Steven Montano: Crown of Ash

His mind felt weighted down. H is limbs grew heavy. He wanted to sleep so he could erase the intense pain in his skull. His muscles ached and seemed to melt into the floor.

No. I’m stronger than this.

He didn’t remember drawing Avenger/Soulrazor, but it shook in his hand. Its stark power lifted him to his feet. It was a hybrid sword, a fus ion of black and white shards of once larger weapons born of opposing powers, the extractions or physical manifestations of the White Mother and The Black. Every time Cross had though t the weapon’s power spent, it reminded him that it was never wise to doubt the might of divine forces.

Unlight shone from the blade. Throbbing pulses of white and echoes of black shadow pulled away from the meteor steel. The tower shook.

The shadows warped, twisted and raced back to the far corners of the room. The darkness moved with such force Cross was nearly thrown back, but the subtle shield issued by the pulsing blade kept him safe.

You wanted me to show you my form, the Eidolos’ mountain of voices called. The words were less shaped than before, more erratic, l ike it had to learn how to form speech all over again.

The room returned to the same pit of darkness it had been when he’d entered. The child puppets remained on the floor, no longer needed. Cross could only barely make out the vaguest outline of the Eidolos’ s behemoth presence.

“Yes,” he said, not wishing to come to blows with the creature, even though his blade did seem to afford him a measure of protection. Even with the artifact held firmly in hand, his head still throbbed with pain. “Yes I did. Of course, y ou could have just told me what you were…”

And y ou could have accepted my word. I am a prisoner here, the same as you. But we can escape…provided you lend me your aid.

“You mean lend you my body,” Cross said. “ Because you can’t leave this tower.”

Yes.

“The mages,” he said. “Tell me about them.”

What would you have me tell?

“Are they in control here?”

Yes and no. The Shadow Lords are the most powerful beings in the Whisperlands, at least at the moment. But they are no more in control of this place than you or I.

“Are they the key to escaping?” Cross asked. He edged back towards the doorway and the light. He still felt like he hung at the edge of consciousness. Only the chill touch of the arcane blade kept him focused and awake.

They are. They have a way out.

“Who are they?” he asked.

Warlocks, led by a witch. They subjugate the denizens of this realm and craft them into armies. They take what they want.

“What is this place?” Cross asked. “ The Whisperlands…w hat is it, really?”

There is no knowing that, the Eidolos replies. You might call it hell. It is a place between worlds. Nothing is meant to exist here. It is refuse from The Black. We are shadow s. It is all we can ever be. But some of us remember what we were before… where we were before. We can escape our bonds, you and I. We can be more.

Cross ’s hands were numb with cold. He had no reason to trust this thing, this monstrous telepath. The Eidolos’ motives, their sense of reason, the very makeup of their utterly alien minds were well beyond his understanding.

But it still wanted to survive. That wa s a basic enough drive that almost any creature possess ed…which meant, Cross realized, that it was probably on the level.

He hoped his weapon shielded his mind from its powers. He didn’t like the notion of not even being able to mull things over without his thoughts being scanned.

The Eidolos waited patiently. The tower rattled from the force of the ebon wind. Cross wondered about the Shadow Lords, about how long they’d been stranded there…or how long the Eidolos had been stranded there. No one knew much of anything about the Whisperlands, but he’d learned that time passed differently there, that a year on earth might have been ten in that shadow oubliette.

He wondered how long he’d been there.

And then something else occurred to him.

The mages ha d a way out, the Eidolos said. That meant that maybe, just maybe, they c ould leave whenever they want ed to…and yet they we re still t here.

What are they doing here?

He ’ d always assumed the m ages were like he was: unwilling refugees stranded in the Whisperlands. He’d guessed that maybe they’d banded together to make the most of their new home, a place they quickly found they could subjugate and control. But years, maybe decades of madness had changed their minds, and now they longed for an escape. It all made sense.

And yet now he wondered if he was wrong.

W hat if they aren’t trapped here? What if they came here intentionally? What if they want something the Whisperlands ha s?

If the Eidolos read his thoughts, it paid them no mind, nor did it make answer to his query. It just waited, and the tower pulsed to the beat of the creature’s hollow heart.

“All right,” he said to the flesh pillar. “I’ll help you, because by doing so I’ll be helping myself.”

That is all that is asked, it responded in his mind.

He took a breath.

“What do I have to do?”

The sky folded in on itself. Kane saw smoke, and smelled fire. There was blood in his eyes.

He was alive.

The crash.

Shit.

He sat up and grimaced. Grinding hurt rang through his knee. A steel plate had fallen on top of his right leg. He choked on the stench of burning fuel.

We always crash. I’m sick of this crap.

Kane slowly pulled himself out from under the metal. He was relieved to see that his wounds were superficial, and he imagined he had Jade to thank for that, since she’d likely shielded them with her magic — there was really no other way any of them could have survived the impact.

That’s s omething else for Vago to hold over us. Damn it.

He looked around. Fire rapidly spread through the inside of the ship. Kane winced as he pulled himself to his feet — the damage to his knee was worse than he’d thought.

The starboard wall and much of the roof were bent in and twisted. Crackling thaumaturgic wires burned grey-black smoke. T hick fluids sprayed from the torn wall s. Chunks of metal dangled from what was left of the ceiling, and sharp debris protruded from the floor where the ship had landed on something buried in the sand.

Kane grabbed Jade’s hand and pulled her up. B lood covered one side of her face, and she coughed violently in the thick smoke.

He looked around for the others.

That second tank is still out there, u nless Ronan got extremely lucky with that last barrage. And one thing we haven’t been lately is lucky.

Sol pulled himself out from under some collapsed roofing. He was bruised and covered in cuts and engine oil, and a piece of metal the size of a boomerang stuck out of his left arm. Kane winced when Sol nonchalantly pull the shrapnel out, shook away the blood, and pick ed up his M78. The big man lumbered to his feet and looked through the holes in the hull.

“ Sol!” Kane shouted. The ringing in his ears was intense, and his own words seemed to echo from miles away. “Help your girl!”

He found his MP 1 4 A and turned off the safety.

“The other tank is still out there, guys!” Kane shouted. “ Let’s get the hell out of here!”

He made his way to the cockp it. The fuselage had pushed up from the ground.

Maur was alive but badly bruised. B lood ran in to the Gol’s eyes where his forehead had smacked hard against the dash. Still, he was conscious enough to complain as Kane tried to pull him loose from the heavy straps that kept him bound to the pilot’s seat.

Pain flooded through Kane’s body. He felt a numbing sensation at the edge of his mind, a field of darkness that threatened to block out his vision. He fought it, shook himself, turned and followed Maur’s frightened gaze as he looked out the cracked viewport.