The Death of Promises

OH GODDESS HELP ME!

He awoke still atop his horse. The sun had set, and when he looked around, he realized he had traveled many miles since he could last remember. He rubbed his eyes. It felt like knives shredded everything within his skull. The fear in Mira’s voice lingered within him. He remembered what Keziel had said, and his gut sank further.

“Please help her,” Lathaar prayed. “Keep her safe until I arrive.”

He stopped his horse and dismounted. There was no time to build a fire, so he pulled out his blankets, wrapped them about his body, and laid down to sleep. He let his mount wander in search of food and water, knowing she was well-trained enough to return before sunrise. The surrounding landscape was full of hills, and plenty of springs ran between them.

Lathaar thought of calling out to Mira again, but the ache behind his eyes deterred him. He needed rest, and he needed to hold faith in his god that she would be well when he arrived. He offered another prayer for her safety before succumbing to sleep.

J erico had hounded Keziel much of the day, until finally the old man promised to tell all he knew once the sun was down and the rest of the Sanctuary was asleep. The paladin waited by the fireplace, polishing his shield to pass the time. When the priest finally entered carrying a plate with bread, butter, and a wide knife, he sighed at Jerico.

“Thrilled as I am to find another paladin alive, you certainly aren’t helping me forget the worries of this world,” he said.

“That’s what I am here for,” Jerico said, putting away his cloth. “Prayers aren’t enough for what I do. I carry my shield and mace for a reason, and that’s because this world is trouble.”

“In trouble, really,” Keziel said, sitting in a wooden chair next to the fire. He cut a slab of butter with his knife and began slathering it across the bread. “Something is coming, some event that all three gods have been preparing for. My heart tells me Mira has her part to play.”

“Who is Mira?” Jerico asked. “How you speak of her, I guess my question should be what is she?”

“Mira is a daughter of balance, granted life by Celestia’s own hand. She has been made in the goddess’s image. Our order has written of several daughters of balance, and they always have pure black eyes and long hair dark as the night. Their mothers conceive without need of a lover and then die in birth. These daughters are barren, at least we believe so, for none are ever recorded as being with child.”

Jerico shifted by the fire, trying to imagine what one such girl would look like.

“Why does she make them?” he asked.

“Because Celestia represents the balance between Ashhur and Karak. She wants their war to wage eternally in punishment for their transgressions against her and her world. As she sleeps amid the weave of fate, she can sense turning points in time. When the world would turn too far to the side of either brother god, she gives her power to a mortal girl, a girl whose entire fate is devoted to preventing any disruption to the balance.”

“So this Mira girl, she’s one of these daughters?”

Keziel took another bite of bread.

“I am certain of it. I once thought that her purpose was the slaying of the demon Darakken, and I still may be correct. But if Lathaar is correct, and a second daughter has been born, then something far greater is at stake.”

“Why would it matter?” Jerico asked. “If Mira’s was to prevent things from descending too far to darkness, why couldn’t this other girl be to do the same?”

“With the destruction of the Citadel, it would seem likely,” Keziel said, licking butter from his lips. “But not once has anyone recorded two daughters of balance existing within fifty years of another, let alone at the same time. Let me show you why.”

He cleaned the butter off his knife and then balanced it on the tip of his finger. With subtle twists of his wrist, the knife began to teeter.

“Imagine the left side being Ashhur, and the right, Karak,” he said as Jerico watched intently. “Our world constantly shifts between the two, as is the nature of such a war. But sometimes things are not even, such as when the Citadel fell.” He shifted his finger more, so that the knife was perilously close to falling off the right side of his finger. “It is then a daughter of balance is born.”

As Jerico watched, Keziel tapped the left side of the knife with his other finger. The knife rocked back and forth for a moment and then settled down into a gentler balance.

“As you can see, once a daughter of balance intervenes, everything is chaotic. The future is uncertain for a brief stretch of time. And if a second daughter exists…”

He smacked the knife with his finger so that it began to rock violently, and then hit it a second time. The knife careened off his finger to the stone floor, the clear ring piercing the quiet hall. Both stared at the knife, not saying a word. Keziel took another bite of bread, chewing it as he thought.

“I fear Celestia has grown desperate. The world may be approaching a point where one side must win, Karak or Ashhur. If this is true, then Mira may well be the key to victory. I respect the goddess’s desires and commands, but I would greatly prefer Ashhur to take control of this world than let it descend into Karak’s madness.”

Jerico grabbed one of his blankets, wrapped it about his body, and lay down upon the stone.

“And this other girl,” he asked. “The one Lathaar met in Veldaren. Isn’t it possible she too has her part to play, for good or ill?”

“I’m sure she does,” Keziel said, rising from his chair. “But from what he told me she is far from a beacon of light. She is dangerous, a wild creature. Go with Lathaar when he returns to Veldaren. He will need your help to deal with the threat she might pose.”

Again Jerico remembered that look on Lathaar’s face, and as he watched the flickering flames he prayed that the five days passed quietly. He found sleep in the simple logic that whoever this other daughter of balance was, she couldn’t possibly have reason to venture across the rivers to come to the Sanctuary. In that simple but proud building of wood and stone, he could think of nothing anyone might want. Nothing at all.

But Keziel could.