Sekali, "The Sister City"
Chapter 36
All three stood motionless, without sound, as the aged gentleman turned page after page in the book he was reading. There was no sign that he was in a hurry. If he had noticed them enter, he showed no sign of it.
Uther and Finyat stood at his right hand making no sound, watching what he was doing. They did not look to the book he was poring over. It was interesting that a man, seemingly beyond his years, should be sitting in an ancient ruined city amidst a gathering of books in one vast room so immense as to dwarf all the libraries of the world, should they be compiled. In fact it was so out of place that the three, had they suspected any danger to come upon them, would not have been prepared.
Quietly they waited; Uther shifted from side to side after a bit and cleared his throat to gain the attention of the old man. This startled Finyat and he shot the dwarf a look that plainly threatened, “I’ll get you later for that.”
Finyat’s eyes strayed to the book’s pages. Sekali saw his eyes steadily begin to follow the words, left to right, left to right, left to right. As he did so, his eyes widened and his brow creased as blatant fear and wonder overwhelmed him. His hands began to tremble openly, which thing Uther noticed.
The dwarf fidgeted nervously, becoming reluctantly curious about what was written in the pages of the book. He stepped closer, hand on the shaft of his axe, ready for any trickery. At first he watched the old man and his book, but slowly turned his attention to the pages and began to read. After a few moments, he gasped.
“Where did you get that?” Uther hoarsely demanded.
Sekali watched his two companions and became suspicious. He had kept his eyes on the old man, but suddenly they darted here and there into the dark recesses about the large chamber. There was strange work afoot here, and it made him nervous. He expected something to happen . . . yet the white lady had brought them here. As he thought of her he relaxed, for it was she who had led them into this labyrinth, not an untrusted acquaintance. His hand relaxed upon the hilt of his sword. His attention drew to the pages of the book, and he read.
An icy grip of horror filled his chest as he began reading the words of his own past. He was taken back upon the watch where Mahkaia, his wife, had fallen thirty years ago. His vision blurred as the wastelands of his home spread out like a nightmare before his eyes. Mahkaia had stood in the center, and at the zenith of the pinnacle for the best view and the best spell-casting advantage. About her, he and five other warriors stood at attention, motionless, silent, aware. The great blackened, jagged stone, hewn and crafted to form a pyramid of rock was where set his team of seven. Where Sekali grew up, there was one score pinnacles on the outer parameter, fifteen in the middle, or second circle of defense and ten surrounding the innermost parameters. The innermost circle towers were built directly into the citadel’s massive walls of stone. Only the most well weathered and powerful were allowed to man these towers.
He had chosen to walk the path of the warrior at fifty years of age. At one-hundred sixty and five years, he was on the outer-most line of defense. This is where he fought and bled and achieved victory at all times. His unit had never known defeat. Each knew of the others wounds and pains as if they themselves lived them. This is where Sekali had met Mahkaia, his beautiful elfin bride. He loved to see her fight, though they never talked about victories in a boasting manner. They did discuss many times how the other could do better. They put into play a perfect and growing team of power, for they were soon recognized by the Mystic of their people, a rare honor.
Sekali’s heart began to beat loudly within his chest. His breathing became shallow and harsh. Clenching both his fists, he ground his teeth loudly and read on. A low growl mingled with a moan of remorse, great pain and loss escaped his lips as he poured his attention into the writ. It was the account of his wife’s last watch . . .
Out of the mists it came, flowing like a blackened stream of sickened water, great lengths of darkness spreading out before it, probing the ground before with long tentacles of revolting darkness. Mahkaia gave the warning of a great danger by evoking power strands of red lightning directly into the approaching enemy. The blackened mistlike apparition howled in pain and rage, rising up and unsheathing a blackened scythe. All six warriors leapt in unison from the pinnacle, wielding their enchanted blades with skill and, with deadly accuracy. But this enemy was of a greater power in this world of sorrows, and a battle ensued in which three of the Warders and Mahkaia were slain. As she saw three of her Warders fall to their weakened enemy, Mahkaia knew that more would die if she did not act quickly. Summoning all the energy she could focus, she flew down upon the enemy like a fiery dragon and smashed it into the rocks. She called for her warders to back down. They did so obediently, for she was leader of her group.
Wailing in fury and pain the apparition rose in blackened flame from the rent earth before her, great and terrible as the Black-fire Phoenix. Mahkaia stood her ground and shrieked another incantation in which she grew to thrice her height. Mage-fire burst forth from every pore of her body as her eyes blazed white as snow. The enemy leapt at Mahkaia to cut her down, yet found a Warder’s blade instantly piercing out through its trunk area. Then another Warder flung his blade and pierced its neck. The blackened specter shrieked in pain and both blades shattered even as a spell struck it to the earth.
On the battle raged, Mahkaia conjuring up her most powerful spells. And then their enemy was thrown down to the earth. As it fell, its blackened blade cut Mahkaia on the right palm. It was not a significant wound, quite superficial in nature. Were it not for the evil blade it wielded, she would have lived. She died almost instantly even as it perished. Such an enemy had not been seen for ages.
It is said that the mere prick of the scythe of death delivers up ones spirit to the next world. Sekali discovered the truth of that legend that evil day. The image of her in his arms was almost too much to bear. Something had forever shattered within his mind on that watch. Something that would affect his remaining existence. He hated sleep, for in it that apparition was ever waiting for him.
Sekali shut his eyes and felt the stone floor with his knees. The old man closed the book slowly and looked up, yet not at them. He stared into the flames of the smoothly burning, comfortable fire as if attempting to see beyond it. Silently, Finyat and Uther stared at the closed book as Sekali pushed the memories away into the darkness of his mind. He felt moisture run down his cheeks unchecked. He could not in all his will remove the smiling face of his wife on the day they had been joined. He began to tremble as his chest heaved. Doubling over on the floor, he sobbed aloud. Clenching his fists he began hammering upon the marble floor with all his might, screaming. He willed himself to darkness; into nothingness where the pain could not reach. The wound was so deep, he dared not face it again. The darkness did take him . . . peace at last.