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 |  A fantasy-adventure: King Sylvester and Tuette, a Cursed sorceress, must save Decennia! |
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The complete book is here. The latter chapters don't have their italics because that takes a long time to add. But I wanted to have the complete novel on the site. Enjoy! "In the world of Valent, Magik is accessible to all but held in check by a few. King Sylvester is the latest to be born with the kingstone, a birthright that decrees him to be the leader of Decennia. He was called at a young age and it has never worked for him, rendering him a poor king. Tuette is a roaming sorceress who must avoid Magik communities: she is Cursed and there are strong prejudices against such people, from all walks of life. Through something akin to fate, the king and sorceress’ paths will entwine as they aim to stop Count Roost from putting an absurdly devastating Curse on the nation of Decennia, a feat never before accomplished. Along the way, Sylvester will discover what it means to be a good leader and Tuette will realize that the most sincere acts are those that are wholly selfless." |
| It had started taking a turn for the disappointing. Roost honestly thought that she might drive the deadly dagger through the count’s weak heart. But with a few sappy words from the degenerate king, she had been temporarily swayed. The energy rolling off of her was unmistakable though. It couldn’t be described as Magik but something more primal. Almost uncontrollable. But now it was gone because Tuette had failed in fulfilling whatever ensnarement Roost had quickly concocted. It was rather unfortunate that the Truvis Pote had come into play when it had. While looking like the count he was purported to be, he felt that being called by any name was adequate. Under the guise of his true self – his unavoidably obese, thumbless self – he could feel nothing but a taxation of defeat. Even that was temporary as something extraordinary and quite unexpected occurred when Tuette let loose the dagger. A wash of blue fire engulfed Castle Tigra Lei, replacing the outside scenery first and then traveling inward. Roost had no time to fear the essence as it took all of them in an instant that might’ve been measured better in eye blinks than seconds. Count Roost felt like he was floating then, and finally falling. His stomach lurched up into his throat and when he tried to look around, he only saw white. It permeated his mouth and tasted bitter on his tongue and smelled like carrion in his nostrils. He thought he might throw up when a very soothing presence wrapped itself around the back of his neck. Is this the end? Is this Dorothy in all her blinding glory? There was no answer to his unvoiced questions but the pressure on his neck increased and finally reached into the man to encase his very spine. Roost then became quite fearful for his life as he couldn’t exactly place the reasoning behind what was happening to him. Finally, he heard fainter, recognizable voices flitter as if very far away. He felt a very warm and inviting grip against his fleshy palm but before he could enjoy the contact of what could only be another human being, it dashed away from his touch. The rejection tasted worse than the bitter environment and Roost felt like cutting a hole through the air if only to escape further acts of dismissal. Roost started to see shapes in the white din, as if his eyes needed time to adjust to the ethereal light that had engulfed them all. An inexorable feeling of sadness then settled inside him and he realized that he would probably never see his castle again. Probably never see the bastardized old man that was his father again. But he’d never have to deal with another disobedient servant or a rogue townsperson or even a failed apprentice. He realized it wasn’t sadness but a subtle sense of elation. Whatever was happening, it meant he would no longer have to suffer within the likes of this world anymore: a world that lets children become kings and where dregs like his father have a chance to sway the destiny of millions. No. Wherever I’m going, it has to be better than all this. Count Roost realized that he ironically had only Tuette to thank for this release. She had been his first virulent Curse. A tame Curse by recent standards, he knew, but imposing all the same. Thank you, Tuette. For everything. Everything slowed for Roost then and he realized that the white was fading at a subtle rate. It felt like several hours before he could finally see whatever surrounded him. Whatever that was, Roost couldn’t describe it. He only knew the peace that he now held dear inside himself. |
| Tuette continued to weep. It’s real. It’s all real! The proof was vibrating around her and blinding her at the same time. The Circle had been finished and, though not immediately, all of Existence felt like it had been altered. Dorothy had finally arrived. Tuette couldn’t see her but she knew the god was present. She felt the warmth in her head and heart. It was the kind of heat that embarrassment or rage might bring forth, but she knew she felt neither emotion: only peace and relaxation and stillness. Is Sylvester feeling this too? She almost called out to him but before the thought was even finished, she heard his voice in her own head. King? Sylvester? Can you hear me? There was no response but there was a sense of fright coming from somewhere to her right, where Sylvester had been just before the Circle was filled with Dorothy’s presence. Where Sylvester had been when he had said he would risk the very stability of his kingdom to insure she didn’t become corrupted; so that she wouldn’t have the blood of reckless reprisal on her heart and soul. He has essentially saved me. A textured surface was suddenly pressed against the back of Tuette’s neck. It reminded her of a serpent but she wasn’t afraid, despite the fact that such creature’s disturbed her for no apparent reason. A tingling sensation traveled from the point of contact down through her spine and to her toes, which suddenly felt like they were connected to her fingers, her ears, her eyes and chest, all at the same time. It was a bizarre feeling that Tuette didn’t want to end. But it did, and all too soon. Not before she heard a tiny note of thanks at the edge of her earlobe. It was enough to catch her attention because she couldn’t help but notice how much mirth was contained in the small sentiment. Where it came from, Tuette had no clue, but she somehow knew it had been directed at her. The vibrations ended and the brightness went away. Tuette was no longer standing but was on her back. Dawn was approaching and the four-year old fear gripped her when she realized she didn’t have any suitable protection. She tried sitting up but her bones and muscles were too stiff. The attempt brought more than subtle pain that she was able to merely wince away. Looking up, she realized that the sky was above her in all its majestic, morning presentation. I was in the castle. We were in the castle. Tuette tried calling out but she only felt the vibrations in her throat but she didn’t hear them. A pair of bodies stood over her then, blocking her view of the sky. They’ll see my Curse was all she could think. But when the contrast of their appearance was apparent, she realized they’d already seen it, days or weeks or lifetimes before. It was Dermy and Terry. Dermy crouched down low beside Tuette and she immediately noticed that his left arm was in a kind of sling. She doubted the limb was usable. Terry was looking around with bewilderment on his face. Dermy’s mouth was moving and she felt the very slight vibrations traveling through his hand on her shoulder but she couldn’t hear him either. Has my encounter with the Eldest Primary left me deaf to Mortals? But she didn’t even speak to me. At that thought, Tuette started to sob as great sorrow washed over her; like she had been granted the greatest opportunity and had missed out on the most crucial part. With her sobs came a shuddering of her shoulders and she felt cold tears stream down the sides of her face to dance around the edges of her ears. Dermy wiped them away as best he could but his touch was nothing like the textures of the non-serpent. Where’s Sylvester? The question dashed all other worries from her mind as she sat up, her joints aching and her neck sending a thousand tingles down her spine. Though it hurt tremendously, she suppressed calling out in pain: she couldn’t hear it anyway and no one else could stop it. There, still at her right side, lay King Sylvester. He looks like hell. His robes were torn and even smelled like they might’ve been crisped over a fire for a moment. His face was hidden beneath the ridiculous beard and his eyes were closed. But he was alive. Sylvester’s eyes pushed against the boundaries that were his eyelids as he dozed. She looked at her own clothes and realized they had suffered the same fate as the kings: worn, dingy, cindered. Dawn crested over the distant horizon; the oceans could not contain the powerful Brill any longer. A part of Tuette didn’t care. She knew she was among companions: friends, even. It’d been a long time since she could honestly think of another person as being her friend but this journey had allowed it to happen. Brill’s light gave definition to her farther surroundings: the small group was next to a line of corn. The Corn Circle, she quickly realized. Inside the Circle, nothing but a crater. Craning her neck forward, Tuette saw that inside the crater was a jumble of odd items. Notably, Joy’s plant, the bed and shelves from the dungeon, the old man himself – she couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive just yet – and a hodgepodge of items that might define a passable workshop. Tuette recognized a few of the distinct items from when Joy had given her the incredible gift of distant-sight. The body of Beverane was also down there. It looked mottled, bloated, abused, and equally crisped. And Tuette felt that it was somehow that way before Dorothy made her grand entrance. Tuette remembered the benevolent seleagle and felt her heart lurch for any that he might’ve left behind. She then felt guilty for never asking about such survivors before leaving Jack’s domain. Tracks led from the bottom of the hole to their point on the lip of the crater, indicating that Terry had most likely dragged Sylvester and Tuette to their current positions. She looked at the Guard; he was still garbed in his light armor. Maybe light by your standards but it still looks quite heavy. The nearly-mindless devotion was touching and Tuette was appreciative. Edging towards them around the line of corn was a small man. A boy really, or a teen. He might’ve looked like the one that she saw in the distance: the one that Tuette assumed had been cut down while fighting a Gousherall in the name of his master. The boy looked disheveled. Clearly, he’s another victim of Count Roost. Probably his latest. His last. His face was blank, like he wasn’t sure about where he should be headed. Terry went to meet the boy and Tuette wondered if the Guard was still in combat mode. The battle’s over. The menace is gone. The Cursed count was, for lack of a better definition, dead. Displaced might be a better definition for where he is. Tuette was still hazy on her experience in the Corn Circle but she was more than certain that Dorothy had deduced the reasoning behind their desperate plea and had more than complied with their wishes. Not only was Corunny Voidet gone, but his tiny castle too. Casting a furtive glance into the crater, she realized, with placid sadness, that his massive tome was also gone. Dorothy has reclaimed secrets that are better off lost. The less knowledge of power available, the better. I guess. Terry was walking back towards Sylvester, Tuette, and Dermy with his hand on the boy’s back, as if he were guiding him. It was more of a mentor’s moment than that of a law enforcer guiding a delinquent to a holding area. Tuette had a kind of mental image spring up then: that the boy might make a good Gousherall one day. “If he’s not too old to begin training, that is.” “Wha’s that?” asked Dermy. Tuette felt abashed for having spoken the last part out loud… but then a kind of relief washed over her for she could hear herself. And Dermy too. Feeling like standing finally, Tuette hoisted herself up. Dermy had to provide support when the blood rushed to her head and she nearly stumbled forward to fall back down the steeper-than-it-looked crater slope. “I ca’ ‘ear, Demmy!” She knew her words had suddenly slurred but she was very excited for not having lost one of her useful senses. She stepped backwards and what she landed on caused the king to be dramatically torn from his heavy slumber. It was with a bellow that Sylvester awoke as Tuette had stepped on his hand. The sudden motion brought on by the pain was enough to cause the king to vomit suddenly and Tuette instantly felt bad for losing her composure. The boy was nondescript but looked like he was in a state of shock. Just like the rest of your neighbors. She hoped he would be able to acclimate with the others after being forced to serve the count out of nothing but pure fear. Tuette also hoped that the shared experience of being truly Cursed, however briefly, would help him to reconnect with whatever family he’d been snatched from. The thoughts made Tuette think about her own family and how they would’ve most likely fallen to the affects of the Curse as well. Just like everyone’s neighbors. It was definitely something to address on a nationwide level, if such a thing could be accomplished. Maybe passed from Sylvester to the tents and then city and town mayors or something. But she could only guess. Sylvester stood up more quickly than he should’ve, stayed bent forward for a short while, and finally maintained an upright posture. His eyes looked tired and Tuette suddenly realized she very much felt the same way: drained, exhausted, just plain spent. “Roost…” he began asking when he had to stop and hold in whatever his stomach had left. Tuette pointed to the crater behind the king. “Gone. Dorothy took him. No more Curse. She took his tome too.” Sylvester nodded, his nausea apparently settled. He looked at the boy with Terry and knocked his head, unwilling to commit himself to using his voice just yet. “That’s… just someone else we saved.” Sylvester nodded only once and looked around the area. His eyes didn’t settle on anything in the crater or Brill’s rising presence. Sylvester’s gaze lingered on the nearby township of Boost. People were milling about and she remembered how shouts of panic and confusion had bubbled from the populace earlier. He was probably worried about how many people had fallen under the Curse. Without a word, Sylvester began walking towards the milling people. The boy followed, as did Terry, though Tuette couldn’t guess if it was because the Guard felt an old loyalty to the king or a very new loyalty to the teen. Tuette didn’t want to follow. She just wanted to enjoy her surroundings. The fact that the fear she felt minutes before was now gone finally hit her. That made her feel lightheaded again, but with utter excitement this time. Tuette, smiling thoroughly, looked to Dermy when she realized she also wanted to talk to Dermy about their shared experience. Turning to look at the agricultural specialist, she asked about the thing that she thought she might never forget: the feeling of being embraced through her spine, neck, and mind. Like she had temporarily become one with Creation itself. Dermy only looked confused though. “I din’t feel nothin’ like that, Tuette.” She felt a frown form while Dermy continued. “I only remember the stabbing, having my disguise dropped, and then… darkness, oh. I saw the flash first but black, emptiness thereafter. I woke up when Terry there was dragging the king up the crater wall. I followed him up and told him I’d go and sit with Cherry. She was exhausted from the troubles, oh. And ‘sides, I can’t much help with only one wing.” He flapped his arm sling for unneeded emphasis. She did appreciate that his speech wasn’t so garbled but she also understood that the tradeoff was quite the opposite for him. All for the king. Dermy’s mentioning of Cherry prompted Tuette to ask about the unique woman, and also about what would truly happen to her. She had essentially been exiled or however the Cordians wanted to phrase it. She had no place to call home. Maybe I could take her with me. Her condition is fascinating, to say the very least. Plus, she needs something besides loneliness, especially after her crucial role in saving the country. Tuette was certain that her swan home was still outside Zharinna, near Mount Reign. Sylvester is heading that way anyway. I might as well tag along to help him complete his journey. Feeling satisfied with this next logical step, she asked Dermy again where Cherry was as she realized he hadn’t answered. Or she hadn’t been paying attention. Dermy gestured towards the township. “Terry said she wanted a real bed. Didn’t want to sleep on the ground. He took her to that on’, oh.” He pointed to the nearest dwelling: a small shack of a home. With that settled, Tuette found herself thinking about why Dermy hadn’t had the same experience as Tuette in regards to the brush with Dorothy. Sylvester, too. He and I were both unconscious with our clothes singed. She looked at Dermy’s outfit and realized that it actually looked cleaner than before. A breeze came up from the beach finally and Tuette was grateful for the small grace. Any further worries seemed to float away with it, much as Dorothy’s embrace had washed the vile energy from Tuette’s spirit. Whatever that was she said to herself as she thought she tasted the remnants in her mouth. Like the taste of bile that I might never be rid of. But the feeling was gone and she was free from Corunny’s Curse and any other obligations. The entirety of it all felt like pure bliss. She looked at the town, at various pennants flapping and defining the contours of the wind, at the smattering of people as they seemed to hustle about. But it’s something I’ll have to get used to. I don’t have to avoid them anymore. There’s nothing to fear about me anymore. She felt herself beginning to smile uncontrollably again. An urge to fully disrobe and run through the minimal fields of Boost almost overtook her. The feeling was as strong as when she felt she might kill Corunny Voidet in what could only be cold blood. The vivid memory stopped her. What was that really about? Where’d that feeling come from? That odd energy? Sylvester came up to her from behind, startling her and she felt embarrassed, though she was certain it was because she had been on the verge of becoming nude if only to prove that she could without worrying about any body hair betrayal. “The townsfolk were talking about destroying the statue Roost – Corunny – left behind. I told them I’d have some people come down and dispose of it for them, so they wouldn’t have to deal with it.” “Well that’s… generous of you. Considering that you already saved them and everyone from chaos.” Sylvester only shook his head. “I’m not sure I did. Everyone was affected, even if it was only a short time. I’m sure that some were asleep because of the hour and didn’t notice a thing, but what of those that paid attention?” “What about them, sir?” Terry seemed eager to get everything settled immediately so they could get back to the mountain. Cherry, at his side now after being roused from her temporary bed, didn’t look too eager to be going anywhere. Tuette was painfully reminded that the young woman truly had nowhere to go, but she couldn’t wait to invite her along for the remainder of their journey. “I don’t imagine I can ignore what happened. And what if Roost’s actions only inspire someone else – someone who was paying attention – to seek out another avenue for causing more chaos? Or even death on a grand scale? And what if, next time, we aren’t so lucky as to stumble upon a kriffing god that swoops in and cleans up our mess?” It was quite a sobering statement for Tuette to hear and she suddenly felt very foolish for wanting to strip and let the warm and glorious light of Brill encase her. What a dacking downer. But she knew he was right to worry about such things. And what kind of king would he be if he didn’t worry about them? Not for the first time, she felt growing admiration for the man, despite his numerous faults. A subtle buzzing entered her range of hearing. It drew Tuette’s attention towards the crater and she instantly thought of a buzzfrog. But, knowing that they were too far east, Tuette realized it was a kind of insect. A tiny voice also came into range and Tuette looked to the others nearby to see if they heard it too. Only Sylvester seemed to react but his wasn’t a face of confusion, but that of relief. “The little bug. The fly, Tuette! The one that helped us with…” He stopped, like the words might choke him. Tuette realized finally that he was talking about the fly – Pule or Luze – the one that had bested Vest by transporting the betraying Guard to Corunny’s workshop. She also recalled how the bug had been the only reason Beverane had been taken from his home, but Tuette understood that the fellow was probably Cursed and therefore had little control over how the Magik manifested. Puze spoke almost exclusively to Sylvester as the king quickly asked the fruit fly questions. Tuette found she was also curious about the insect’s total involvement. Apparently, shortly after Tuette had been placed under the Curse of the Hood, Corunny Voidet had crossed paths with the rare breed of fly that had been Magiked for speech. Tuette knew Puze was merely the descendent of a Dissociative Wars combatant. The special fruit fly had fired off one insult after another, which is what most fruit flies did, as they all learned. Tuette could only guess it was their shortened lifespan that led to such behavior. If you’re not alive tomorrow, who cares what you do today? But for Puze, it had only been the beginning. Whereas he normally would’ve been dead years ago, the Curse the counterfeit count had cooked up kept Puze around longer than expected. No matter where Puze went, once he died, he always ended up back with the count. “Voodeet ees dad. I’ve bat-a ‘hink yus, keeeng.” If Puze wasn’t the most bizarre aspect of the whole situation, Tuette didn’t know what was, but she was thankful for the Cursed little fruit fly. And also glad that yet another of Roost’s long term victims would finally find peace. If only for a few hours. A strange part of Tuette was even jealous. * ~ * ~ * The return trip seemed very brief by comparison, taking only a few days. The Jorii Stone took them to the northern forests of Whismerl. From there, they tackled the barren Nementor Path of the region, discovering it was actually in nominal condition. Tuette was still wary of bandits and molesters. A pass cut through the mountain chain and carried them to the west side, edging Dekenna and taking them south to his Mount Reign in relatively no time, more or less. Tuette preferred this. It meant she wouldn’t have to see New Opal before she might be ready. Whenever that might be. Sylvester was, for the most part, very silent. He didn’t offer up any absurd questions or even further his talks with Cherry regarding her unique circumstance. They had been able to clean themselves up in Boost but he had been determined to return to the throne as soon as possible. Tuette felt that, even though he wasn’t voicing his excitement, he was anxious to return and actually behave like a monarch should. With or without his kingstone. Tuette thought about the king’s little secret and realized that she really wished to delve deeper into the mystery. For Tuette, the most obvious and dutifully unstated reasoning was that the kingstone had been fragmented before Sylvester had even inherited it. And once she realized that, Tuette found herself thinking that any fragmentation would still resemble a whole kingstone, as Sylvester’s did. Does this mean there could be more than one king? Is Decennia is the right hands? Tuette didn’t like the doubt that sat on the edge of her mind. What had started as an opportunity to save herself from a life of hardship had turned into a journey for saving the entire kingdom. And Sylvester had been the one to save Tuette from herself. She stared at the quiet man as he traipsed an even stride. Surely, this kingdom has the proper man on the throne. But what of those that might challenge him simply because they have kingstones too? She didn’t like thinking of herself as a protector for King Sylvester but Tuette realized that she might have to step into that role, if only to repay Sylvester the favor. It had been a long and short journey that was coming to an end. But she knew, as they probably all knew, that it was truly just a beginning. |
| The journey back had been relatively uneventful; no one was trying to stop them from saving the kingdom so the routes were unbarred. After leaving Tuette and Cherry in Zharinna, they had come up the mountain easily enough. But it was the arrival that had been unexpected. Not the action itself, just what greeted King Sylvester, his agricultural specialist, and his remaining Gousherall Guardsman. Penson was dead. Dothel and Kren had come together to both congratulate the king and immediately console him. From what they had been able to gather, their fellow advisor Trisden had been experimenting with slight Magiks. Those had caused the man to become delusional and attack Penson. The instabilities of the Magiks had also lead to Trisden Fellowes being burned to death and Sylvester thought he might find some kind of retribution or cool solace in that, but he didn’t. Penson had been the closest thing to a friend the king had had. And he had been the only one who knew about the inherent flaws in the kingstone line itself. Who do I share my knowledge with now? As if answering the unvoiced question, Dermy put his good arm on the king’s shoulder and patted the monarch affectionately. “I’m sorry, Sylvester. I know how much he meant to you.” Turning to look Dermy in the eye, Sylvester realized that the farmer knew of the king’s ineffectiveness. As did Terry, and Tuette and Cherry, down near Cripp Lek. And he also knew that they didn’t judge him for it, because they understood that it was entirely out of his control. With the death of Penson, Sylvester knew that someone invaluable had been lost from Mount Reign but that the sentimental role he had filled could be occupied by others. Still, that one person that was seen every single day who suddenly wouldn’t be… Sylvester wasn’t sure what would happen when he woke up in the morning. Part of him dreaded that feeling, but part of him welcomed it. * ~ * ~ * King Sylvester had been surprisingly calm in taking the news that his groomer and companion had been slain by a demented Mage. Dothel – once Withered Spirit – had rehearsed the speech a hundred times when it was confirmed that Sylvester was well on his way back to the mountain. In the dawn of the next day, a new groomer had already been placed but Dothel couldn’t help but wonder if it was another undercover operative. And Islanders were coming to claim Trisden Fellowes’ remains. But he’d already ferried Cherry to the makeshift grave and had her grow the toorpa. The body would never be recovered. But Dothel couldn’t help marveling on the uniqueness of Cherry Tee. Immune to Magik but has a specific power all her own. Remarkable! He was a little worried how the perrytas and even Dormaset were going to react. They usually knew all there was to know regarding Magik, but this was a new avenue. That didn’t stop it from sparking Dothel’s interest in his job. * ~ * ~ * Depositing her newfound items in her own isolated realm, Dorothy knew that she would have to visit her younger brother, Valtos, in his own V’tal-Oo, what the Mortals liked to think of as an Immortal Realm. Upon arriving, she found Valtos immersed in his Memory Well once again. Always bathing in the memories of Mortals. She didn’t approve, but knew she could do nothing. This is his realm, after all. Not mine. I barely have one. “Valtos, dear brother, we may have a problem.” Valtos, embodying a muscularly young human male with a flowing mane of silver, raised effortlessly out of the Well. “Sister Dorothy, what could you possibly be talking about? According to the memories that Salrouge has just supplied me, this couldn’t be a more unproblematic mo—“ “The Three have been busy. And in a sour way.” Valtos’ face became still. Dorothy knew the implications behind her own statement. She had blamed him for the mishandlings of the Toll Brothers ever since they were created and installed as Valtos’ own Wishing Gods. The trio had become unruly with granting obscene and oftentimes dangerous wishes. The end result was that they were exiled to live out endless lives in Valent while donning Mortal bodies. There was nothing else to be done about it. They couldn’t be Destroyed because none of the available Gods had Destroying abilities. The battle held however-long-ago that had found the Primary Gods waging war against their Creators uncovered that the Primaries actually knew very little about how to handle Existence. “The Three,” repeated Valtos in a very somber tone. She could only nod. “What have they done?” “I just commandeered a tome entitled Worldly Magik and Wonder-filled Curses. There are several pages which describe, in detail, how to use what your Mortals have termed World Magiks. I came across it while one of your Mortals, a woman named Tuette Fayrentisay Doorspell, was accompanied by a male named King Sylvester—” “King Sylvester?” That surprised her. “Yes. He is the official King of Decennia, a kingdom in your charge.” Does he not know about Sylvester? “They had arranged for a Corn Circle, coupled with a incantation – of poor but passable dialect, I might add – well, it was brought together to call me down and I took what they offered, which was another man, Corunny Makra Voidet, and all the non-living entities that he possessed. That is, those which I liked, which was pretty much the architecture and nothing more.” “And… you took them?” She felt her neck bristle at the question. “Of course I did. The Voidet man was posing a danger to your people. But that’s not the point…” “Right,” said Valtos absentmindedly, like he was focusing on something else. “Right, the tome.” “Yes. In it are several direct methods that can be used to contact a Primary God such as myself or even you, among other things. Only the Toll Brothers could know about them.” “They’re in exile. There’s not much I can do with them now, Dorothy.” She felt herself squint with irritation. “I’m aware. I’m only informing you because they will most likely cause further problems. And it’s not like I’ve abducted the only scripts with those details. The Toll Brothers know how to read and write.” “If that’s all…” “It’s not.” What’s he so impatient for? All of a sudden, he’s distracted. “The pair that delivered Voidet to me. I think they can help us.” “Help us? With…” “Yes, with helping contain and be rid of Dool-Kana-Ti. It’s events like what just transpired that make the Outside Darkness too dangerous to let roam without check any longer.” “And you think two Mortal humans can help?” She shook her head. “Not just those two. A pair or more from each World. But it does seem like Valent is burdened with the heavier shift of Dool-Kana-Ti. They might not be strong enough for the task, however long it takes.” “So how do—“ “We test them. Somehow. They need to show that they can handle the manifestations of Outside Darkness as it applies to the Mortal Realms. Once we have your World’s pair, the others will fall into place.” “And what if the tests kill these two? What then?” “Then they weren’t right for the task, which is just as well. We need real Champions here, Valtos. The Outside Darkness is only invading the Mortal Realms and we can’t do anything, despite the fact that it can have major repercussions on this side of Existence.” “So, we test them. Win or lose, it’s a start. And we might finally be rid of the Darkness.” Dorothy nodded. “Indeed. Finally.” Yes, finally, we’ll be rid of the very Darkness that we inadvertently created. And then we can stop worrying about the many ways it might bite us in our Immortal rears. Does it matter if this Sylvester and Tuette pair fail to pass any test thrown at them? No, not really. It only means they couldn’t handle the job. And two real Champions will eventually be found. This is what a real god has to deal with: not worrying about the lives of the few but securing the future of the many. Thinking any other way would be Mortal. |
| I don't really have a blog. There was a little asterisk sitting next to the name on the "Blog" tab and it was bugging me. So I linked the old first draft of my novel to the blog creation key and here we are. Now WDC sends me e-mails suggesting I update my blog and this is all I could think to come up with. Because I'm not an interesting person. |
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