Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Valsigian looked up at his king. He could feel the tears streaming down his face, and felt his deep disappointment in what he knew he must do deep in his core. He knew the answer he was about to give would end his life. He had just vowed to speak the truth, no matter the cost. Gathering as much courage as possible, he managed to speak, “I can not swear this vow, my King.” Feeling his lips and tongue shape the words, hearing those words leave his mouth, he felt as if he had betrayed all that he had struggled to achieve. He felt as if he had betrayed not only himself but everyone in this room.

He watched Thorvald’s expression change from expectant to absolute shock. The sound of the collective gasps of those in attendance drove that spike of betrayal deeper into his heart. What tore his heart in two was when he heard Tove begin weeping. He wished he could tell her he was sorry, wished he could save her from the pain that he would soon no longer be able to feel.

“Then you leave me no choice, Valsigian.” Thorvald’s eyes began to show the appearance of tears. He closed them briefly, as if in prayer. When he opened them again, there was an emptiness in his gaze that he had never seen before. It was like the king he knew had withdrawn, watching the actions of his body from a safe distance, from somewhere else in his mind. Tyr began to move, so lightning fast that he had no more time for thought, no more time for despair. Then it happened… that infinite source of power within called to him again. There was no time to rationalize, no time to reason, there was only time enough to do the one thing he thought he never would. Surrender. As he embraced the Aureate, surrendering to it with every fiber of his being, giving himself completely over to fate and the power he knew nothing about, everything changed.

Time stopped. Nothing moved. The world around him had changed. Everything looked so vibrant, colors exploded in his vision like nothing he had ever seen before. He could hear everything, everywhere, all at once. The sound of it created an unintelligible cacophony that was almost deafening. He could feel every hair on his body, every pore, every cell that comprised his skin; it was overwhelming.

He could feel the Aureate all around him, in him, and in all things. He could see how everything was connected, how the fabric of reality bent and twisted to form the objects everyone could see. Now he could see what others couldn’t; he could see the threads of the elements that comprised all matter. He could see how they were woven to construct… everything, even the people around him. He recognized the threads, the elements he knew from using the Blessing; they were all there. Earth and Water, Wind and Fire, Spirit and Mind, Time and Space.

There was something else, something he had never seen before. He had no name for it, but he could see it as clearly as he could see the others. It was everywhere, linking and binding the other elements together with what looked like fine threads of glowing gold. It seemed to form not only the glue that held everything together, but also the framework upon which it was all built. It guided the elements into place, kept them from falling apart, and shaped them into the world we know.

Valsigian realized he was seeing the building blocks of the universe. He was seeing something forbidden, something only a god should see. He feared that if he were to pull at that fine gold thread, he might just be able to unravel all of creation. The thought terrified him; no one man should have this much power, this level of ability. Only Zerathis could be trusted with this knowledge, this power. He wondered if he had somehow slipped into a different realm of reality. Perhaps this is how Zerathis saw the world, how he controlled who was able to use the Blessing and who couldn’t.

He looked down at his body. He was surrounded by a glow. Not like before, not just at the edges of his vision, not something faint. His entire body was shining with a radiance to match the Sun. His golden light highlighted everything and everyone in the grand hall. That’s when he noticed the connection. The fine threads of glowing gold were connected to him everywhere. Like umbilical cords that connected every part of him to every part of everything else around him. He was connected to it all; he was connected to the power of the universe itself. This was the Aureate; there was nothing else it could be, no other word could describe it. He felt a sudden shift in his connection to the Aureate, as if it was confirming his suspicion, and was happy that he had gained this knowledge.

There was an intelligence behind that feeling. Something far greater than he had ever hoped to imagine. This intelligence, this… source of power, was something greater than Zerathis. Perhaps something even older than the god of this world. This intelligence felt more than ancient, older than time itself. That feeling of confirmation surrounded him again, pulsing through him from his connection to the Aureate.

He began to feel something else coming through the connection as well. It felt like a warning, a gentle nudge to tell him to return to his reality, to his life. He had the distinct feeling that he needed to leave this frozen moment in time, as if being here too long was dangerous. He could feel his connection to the threads, which in turn connected him to the elements, solidifying. He now understood the peril of surrendering this fully to the Aureate. The longer he stayed, locked in this moment in time, the more he risked becoming a permanent part of it. He now understood that if he chose to stay, it would be the end of his existence on Dricarro. His consciousness would live on here, for all of eternity, connected to everything. But his body would be no more. The world in which the great hall and its inhabitants existed would move on. Tyr would slice through his body, and all would believe him dead and gone.

Valsigian began to pull back, slowly regaining control of his existence. As he did, time began to move again, ever so slowly. He felt the intelligence behind the Aureate agree with him, saddened to feel him go, but understanding of his decision. As he continued to return to his world, another consciousness brushed his mind. It was surprising at first, but also curious. He got the distinct feeling that he was trespassing somewhere he didn’t belong. Somewhere between where he had just been and where he was returning to.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

His vision clouded, as if he were trying to peer at something hidden through clouds. He could only catch brief glimpses of this place, this world in between. He swore he could see a field of golden stars. There were floating mountains of obsidian and crystal surrounded by swirls of colors he had never thought possible. The consciousness felt as if it had moved closer, was inspecting him. Through the misty clouds obscuring his vision, he saw movement. A great lumbering shadow seemed to move through the mist, just enough to disturb the cloud directly between them.

For the briefest moment, the mist parted to reveal massive golden scales overlapping one another in the shape of an almond. The scales slowly parted in the middle as a translucent nictitating membrane slid horizontally to one side, revealing a massive eye. The iris was pure molten gold in color with a vertical reptilian slit pupil that had to be twice as tall as he was. The eye focused on him, taking full stock of what it saw. A voice rumbled in his mind, it was like the sound of rolling thunder. “I see you, Thurak’shen. You do not belong here.”

A sudden blast of energy catapulted him away from that place. As it did, the clouds vanished and his vision cleared. He knew that he had witnessed something that he wasn’t supposed to see. Somehow, he had stumbled across a realm that was forbidden to mankind. A place that had been created thousands of years ago by its inhabitants to flee the world of men. An escape from the madness caused by the soul-rending pain only a human could inflict on their kind. It had spoken to him, in his mind, just like the old tales said they did. He wasn’t scared, wasn’t even shocked at what he had seen. He was left with a feeling of wonder and amazement at what he had witnessed. His heart filled with hope, “It’s real, all the old stories are true.” His mind swirled with the possibilities. He had not only glimpsed the Dragon Realm, but one of its denizens.

He had so many questions, but he was out of time. There was a more pressing matter at hand, which was how to keep his head attached to his body. As he began to return more fully to his world, time began to move faster as well. He watched Thorvald’s blade creep ever closer to its deadly conclusion. Then he remembered something. Hope suddenly bloomed anew in his chest; the Aureate felt as if it was smiling, happy that he had found the answer to his current predicament.

He reached out through the Aureate, not to stop the swing that would surely destroy him, but to alter it. As soon as he touched Tyr with the Aureate, the sword’s fuller became emblazoned with golden runes. He felt something awaken within the sword itself, something that had been slumbering. It wasn’t an intelligence or even anything sentient. It was power, pure, raw, power. The Aureate within him called to that power, like calling to like, and it responded. It altered the path of the blade, bending the king’s mighty swing downward, towards his right shoulder, right where his mark was.

As Valsigian returned fully to this moment, so did the flow of time. Tyr ripped through the air on its altered path towards his shoulder. Tove’s tortured scream filled his ears. The moment it made contact, he watched as the sword was repelled with even greater force upward and away. Tyr was ripped from Thorvald’s hands and flung into the rafters of the grand hall. The force of its impact drove it deep within one of the massive timbers near the top of the ceiling. At least three-quarters of the blade had sunk into the massive beam, and the point of the sword was probably poking through the roof.

There was another collective gasp from those in attendance. Even Tove’s scream had been abruptly silenced, replaced with a sharp inhale. His gaze returned to his king, expecting to find him looking towards the ceiling, at the still quivering bottom end of Tyr stuck hopelessly in the rafter. He was wrong; Thorvald was staring directly at him. Wearing another expression he had never seen on his face. Open-mouthed, slack-jawed disbelief. He turned to look at the others gathered in the grand hall. They all wore the same expressions, all but one, Rakin Stormson. There was no shock in his eyes, no open-mouthed gawking, just a simple smile and upturned eyebrows. The look of a man who seemed to have expected what had just happened all along. He noticed Valsigian looking at him, relaxing his eyebrows, smile growing a little wider, he simply nodded at Valsigian’s right shoulder, a nod that drew his attention to what everyone seemed to be staring at.

He closed his eyes partway, afraid to look as he prayed, “Zerathis, please don’t let it be what I think it is.” He turned his head slowly, expecting to see his arm lying on the floor next to him, blood gushing from the wound. What greeted his gaze instead was what held everyone’s attention. There was no blood, no severed extremity, just the same burning golden image that had revealed itself last time his marking had been touched by a sword. “Well… at least my arm is still there,” he thought to himself as he blew out a relieved breath. He was grateful that the mark had worked against a weapon so truly powerful as Tyr. He had remembered the effect it had with his father’s sword in the chapel. This, however, seemed to have been magnified tenfold.

This time, though, the image was different. The down-pointed, split-blade sword didn’t just reveal itself within the pattern on his shoulder. This time, it had burned through his sleeve and was being projected into the air just above and next to his shoulder. Not just that, but the image was rotating for all to see. Outlined in glowing gold relief, powered by what he now knew was the Aureate. He watched the image turn in the air next to him as the next part of the image formed. The black circle encompassed the image of the sword, and just like last time, it seemed to swallow the light around it.

Rakin began to chuckle, “Well, well, my boy,” the sound of his words like dry leaves rustling in his throat. “It looks like you have already been knighted.” He stumbled forward towards Valsigian, who was still kneeling at Thorvald’s feet. Tove sprang forward to keep the old Priest steady. He made an upward motion with his hands, “Rise, young Knight.” A little of the dryness seemed to have left his voice. “There are no further vows you can swear that would replace the ones you already have,” he continued to gesture with his hands a little more impatiently. He looked over his much younger cousin, “Thorvald, close your mouth and tell this young man to stand up. It is unbecoming of a Knight Aureate to kneel to a mortal King.”