Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 28 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two / Chapter Twenty-Three / Chapter Twenty-Four / Chapter Twenty-Five / Chapter Twenty-Six / Chapter Twenty-Seven 

Chapter Twenty-Eight – The Servant and the Weaver

Toru fastened the last shackle to Aneros’ wrist and stepped back. Ewart Kona, or the ghost impersonating him, was wailing and bemoaning the soiling of his altar, while Toru took a long look at his work. Aneros was dripping blood from numerous cuts and everywhere it fell on the altar, it appeared that the black marble was absorbing it as if it was nothing but a sponge.

“You useless tiger!” Ewart Kona shouted at the shackled Aneros. “There was only one thing you needed to do for me.”

“Not even the shadows you summoned are willing to listen to you, Hekastfet,” Toru said loudly. He didn’t know what he needed to do now, but something of the evil entity’s plan was coming unraveled.

“A shadow?” Ewart Kona shrieked. He was hovering in the air, right above the altar. “No, tiger, this is your father.”

Toru stared at the shackled shape on the altar, and his resolve shook for a moment. Aneros looked at him with those eyes made of pure gold. His long white hair poured down the sides, brushing the floor. Toru couldn’t remember seeing anyone of such astonishing beauty.

“It is all right, Toru,” Aneros said with difficulty. “You did the right thing. Now Hekastfet won’t be able to finish his ritual, and the world will be saved once more.”

Toru frowned and words rolled out of his mouth without his being able to stop them. “Are you really my father?” His voice sounded weak and vulnerable, like he couldn’t remember ever hearing it.

“He is, of course, he is,” Ewart Kona barked and flew through the air to come face-to-face with him. “Aren’t you a kind tiger?” he hissed at him, but almost immediately it seemed that Hekastfet living inside him understood that it served him nothing to scream and curse like that. “So, Toru,” he said in a more insinuating voice, “you don’t care about your father. That makes you more alike me.”

Toru stared at the phantasm, dumbstruck. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Can you really say that while you have your father shackled to my altar, bleeding to death?”

Toru clenched his fists. “What must I do to rid the world of this venom?” His question was directed at Aneros, although his eyes never left Ewart Kona.

“You must do the right thing, my son,” Aneros said gently. “See this shadow trying so hard to play tricks on you?” He gestured with his chin toward the domestikos.

“Yes,” Toru replied, his voice caught in his throat, now full of thorns smeared with poison. “Are you my father? Not a creature or another phantasm conjured by Hekastfet?” He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hear another confirmation from the mouth of that astonishing man or not. A part of him wanted to hear him say ‘yes’, but he feared that it would be a lie, one that he wouldn’t know what to do with. Despite how Aneros had called him his son, he wanted more than those gentle words. A lot more. A world of more.

“I am your servant, above all,” Aneros said instead. “Destiny is yours to make and I am here only to help you spin its thread. Listen to me, Toru. No matter what you feel about what I am about to tell you to do, there is one thing you must know. I love you more than I love life, more than I ever loved your mother, and more than my own blood.” For a moment, Aneros stopped, momentarily overcome as if an invisible hand was trying to choke him. “You must kill this old body, Toru.”

Toru took a step back without even intending to do so. Ewart Kona rejoiced in a noisy manner. He clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, yes,” he hissed in delight, “it is true, Toru. He is your father, thus you cannot kill him!”

Toru growled and slashed through the air with one arm, making Ewart Kona disappear and reappear again. It was futile to chase that ghost, so the only thing he could do was to listen to Aneros or that impersonation of the man who was supposed to be his father. He took a step slowly toward the altar, studying Aneros carefully. Something of that face was, indeed, familiar. Toru realized that was the case because he could see his own face in him.

Did he have the resolute belief that by raising his hand to strike this phantasm he wasn’t going to end up killing his real father?

“Don’t hesitate, Toru,” Aneros urged him. “Don’t listen to Hekastfet. He’s only trying to weaken your determination. I’m still strong now, so it might be difficult, but to destroy Hekastfet’s altar, there is no other way. Look up,” he added.

Toru tipped his head back. From the high ceiling, a spear of fire hung, its tip pointing directly at Aneros’ chest. He turned his eyes to face his sire. “Is there no other way?” he asked. “But you must... I need you to tell me so many things,” he almost yelled in frustration.

“There is no time, my child,” Aneros said in the same soft-spoken manner. “My life is forfeit, anyway. But you can make the difference by being the one to cut me loose from this world. Not only will it serve you in your quest to defeat Hekastfet, but you will show mercy toward me.”

The domestikos was conspicously silent, so Toru looked around, only to see that he had been left alone with Aneros. His father seemed to understand the question he didn’t ask. “He left to gather reinforcements. Don’t let evil overcome this world, Toru. Do what you were meant to. Grab the spear, thrust it into my heart. And then, run as fast as you can.”

Toru brushed one hand against his cheek and stared at it for a moment in surprise. It wasn’t blood on his face, but something else.

“Don’t cry, my child,” Aneros said tenderly. “Once you are free of the burden of your quest, search for Nelsikkar. It was destroyed, but it continued living. I know it in my heart, just as I’ve always known that you must be out there in the world, laughing, playing, making friends, and growing to be the most powerful tiger to have ever walked the face of Eawirith.”

Toru wiped his cheeks, hesitation growing inside his heart. If he could believe that Aneros was just a shadow made to move and walk and talk, he would be able to do what was necessary. But if the man, the tigershifter lying in front of him was indeed who he seemed to be, he shouldn’t believe a word he said, should he?

Aneros was telling him the truth, the biggest truth he had ever heard in his life. And that meant that if he did what he was told, he would only—

“Toru, look at me!” Aneros’ voice was sharper. “There is no time. I had the chance to hold you in my arms, you, a grown man, and even if you may consider that nothing but a small mercy, for me it means so much more than that. It means that my destiny was kind. Now hurry,” he added with urgency.

The spear of fire hung above them like an omen. Toru blinked a couple of times and reached for it, but his fingers went through it and he pulled his hand back with a barely contained grunt. He ground his teeth and reached for it again.

“This is what you must do,” Aneros reminded him, but this time his hand met nothing but fiery heat that seared the skin, making sharp pain blossom down his arm. “Don’t pity me, Toru!”

“Who’s pitying you, old man?” Toru bristled, but tears were streaming down his cheeks like never before, not even when he was a child and he had used to think the entire injustice in the world was aimed at him, whether it was a whip on his back or a cutting word.

“You are,” Aneros said, gently again. “The human in you has always been strong.”

“I am a tiger,” Toru said petulantly.

“Of course, you are,” Aneros added. “Understand that there is no other way. Don’t let Hekastfet win.”

“He wins anyway,” Toru revolted. What right did that thing have to pull him apart from his father right after they had been reunited?

“I live through you, remember this,” Aneros said. “Your heart is strong. Reach for the spear, Toru.”

***

“What do you think?” Duril whispered as he looked around for signs that would lead them on the right path. For a while now, they hadn’t seen anything remotely similar to those runic inscriptions and it felt as if they were just swimming in the dark. “Could it be this way? Or that way?”

Varg sniffed the air noisily. They only felt each other, the dark too deep for them to see anything clearly. Claw was walking in front, Duril in the middle, and Varg at the tail of their little group. Only snorts and small jabs had met his protests that he shouldn’t be treated as the frail one of their group. That alone had made him smile for a moment. He would get them for this later, without fail.

“Puppy, your nose is no match for mine,” Claw teased the wolfshifter. “I can smell trouble ahead.”

At that, Varg scoffed and tsked. “For that, you don’t even need a nose at all, flea bag. This place is rotten deep into its soul. Hey, did you hear that?”

Duril strained his ears, but he knew he would be no match for his friends. Still, after a few moments, his hearing picked up something, a loud thump hammering somewhere in a cadence that made it seem unnatural. “I think I do,” he replied to Varg’s question, surprised at his ability to detect that faint sound.

“It’s like a beating heart,” Claw said. “Do you good people reckon that it might be the foul thing keeping this cursed place together?”

“What we reckon doesn’t matter much right now,” Varg offered. “We must find Toru. Kitty must be keeping all the fun to himself right now, but you know him. Soon, he’ll get bored and lonely. Let’s not let that happen to him.”

Duril couldn’t agree more. Varg was joking, but he did that only so that he could ease everyone’s fears. Toru needed them, and that thought alone was enough to make them pick up the pace and follow the strange sound into the darkness.

***

They were rushing toward an unknown destination, but Varg couldn’t let go of the nagging feeling that they shouldn’t forget about what lay behind them, either. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing to attention, and that was the sort of sign he knew he shouldn’t ignore. In his life, he had counted on those preternatural signs more than once, and doing so had saved his hide more than one time.

Now, what he needed to do was to keep his ears perked up, and his eyes peeled, as little as that served in this darkness. He felt as if they were walking through an emptiness so soul-wrenching he feared that they would fall prey to it at any moment now.

That was a foreign feeling. It had to be a curse of sorts, dark magic, as Varg was certain that it didn’t come from inside them. Someone was hurling it at them, in the hope that they would break. That someone should know better, Varg thought and let out a dry chuckle.

“What is it, puppy? Something funny?” Claw teased him.

“Whatever we must go against is already here,” Varg said calmly, certain that both Claw and Duril could feel the same thing that he did.

He had barely said the words than a gust of wind made them take a sudden step forward and sway on their feet, hitting them from their backs like a blow. Varg caught Duril.

“I’m fine,” the healer assured him. “What was that?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Varg replied. “Let’s be on guard. Soon, we’ll go head to head with whatever has been following us here.”

“I think we must leave that for later. There’s something on the ground,” Claw said. “I think it’s a hole... And there’s a stair going down. Here goes nothing.”

The bearshifter must have taken said stair, because Varg was certain that he was no longer walking in front. “Duril?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m going after Claw,” Duril replied with determination.

That meant there was just one way forward, down that mysterious stair.

***

The ground was soft in a way that made Duril feel something roiling in his gut. He couldn’t get rid of the sickening feeling as he walked forward, trying to keep up with Claw. Varg was behind him, and that was their comfort. They had each other. All this time, the gust of wind continued to buffet them from behind. It acted as a guide of sorts, but whether there was a malevolent force behind it or a benevolent one, he couldn’t tell. By the tension he felt from both Varg and Claw, he could only surmise that it was the former. At this point, however, it was all they could depend on to find them a path into the darkness. Without a doubt, something lay at its end, and they needed to get there.

The gust of wind blew sharply again, taking them by surprise. Claw mumbled something that could easily be interpreted as a curse, and Varg stood still, while Duril stumbled and fell forward. The wolfshifter caught him deftly and returned him to his upright position.

“Now that’s what I call more than a little breeze,” Claw joked.

He was barely finished saying that when another blast of moving air hit them so hard that it sent them all tumbling forward like dry weeds across the desert. That strange feeling only intensified when they were lifted off the ground and sent hurling down another hole. Duril cried out in surprise, and his reaction was matched by similar yelps from Varg and Claw.

There was suddenly light and their descent stopped abruptly. It took Duril a few good seconds to realize that he was suspended from the top of the ceiling in a tall room, and that his companions were tied alongside him. He first craned his neck painfully, as he was squashed between the hard bodies of his friends and looked upward.

Indeed, they were hanging from a tall ceiling, as if they were nothing but puppets on a string, that is if someone would enjoy puppet theatre with all the inanimate protagonists held together like that. There was nothing inanimate about them, though, and Duril was swinging his legs, just as Varg and Claw did.

“What is this? Can you see anything below?” Varg growled.

That was quite an impossible thing to do. The strange vines or ties holding them like that didn’t allow them to turn their heads enough to look down properly. Claw grunted and tried to free himself, but to no avail.

***

A crashing sound from above interrupted Toru’s efforts to grab the spear. He watched in disbelief as something dropped from the ceiling and hung far above his head. It took him little to realize what, or better said, who he was seeing. His friends, all three of them, hung from a long thick vine, and they were kicking and hollering, completely helpless.

“Duril, Varg, Claw!” he shouted.

The thrashing of the bodies above intensified. “That you, Toru?” Varg yelled.

“Toru, thank heavens,” Duril followed.

“Mind getting us down, kitty?” Claw added.

Toru stepped away from his bound father. Aneros’ face was white now and part of his life had already seeped into the altar, but he was still alive. Why did he have to kill him if Hekastfet was already doing that to him? He couldn’t and wouldn’t understand. No, he would save him, he decided that very moment.

But first, he needed to free his friends from that strange rope holding them suspended right over the altar. Toru began searching with his eyes for some way to climb the walls and get close, but everywhere he looked there was nothing that could be used.

A sinister laughter interrupted his search. “What do you say of my plan now, tiger?” Ewart Kona hissed.

Toru narrowed his eyes. It didn’t take long for Hekastfet to come into view. “Let them down from there, or you will pay,” he growled.

“And what exactly will you use to make me do as you say?” The domestikos laughed again. Hanging from the ceiling, Duril, Varg, and Claw were shouting all at the same time. Toru couldn’t make sense of every word, but he knew that they were encouraging him one way or the other.

He focused all of his attention. His mind and body were one, and while the world became a swirl around him, a cacophony of sounds and colors, he understood what he needed to do. He jumped on the edge of the altar, making sure not to trample Aneros in the process, and balanced himself nimbly for a moment. Then, as he tensed every muscle in his body, he jumped up and grabbed the spear, not by its tip, as he had struggled to do before, but by its other end.

Letting out a shout of triumph, he held the spear above his head.

“What were you saying, stupid evil?” he taunted Hekastfet.

“Are you willing to kill your father?” Ewart Kona hissed at him. “Go anywhere near him with that thing, and I’ll make sure your friends become nothing but a smear of blood on these walls.” To make good on his threat, through powers not visible to the naked eye, Hekastfet made the rope on which Claw, Varg, and Duril hung swing back and forth, dangerously close to the opposite ends of the room.

Toru clenched his hand on the spear, feeling a searing pain as he did so. But that pain was clean and clearing, and with one lunge, he threw the weapon, cutting through the rope holding his friends. All three cried out as they took a tumble from that height, but Toru was ready, running toward them. There was no need for all that extra worry, it seemed. Claw shifted in mid-air and provided his big body as a huge pillow on which Varg and Duril crashed with grunts and yelps.

“How did you do that?” Ewart Kona wailed. “You cannot!”

Toru grinned as he turned to face the phantasm that was still trying to play tricks on him. He was no silly tiger to allow himself to be fooled by such a trickster. “Are you all right?” he shouted at his friends, ignoring Hekastfet completely.

The phantasm turned restless. He seemed to be trying to move through Toru, disappearing and appearing at his left, then at his right.

“Toru,” someone called in a raspy voice, and it took him a few moments to realize that the faint voice came from the altar. “The spear, take it.”

Caught up as he had been in saving his friends, he had paid no attention to where his weapon had landed. He saw it in a corner, but it no longer seemed to be made of light and fire. It was now made of steel, by its appearance, and it looked like it had just been forged by a blacksmith, the iron still hot and red.

“Hurry,” Aneros pleaded with him. “It is the only way to get rid of the evil that has been plaguing our world for millennia.”

Claw, Varg, and Duril struggled to their feet, and it was the wolfshifter who hurried to bring him the spear. However, the moment Varg put his hand on the weapon, he withdrew it with a surprised growl. Duril was by his side, catching his hand. It was blistering red, and it looked painful, so Toru quickly realized that no one else but him could wield that magical spear.

That didn’t make it any easier for him to approach his friends and stretch his hand toward the glowing red weapon.

“Toru, watch out,” Varg warned him.

“It’s all right,” he assured his friend. “It’s for me to wield. You’re still the most powerful wolf I’ve ever met.”

He took the spear and held it in his hand. The searing pain was no more. All he could feel was a slight warmth and nothing else.

“Hurry, Toru,” Aneros pleaded with him again.

“Will you kill your father?” Hekastfet asked, moving from one corner of the room to the other in the blink of an eye.

“Your father?” Duril asked. “Toru, what is this person saying?”

“This person,” Toru said through his teeth and swung the spear, “is the evil that destroyed Whitekeep and has tortured the world for thousands of years.”

An inhuman growl made his hair stand on end, before he realized that it came from Varg. The wolfshifter barreled toward the phantasm, without knowing that it was futile. All his anger was now unleashed, unbound.

“You won’t win,” Ewart Kona barked.

Just as these words were said, the room filled with a wailing cry that sucked all the air out of it. Toru saw the shadows of those merchants he had learned in Shroudharbor to be nothing but tools for the evil that stood before him, taunting him. His hand on the spear, he began slashing through the air, cutting through those bodies animated by an unnatural life. One by one, the shadows fell to the ground.

He couldn’t breathe, but the fear that realization brought didn’t last long. If it was his destiny to defeat this scourge with the last breath he had in him, let it be so. Varg, Duril, and Claw were not as strong as he was, it seemed, since they were writhing on the ground, struggling for air. That meant that his time was short to do the right thing.

A strong desire grew inside his heart, one that was unfamiliar and yet overwhelming. He threw his head back and opened his arms wide while a growl that seemed to come from the depths of the earth traveled through him.

And then, one of the most astonishing things he had ever witnessed in his life happened. The walls came crumbling down, and through their ruins fresh ghosts poured inside, but these didn’t carry despair and loss of hope with them. They were made of fire and gold, and they all rushed toward Toru, his body absorbing them as if they were the air he needed, the strength he’d been missing without knowing.

The spear in his hand caught fire again, turning into the light it had been before. Toru swung it again, and this time, when he cut through the merchants, they turned into dust and disappeared before hitting the floor.

Another wail rose, and this time, it came from the ghost of Ewart Kona. Toru knew real pain when he heard it, but he steeled himself against it. It was the pain of his enemy, an enemy so foul that it deserved everything that would be coming to it.

“Toru,” Duril whispered.

The air could be breathed again, and his friends were coming to their senses.

“I’m here,” he said.

“You’re… made of light,” the healer whispered, the wonder in his eyes so clear that Toru didn’t doubt for a moment that it had to be the truth.

“Toru,” Aneros called for him again. “You must do this. Hekastfet is only weakened, not destroyed.”

Toru walked toward the altar and stopped, looking at his sire’s face from above.

“They came to help,” Aneros said with reverence. “I can see them all in your eyes.”

“Who?” Toru asked.

“Your mother and her kin,” Aneros replied. “They did what was right.”

Toru didn’t feel a lot different, except for a new found strength that seemed to ignite his blood.

“Now, please, do it,” Aneros reminded him of why he was there.

Toru could hear his friends coming near him.

“You have been with my son for a long time,” Aneros continued, as his tired eyes moved from one to the next. “You tell him that he’s doing the right thing, and that he doesn’t have to hesitate.”

“What is that Toru must do?” Varg asked. “And are you his father?”

“That I am. I have been entrapped here for many years, and not only me. Toru’s kin, all of it, as well.”

“Toru,” Duril said gently and touched his shoulder. “I can see your father in you.”

“He must kill me,” Aneros interrupted them.

“But why?” Duril asked.

“We have very little time. Hekastfet lost some of his power when you destroyed his minions, but if Toru doesn’t destroy this altar and the ritual that goes with it for good by killing me, Hekastfet will just be reborn and the same cycle of destruction and pain will begin once more.”

All his friends were silent.

“I cannot do this,” Toru said as he raised the spear above Aneros’ chest. “This cannot be how I defeat Hekastfet.”

“My child,” Aneros said tenderly, “you must fulfill your destiny. Don’t you want to save the world?”

“I want to save you,” Toru said, and this time, he let all his tears flow freely down his cheeks. “I don’t care about the world. Everyone’s a stranger.”

“That’s not true. Your friends are here,” Aneros said.

“There must be another way,” Duril intervened. “You cannot ask such a thing of your son, when he has just found you.”

Aneros closed his eyes for a moment. “My power is waning. Now is the right time. I was not living before anyway, not for many, many years. Help Toru do what is right.”

Varg was the first to put his hand over Toru’s. “Your pain is ours, friend,” he said.

Toru looked into the wolfshifter’s eyes and read love and compassion in them.

“I’ll kill you all!” The threat, bellowed in a cavernous voice, came from the ceiling. They all looked up to see Blayves descending upon them, now made of nothing but bones, a gaping skull, and a tattered robe that somehow held everything together. “You’re not going to defeat my master so easily!”

The disgusting apparition landed on Aneros’ chest and sank the bones of his fingers into him. Aneros gasped and jolted, arching his back.

“Toru,” Aneros pleaded again.

Toru smacked Blayves’ skull, making it roll down to the ground, but the body continued to do its bidding without even hesitating for a moment. Now, those bones were digging into the white tiger’s chest, making red blossom everywhere.

Toru tried to pry them away, but his hand only came back bloodied. Varg was, again, the one to understand. He took hold of Toru’s hand, the one holding the spear, and Duril and Claw did the same.

“This is all our doing,” Varg assured him. “It is the only way we can save his soul.”

Toru knew it was the truth, and that it was right, but he still couldn’t stop the howl breaking free from his chest, as his arm descended, supported by all the others. He closed his eyes as the spear moved through flesh and bone, the sickening sound of a body being ripped through by a deadly thing the only thing he could hear.

The room shook and Toru felt himself thrown to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. When he looked at the altar, Aneros’ body was dissolving into it, and for a little while, there seemed to be a struggle between the light that he was turning into, and the mire of dark that the altar represented.

Then, he remembered what Aneros had told him. They had to run. He barely opened his mouth to say something when Varg and Claw grabbed him, each by one arm and dragged him with them, with Duril on their tail.

The last thing he saw before a sudden darkness took him was the sight of the ceiling crashing down over the remains of his father.

***

Varg looked at the grim faces of his friends. They were outside the palace, the entire city burning around them. They placed Toru’s body on the smooth tiles and knelt by his side. They were supposed to take him to safety, but where was that, anyway?

He looked around, searching for a way out.

Duril jumped to his feet, taking him by surprise. He began waving his arms, trying to get the attention of something in the sky. Varg looked up to see. A giant butterfly was descending, moving through the smoke as if through a sea of fog. At the moment, Varg didn’t know whether his mind was conjuring dreams of salvation, or if it was, indeed, a butterfly bigger than a flock of wild geese, landing by their side.

“Moth, Toru is hurt,” Duril shouted desperately. “We don’t know how or where, but he’s like this.” He gestured at the tigershifter’s unconscious form.

“Get him on my back,” the one called Moth said.

They didn’t question the suggestion and immediately moved Toru to the soft back of the butterfly.

“All of you, get on, too,” Moth spoke again.

“Can you carry us all? Just take Toru to safety,” Varg said.

“Don’t ever underestimate the power of the Sakka,” Moth said.

“So, you’re friends with Midnight?”

“We’re all one and the same,” Moth replied. “We share our power. Now get on my back before the smoke gets to you. You must have all your wits about you so that you don’t fall and can keep Toru secure during our flight.”

Varg didn’t question Moth anymore. He helped Duril up, and then Claw. They all kept one hand on Toru and one hand on the back of the giant butterfly as they soared into the air.

TBC