Chapter Nineteen
He's gone, He's gone
and now I am free
To reap destruction
and death is what the world will see
Baine searched through the ruins of the city. He was not in a hurry to get back to the Underworld. In just a few hours, he was free from a tyrant that had made his life a damnable curse for more lifetimes than he could remember. He could no longer remember what his brother's faces looked like, but his fathers face he hated. He longed to remember his mothers face, but his father forbade him to visit her in the Underworld and for that he loathed the creature for it. He wanted to feel the power of sorcery again, to feel it sweet caress of energy flowing through living veins.
He strolled idly through the city, ignoring the pleas of the souls for reaping. He felt the pull of his father’s command, but it was less now. Each of his steps brought a puff of ash and snow into the air, and he watched it sink slowly back to the ground. Off to the side, he saw the damnable Temple of his fathers like all Temples should be, in a pile of rubble. It was like the loveliest painting in his memory, a memory that would be there for eons to come.
As he swung around the Temple to the other side where the outer wall had been, he found a man but Baine saw not the man's soul, and he frowned. Baine came to a stop to look at the middle-aged man. He lay on the ground, and for all purposes, he looked dead. His skin stood stark white against his black goatee. The man's lips were grey, and his eyes were rolled back, but Baine did not see a soul attached. He knew that no reaper would have reaped the soul and none of his brothers would dare enter his territory for fear of the All-father.
Baine bent closer to the man and saw his chest rapidly rising and falling to the cadence of deaths beckoning song. The man's breathing was shallow and raspy; he was not long in this world. There was a delectable taste to this man that went beyond the average soul. He bent closer and inhaled deeply. He sat back startled. Twelve souls, this sorcerer was powerful indeed. He rubbed his hands to sit and wait. Maybe if this kind gent would stay alive till after dark, and then, only then, Baine might be able to offer some assistance. If the man were a real sorcerer, he would accept, and Baine would have to see where that relationship would take him.
The people gathered before the Temple tent to await the speech of the Grim. They did not need any prodding to show. Some people even had to be carried there, guards gladly obliged in helping those poor souls. They carried the wounded and sick in makeshift litters and lay them closest to the tent. This appearance would be the last time anyone may set eyes on the Grim. Everyone deserved to have a chance to hear him out. Up in the front of the tent stood a group of people awaiting him: Damon, The Heir to the Underworld and Seed of Grim and next to him was Cariline, 394Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwpW0Y25Z5N
Wife of the Heir and Daughter of Grim. Also stood Faldo, Disciple of Grim, Bearer of His Power, Sergeant Wallace, Hero of Tharpe and the last was the puzzle, but Grim had insisted Marlin, the Giant Blacksmith.
His wives came out of the tent first bearing the symbol of Grim and gave the introduction. Everyone, except those who stood before the shelter, bowed in reverence as the Grim, Creator of second-man, Father to the World of Grim, stepped humbly out on the snowy grass to address them. He looked tired and sick. His face had taken a pale cast, and his eyes barely glowed and had bags under them.
“Rise Please,” He commanded in his deep baritone, “I do not have time to mince words so much as to have people to bow to me. I can not thank you enough for your respect, but now I must ask more than that of the devotion of your lives. The world is coming into a time of a Great War that was started at the creation of second-man by me in my arrogance and fear, for that sin. It began when I planted my seed in the seven original wives. A Seed of Destruction was born that day, and this day, the tree bears its fruit. Now all creation must pay for my fear and arrogance; there will be no rebirth for the next three years. The world will grow to know a War unlike it has known since my sons fought over the right to succession four hundred and fifty thousand years ago.
But Order has not been idle these past four and a half hundred thousand years, for before you sit its chosen champions.--” Wallace looked around with his eyes wide but dared not come off his parade rest as Faldo clapped him on the back happily and whispered something in his ear. After Faldo got done whispering, Wallace shot him a venomous look. “--I grow weary, and I will not lie. I cannot be on the surface any longer. I will perish here in this very spot I stand now. These chosen will ensure I will return. I charge them with the sacred duty before your eyes to witness, to end the Chaos and return Order to the World of Grim. My son in three years is prophesied to make a trip to the Throne of Judgment, and I will return. Till then, I fear there will be no rebirth. Reapers will reap, you will go to the Underworld and there you will live, but till the return, second-man will continue to dwindle.”
Murmurs could be heard around the crowd as people took in what he said. People looked worried, and the Grim raised his hands for silence. He started to speak again and his voice cracked. The immortal covered his mouth as his lower lip trembled and he struggled to contain the uncertain fear that had prevailed upon him, growing like a storm. Now it raged like an uncontrollable hurricane within him and he could not hold back a slight sob. Damon laid a comforting hand on his father's shoulder, his eyes were moist with understanding. The Grim gave him a withering look and then turned to hug his son emotionally.
"I will be with you during these three years, watching you." The Grim whispered, "I love you."
The All-Father straightened back up and cleared his throat. Giving a throaty chuckle as he turned back to the waiting crowd.
"I guess everyone, even an immortal, gets emotional at our end," he said huskily.
"But what are we to do without you?" a wailing woman from the crowd asked as she clutched a doll. Obviously, she had lost a child in the battle three days past.
“What you can do now is to help the Necromancers return Order. To fight this Resistance that has formed and to ensure my heir makes it to the Throne. Now I fear my time has come.” He lowered his head as his form started to fade and shifted towards Damon. Damon’s eyes grew wide as he took in a deep breath of surprise and let it back out slowly and then the Grim was gone. Around the crowd, there was sporadic weeping, and up front his two wives let their tears flow openly.
Baine sent out another test with his soul to try to join this body. Since technically he was dead already, he could leave this skeletal husk and let his endless soul join this poor mortal on the ground and once more be free. He felt his souls slide this time towards the other and he let out a shout of triumph. His father was no more, just as the sun had started to fade so did his tyrant. He reached down and shook the sorcerer awake gently. The sorcerer ashen eyelids flickered open.
“So you are the reaper who is to ferry me to the cursed Underworld,” the sorcerer said weakly, eyes om fire with hate.
“But what if I were to tell you I am of a special breed of reaper that would want to help prolong that judgment. Would you be willing?” Baine rasped, spinning his web of deception carefully so to capture his prey unaware.
“Is this a trick from the Grim? Nay that is impossible. For you strive with Order.” The sorcerer shook his head weakly almost passing out.
“To Chaos with Order sir, may Order go burn on the Plains of Chaos itself. For Four Hundred and Fifty Thousand years I have had to deal with the damnable curse that made me a slave to Order. Because of what you have done, I may now do something to try to do something against it, to shove the curse like a shive into the heart of Order. Now, will you accept my help? You have used too much energy, allow me to lend my soul to yours and end my damnation,” Baine begged almost on his knees.
“Then you are of the seven. You are a legend among the Sorcerer’s, revered. I will- will help.” The man conceded as he was about to lose consciousness again.
Baine quickly reached out with his soul and looked for the crack in the man’s well-formed armor and slipped in. His reaper bones collapsed to the snowy ground in a puff of ash, and the man on the earth took in a breath to scream and grab the side of his head.
Baine’s soul moved around touching each of the souls within the vessel. Some were older than his, being of first-man; their taste was a delectable palate. He acquainted himself with each as he moved towards the center of the mortal. Each acknowledged him as the superior and did not seek to challenge him as the dominant soul. A barrier had been constructed around the center of the mortal. In it was housed all the controls for the body. If one wanted to look at it like this, he was still where all the energy was kept but still couldn’t access the controls to utilize not only the power but the body also.
He searched around the outsides looking for a weakness. He could call on the other souls and help him shatter it, but it might damage the core leaving him with an incompetent mind to work with. If Baine wanted to make use of this mortals body, he wanted one that knew how to count higher than two. He found the small crack and shoved the tendrils of his soul into it and shot some of his power into over loading the shield making it collapse. He entered the center core of the body and the soul that occupied it bowed to his superiority.
He took a few moments to acquaint himself with the body and what it felt like to once more be part of the world. The middle-aged man rose up out of the ash and snow where he had lain. He shook himself off while muttering an incantation and a suite of finely tailored clothes appeared on him. He walked over and picked up some rocks and brought it over dropping it on the skeleton that lay beside where he rose from. He stretched his arms to the side and smiled maniacally.
“Damn it’s good to be back,” Baine said with a sigh, rubbing his hands down his cheeks with satisfaction.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” an old haggard voice said behind him. He turned and saw an older man with his face burned badly and smelled like a shit house. Baine covered his nose.
“And you are?” Baine asked through his sleeve. The old man glared at him and then broke into a grin.
“Yeah, I imagine I do look like a sight and smell worse. It is me, Fredrick and we need to get back to the army in Farthest Reach, Sedrick. We have a war to win against these sons of a bitch.” The old man seethed with hatred that rolled of him in waves more nauseous than his smell. That thrilled Baine more than the death of his father. The idea of having an army and wreaking havoc among Order’s necromancers while looking for his long lost brothers made for a sweet, savory dish.
“So we do, so we do. Here friend, let me do something about the injuries you have sustained.” Baine said with a smile.
Afterward Acknowledgements
Every reader here on Penana has kept me coming back up here, and I want to acknowledge each one for giving me the reason to improve and post this work. It has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. The reason for an Afterward is for those who have read it all through. I want to say thank you.
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