gnoll but that raised the hair on his back even higher. Gair's eyes were glazed, tinged red, and glowing like the whisperers' eyes.

"I have no weapon," the elf said and returned to his mumbling.

The gnoll edged closer.

"You'd not strike an unarmed man."

"Whisperer!" The gnoll brought the sword down hard on the hand gripping the Silver Stair.

Gair cried out sharply and shot to his feet. He took a backward step higher to get away from Orvago. His eyes still glowed red. "More powerful in death," he hushed. The voice was Darkhunter's, not Gair's, though it came from the elf's body. "I am more powerful-"

"Whisperer!" Orvago swung again, striking the elf in the side and toppling him. He flailed about with his arms for a heartbeat, then plummeted from the Silver Stair. The gnoll carefully turned and hurried down the steps, stopping only to help Goldmoon to her feet.

He leapt down the last few feet, landing in a crouch and looking about for the elf. There, partially hidden by the drift he'd fallen into, Gair lay like a broken doll. The gnoll padded forward, leading with the broadsword. Gair wasn't moving, but Orvago prodded him with the sword to be certain. The elf's eyes were open, and in the light of the Silver Stair, they looked dark purple, flecked with bits of gold.

"Whisperer gone."

Goldmoon and Redstone silently joined Orvago and knelt by the body. The healer reached to the elf's face and gently closed his eyelids.

It was the heart of Raging Fire.

There was little left of the tent community. Nearly everyone had moved into the Citadel of Light, even though the structure was not yet finished.

Redstone was hard at work on part of the complex. She sat in front of a block of crystal and was shaping it magically with her hands, as if the material were the softest clay, and in so doing showing everyone the reason why Jasper had coaxed her here from Thorbardin. An earth mystic, Redstone was largely responsible for the appearance of the citadel, and she proudly announced that it should take only another year to complete.

Nearby, Skydancer and his Que-Nal cleared the land to make room for the rest of the citadel.

Four domes were finished, several stories tall, huge and made of the crystal mined from the northern tip of Schallsea Island. There would be nine when the work was finished, all with a pale blue tint that seemingly reflected the sky of a bright summer day. The setting sun was hitting them now, however, making them glow like dying coals.

Altogether sparkling like a jeweled bracelet, they would ring a great garden that had started to take shape. Elves were hard at work on that, training hedges to form an elaborate maze that would lead people to the Silver Stair. Flowers were woven among the hedges, scenting the air with lilacs and honeysuckle and rose.

"I don't believe I've ever seen anything so beautiful," said Camilla. She was watching the crystal grow under Redstone's hands. "In all my travels, I can't say that anything exists to rival the Citadel of Light."