The Veiled Prophet

XX

The invisible chorus was the first hint of his coming. The perfect voices sang their wordless praises from seemingly every direction. They were both beautiful and awful to hear, for although they touched even Uldyssian’s heart, they also reminded him that they presaged the coming of the Prophet.

Indeed, even as the edyrem came to grips with the unseen singers, a blaze of wondrous light erupted from the Cathedral. It burned away the clouds in that direction. It was blinding, yet no one who gazed at it could look away.

And in its midst, the golden figure of the Prophet—riding in a glittering diamond chariot pulled by two winged horses—materialized several yards above the startled rebels. The glorious youth was clad for battle, his armor gleaming, the shining, bejeweled sword at his side sharp enough to cut the very air.

He reined the chariot to a halt while it was still several feet above the ground. The Prophet looked over the edyrem. “My wayward children,” he began, smiling sadly. “Led astray as surely as if by demons…”

Somewhere behind Uldyssian, a man sobbed. The son of Diomedes quickly sent a reassuring touch to the minds of all his followers.

Inarius stepped away from the chariot—which then faded away. He slowly descended to the ground as if walking down a flight of nonexistent steps. As he did, behind him, the brilliant glow magnified.

“Let those who would seek my forgiveness fall to their knees,” commanded Inarius.

Aware that even the slightest of words spoken by the angel had the strength to demand absolute obedience, Uldyssian silently roared, Keep standing!

Uldyssian could not entirely be certain if his own order had succeeded, but Inarius’s expression did grow more disappointed. That was enough to encourage the mortal.

“So many determined unbelievers as that…too many unbelievers.” The Prophet steepled his hands, then shook his head. “Too many unbelievers. The world must be cleansed.”

And as he opened his hands again, a searing white force swept over Uldyssian and the rest.

“Mendeln!” called Achilios. “You…must…stop him!”

Uldyssian’s brother sought to rise, but his body would not obey his commands properly. There had been magic in the head blow, he now understood. His continually scattered thoughts and weakness were not merely by chance.

Letting out a growl, Malic tore the hand bearing the crystal from Achilios’s grip. He immediately thrust his palm against the archer’s side.

Aware of just what that would do, Mendeln let out a gasp. He teetered to his feet, but far too late to stop the high priest’s foul work.

But Malic and Achilios merely stood there for a moment, their eyes locked upon each other’s. From Jonas’s mouth erupted furious and somewhat confused words. “Not possible! I cannot possess you! I cannot make your life mine!”

“Your lord…Lucion…did that already,” muttered Achilios. “There’s no more…no more life to take, you…you bastard!”

“Then there are other ways to be rid of you!”

Somehow, Mendeln managed to throw himself toward the pair. He collided with Malic’s back just as the latter uttered something that made the crimson stone flare bright.

Achilios fell back as if hit by a bolt of lightning. However, in doing so, he wrenched Mendeln’s dagger free. Uldyssian’s brother and Malic went crashing into the side of the makeshift hill.

A strong hand gripped Mendeln’s throat tightly. Malic squeezed.

Mendeln did the only thing of which he could think. He grabbed some of the dirt and threw it in Malic’s face.

The high priest coughed as much of the dirt filled his mouth and nose. Unfortunately, his grip did not weaken much.

But it was still enough to enable Mendeln to recover his wits somewhat. With his voice cut off by the specter’s hand, he concentrated on the one thing that might serve him. He had done it before. If it would only work now—

The ivory dagger materialized in his left hand.

Mendeln drove it into the body once belonging to Jonas, praying that he would hit some spot vital to Malic. Unfortunately, Malic tried to block his arm, and the blade sank lower, cutting into an area that Uldyssian’s brother knew might hurt the high priest a bit but certainly would not destroy him.

Yet the specter howled wildly as soon as the blade even touched, so wildly, in fact, that Mendeln had to release the dagger and cover his ears. From what had been Jonas’s mouth, there erupted a wind that buffeted the black-robed figure as if it were a tornado.

Despite the dagger still deep in his lower torso, Malic managed to rise. All the while, though, he continued to howl in agony. Jonas’s face became a parody of itself, the eyes growing too wide, the mouth a gaping hole large enough to swallow a small child and growing larger yet.

The bulging eyes gazed furiously at the blade. Congealing blood dripped from the wound, but to Mendeln’s gaze, the cut should not have been a deadly one. He finally understood what was actually happening. The dagger itself was anathema to the dread shadow, its magic slowly but surely consuming him.

Malic evidently realized that, too, for, clutching at the hilt with one hand, he desperately sought to remove it. Fearing what would happen if he succeeded, Mendeln again flung himself at the high priest. He caught Malic just below the lungs. Uldyssian’s brother planted both hands over Malic’s, trying to force the dagger to remain embedded.

Still howling, the ghost used his other hand to grasp for Mendeln’s eyes. Mendeln forced himself to endure Malic’s attack. The howling grew more incessant; he felt certain that if he could just keep the dagger in a little longer—

Malic’s head bent back beyond living limits. The bone cracked, the sound sickening Mendeln. Still, the ghoulish figure shrieked.

Then a thick black substance like tar flew up out of Malic’s mouth. It shot into the air above Uldyssian’s brother, pouring out of what had once been Jonas like a geyser. It was accompanied by a stench that reminded Mendeln of rotting flesh and vegetation mixed together.

The last of it issued forth. The figure before Mendeln teetered, and then the corpse collapsed like parchment in his arms.

Above there was one last, long shriek. It finally ended when the floating black tar melted into nothing.

But the effort had been too much for Mendeln. His head wound pounded more than ever. Vertigo overtook Rathma’s student. Even the weight of the emaciated body was more than he could handle. Uldyssian’s brother fell back, the corpse draping across him.

Mendeln blacked out before he hit the ground.

The edyrem were scattered like leaves in the wind as the Prophet’s hands spread apart. Even Uldyssian was nearly swept away. At the last, he dug his feet into the scorched land, pushing forward despite the angel’s fearsome spell.

And as he battled Inarius’s work, he strained to keep his tie to each and every one of his people, reassuring them and guiding them. Through Uldyssian, the edyrem began to regain their ground, and they, in turn, helped to strengthen him.

Gritting his teeth, Uldyssian thrust his hands forward. He focused on the Prophet.

The wind instantly vanished, but not because the angel had ceased his assault. Rather, it was now because the son of Diomedes had summoned a wall of solid air that spread all the way across the charred grasslands, protecting everyone behind it. The power of the Prophet buffeted his creation with such force that Uldyssian’s every muscle strained, but the wall held.

Then Uldyssian sensed some slight shift from Inarius. The gale-force wind faltered, finally ceasing entirely. It was almost as if something had happened not to Inarius’s liking, something significant enough to distract him.

Although he had no idea just what that might have been, Uldyssian immediately used the hesitation to his advantage. He sent the invisible wall barreling into the Prophet with all the strength that he and the added wills of the edyrem could muster.

The landscape around the golden-haired youth exploded. Vast chunks of dirt and stone flew back. The sky above the Prophet was briefly darkened with ash that had once been the malevolent grass.

Inarius, the grand helmet blown from his head, took one step back…and that was it. As dirt rained down behind him, he eyed Uldyssian. The Prophet looked untouched, but his expression had changed. There was a terrible coldness in it that almost made Uldyssian flinch.

“Such impudence!” Inarius roared in a voice magnified by his magic. “And such foolishness! You would raise yourself up so high, you who are less than the worms that burrow through the ground? I offered you absolution, Uldyssian ul-Diomed, time and time again, but you remain the darkest of unbelievers, the most arrogant of heretics.” His eyes flashed, no longer human even as pretense. Now they were the blazing orbs of the angel. “There is nothing left for you but death.”

The grasslands burst into white flame. Uldyssian screamed as the holy fire burned at his flesh. He felt the additional consternation of the edyrem, who were likewise assailed.

“I will cleanse my world!” Inarius continued. “I will make it perfect again!”

Now the screams of the others filled Uldyssian’s ears. They were all about to be burned alive because he had sorely underestimated the fury of the Prophet.

No—the vision of so many slaughtered because they had simply believed in him and his words tore once more at Uldyssian. He could not let them suffer for his sins. Better he take from the others the punishment Inarius meted out and turn it on himself, who deserved it.

Imagining the white flames, Uldyssian drew them with his will to engulf only him. He took the sum of the Prophet’s monstrous retribution and let it fall on his own person. The pain was savage, and it felt as if his skin sloughed off, yet still Uldyssian embraced the flames.

But as he did, a strange thing happened. The edyrem knew what he planned, that he sought to save them at cost to him. Serenthia was among the first. Rather than merely allow fate to take its course, she sought with her lesser skills to douse the celestial fire. She was joined by a few others, then more and more, until nearly all the edyrem battled to rescue their leader.

And although it strained them beyond their known limits, they finally eradicated the Prophet’s fire. Even more surprising, their power instantly healed Uldyssian’s savage burns and soothed his ruined nerves.

In managing this miracle, the edyrem also presented a revelation to Uldyssian. He stared at Inarius and, while it might have been a trick of his eye, thought that the angel flinched ever so slightly.

“This is no longer your world,” the son of Diomedes informed the Prophet in a voice now also magnified. “And if it should perish this day, at least all will know that it did so free of you. We are our own now, Inarius, and in our power, our belief, we are united against you, the angels, or demons!”

With that, Uldyssian leapt at the Prophet.

Whether it was his audacity, hesitation on the part of Inarius, or that the angel wished him to come, the human reached his adversary without any interference. The gleaming youth met Uldyssian’s outstretched hands with his own, and the two grappled. The ground shook as their feet planted firmly, and raw energy crackled between them.

“You compound your crimes over and over,” Inarius quietly declared into his face. The Prophet’s eyes were blinding, and his perfect smile no longer revealed uncertainty.

But Uldyssian dared not let the imposing sight eat away at his own confidence. Matching Inarius’s tone, he retorted, “Then if there’s no hope of me seeing your light, you should stop prattling and do something.”

The angel’s eyes seemed to flash a little angrier. He said nothing more, but suddenly the ground beneath Uldyssian began to liquefy. The human’s feet sank in up to the ankle, then the legs began to follow.

Inarius pressed down on him. The Prophet’s strength was tremendous, and although Uldyssian could match it, his sinking set him more and more at a deadly disadvantage.

He realized that he was still thinking in mortal terms, whereas Inarius did not. Uldyssian did not have to let his descent continue; he had the power to counter it.

With only that thought, he made it happen. Uldyssian rose, once again facing the Prophet eye-to-eye. He felt the ground solidify.

Grinning darkly, Uldyssian then twisted his hands around and threw the Prophet up into the air. Inarius spun over and over, and for a moment, Uldyssian looked victorious.

But as he tumbled, the Prophet transformed. The image of the perfect youth burned away. Tendrils of brightly colored energy blossomed from his back, and he grew in size. His face melted into what was part shadow, part visor.

Midway through the air, Inarius righted himself. He hovered above Uldyssian, radiant in his celestial glory. From what he could sense, Uldyssian knew that everyone else also saw the Prophet in his true form.

I HAVE BEEN PATIENT WITH YOU, MORTAL… I HAVE TRIED TO TEMPER MY FURY AND GRANT YOU A DEATH INVOLVING SOME SWIFTNESS AND LESS PAIN! YOU HAVE NOT BEEN GRATEFUL, THOUGH.

The angel’s voice shook both Uldyssian’s mind and soul. It truly felt as if Inarius spoke from within him as well as without.

YOU RETAIN THIS FALSE BELIEF, the winged warrior continued. THAT YOU HAVE ANY CHOICE BUT TO DIE! YOU WILL UNDERSTAND THAT THERE IS NO OTHER WAY… I AM SANCTUARY, AND SANCTUARY IS I! YOU SEEK TO FIGHT THE VERY WORLD ITSELF WHEN YOU SEEK TO STAND AGAINST ME.

The wind picked up again. The clouds—no longer Uldyssian’s to control—spun and churned with wild abandon. The ground heaved, settled, then heaved again.

Uldyssian felt Inarius drawing upon the Worldstone and understood just how little of it the angel had thus far utilized. He was astounded and dismayed by what he now faced and at last also saw why the renegade had so little concern over facing a host of his own kind. How could even a thousand angelic warriors—or a hundred times that number—face such might?

YOU PERCEIVE YOUR ERROR, Inarius mocked. ALBEIT MUCH TOO LATE! The Prophet spread wide his arms, as if he sought to embrace the world and all in it. BUT YOU HAVE PERFORMED ME ONE SERVICE, ULDYSSIAN UL-DIOMED! YOU HAVE SHOWN ME THAT FOR MY WORLD TO BE AS IT SHOULD BE, I MUST NOT WEAR TRAPPINGS UNWORTHY OF MY GLORY! ALL SANCTUARY WILL FROM HERE ON KNOW OF MY GREATNESS, MY PERFECTION, AS I REMAKE IT INTO MY IMAGE.

The charade would be over. Assuming that Inarius defeated all his enemies—a feat not impossible, it now was apparent—Inarius would rule as himself, demanding utter mastery, utter obedience, over all that he would allow to live. The Prophet had removed his veil; all would know him and fear his celestial wrath.

And all would curse the son of Diomedes for his failure, for his sins against their god.

HERE SHALL IT BE MARKED, FOR ALL ETERNITY, THE PLACE WHERE THIS WORLD WAS SET RIGHT! HERE SHALL BE CONSTRUCTED A NEW EDIFICE HONORING THE BEGINNING OF MY TRANSFORMATION OF THIS WRETCHED MISTAKE TO PERFECTION INCARNATE.

Inarius gestured at the ground before Uldyssian. The tremor that shook the area this time was of a magnitude far greater than any previous. The ground burst up with such ferocity that Uldyssian was tossed high into the air.

With a second gesture, the angel paused the human’s flight. BEHOLD…

A tower of dirt and rock taller than any building Uldyssian had ever seen—even the grand Cathedral—formed under the angel’s direction. As it continued to swell in size, it also molded itself. Sharp angles came into being. Arched windows lined the sides. Magnificent reliefs and statues—all of Inarius—formed fully on the walls and at the entrance of what was clearly more of a shrine rather than a new, glorious cathedral.

HERE AT THIS SITE, WHICH I SHALL CALL GETTERAC—THE GATE OF PARADISE—SHALL BE HONORED THIS DAY… Inarius looked to his captive. AND YOU, HERETIC, SHALL HAVE ONE HONOR…YOU SHALL FOREVER BE A PART OF THIS SITE, YOUR BONES AT THE CENTER OF IT AS TESTAMENT TO THIS LAST, FEEBLE STAND AGAINST WHAT IS MY RIGHT…

Against such a staggering display, Uldyssian’s will weakened. Perhaps it was better to let this all come to pass. At least, if Inarius was indeed so formidable, then Sanctuary and some of its people would survive. With the son of Diomedes dead, even the edyrem might be forgiven for their transgressions.

But even as Uldyssian began to give in, Inarius’s gargantuan monument to his victory shook as if a new tremor had begun. Yet only the structure shook, nothing else.

The entire edifice ripped free and flew directly at the angel, crashing into him with a wrath that shocked Uldyssian. He suddenly began falling again, but his drop ended only a moment later as the air underneath him grew thick enough to hold his weight.

Only when that happened did Uldyssian’s wits return enough for him to understand that yet again, his people had come to his salvation. They had not cared what Inarius might do to them because of it; they would live and die with their leader, whatever the overall fate of their world.

It was very likely that such a wish would soon be granted, too, for barely had the edyrem’s amazing missile collided with Inarius than it exploded into thousands and thousands of tiny fragments that fell upon Uldyssian and the others as if shot by a sling. Several among the edyrem crumpled, slain by rocks or chunks of hard dirt that cracked their skulls or crushed in their ribs.

Uldyssian began dropping again, but now his mind was clear enough to enable him to slow his descent. His mind was clear in many other ways as well, for only then did the son of Diomedes recognize that his surrender to his fate had been as much an intricate use of the angel’s influence on his thoughts as it had his own beliefs. Inarius had subtly taken his fears and twisted them to his desire. If not for the desperate efforts of his followers, Uldyssian would have willingly surrendered to his own execution.

But now surrender was the furthest thing from his desires. Instead, disgust with himself and with the hubris of the angel overwhelmed Uldyssian. It mattered not whether he perished, as long as no more of those who believed in him suffered.

He felt the power surge within him, and whether or not it was enough to bring down Inarius, Uldyssian did not care. He would do everything within his ability to end it here and now.

If that were possible at all.

The renegade angel saw him approach. Inarius merely opened his arms as he had earlier, this time seemingly to invite the mortal to him. Uldyssian obliged his foe.

He was nearly upon the angel when Inarius abruptly flicked his armored hand toward the upstart human. The very air about Uldyssian crackled. He felt as if a thousand hooks ripped away at his flesh, his eyes…all of him.

But where this might have previously caused him to falter, it now did not slow Uldyssian in the least. He hurtled forward regardless of the torture through which his body went, desiring only that he reach the winged figure.

When they collided this time, the crash split open the clouds above and sent a quake through the ground beneath. Uldyssian feared for the edyrem but could not risk any distraction. He and Inarius spun through the air, each feeding into the other such forces as could have brought the city of Kehjan to rubble. Yet somehow the son of Diomedes staved off the fury flung at him by his adversary just as well as Inarius dispelled his own attack.

They crashed onto Sanctuary, their impact causing a new upheaval of dirt and stone. The two titans opened up a small valley in the wake of their collision, a valley they widened as they pushed against each other over and over.

Even in the harrowing midst of the epic struggle, there arose hope within Uldyssian. Inarius did not hold back, yet somehow the human continually matched him. Uldyssian did not ask by what miracle this could happen but used the very fact to fuel his will further. He now pressed Inarius back, all the while battering the angel with the raw forces within him.

Raw forces that suddenly made the winged warrior bend down before him.

“The world is no longer yours!” Uldyssian repeated to Inarius. “The fates of men are theirs to decide, not yours! This day’ll be marked, yes, but as the day of freedom for all Sanctuary from you!”

THERE IS NO SANCTUARY WITHOUT ME, the Prophet said defiantly. WHETHER IN VICTORY OR DEFEAT.

It was the first time Uldyssian had heard Inarius speak of anything other than the absolute certainty of his success. Encouraged, Uldyssian battered at the angel, sending both of them hurtling toward the Cathedral of Light. They struck the ground just before the gleaming citadel, a great fissure opening up as they hit. The Cathedral trembled, and cracks shot through its magnificent walls.

Screams arose, but they had nothing to do with the now-distant edyrem. Many were the Prophet’s acolytes, those that had had no place in the battle. To Uldyssian’s surprise, there were also scores and scores of pilgrims, many of them obviously from Kehjan.

As he and Inarius dragged each other up, Uldyssian once again faced the golden youth. The transformation distracted the son of Diomedes—apparently exactly what Inarius sought. From the angel’s mouth came not words but a shining silver sphere. It swelled, wrapping over Uldyssian until it had swallowed him whole, then tore him away from his adversary.

“To the end of all for you,” declared the Prophet, one hand raised toward the human. “There to suffer an emptiness far worse than death could ever be.”

The sphere began shrinking.

Uldyssian planted his hands on the smooth, inner surface of his prison. He had come too far to let this be his finish. His hands flared black and melted away the barrier.

“There can be nothing worse than what I’ve already suffered because of you and Lilith,” Uldyssian grated. “You two belong in damnation together!”

He brought up the ground around both Inarius and the Cathedral. Those of the faithful who had not already fled in panic now did so as the spire cracked off and plummeted point down into the marble entrance. Tons of soil and rock flowed up and over the angel as great fragments of the shattered spire bounded toward him from behind.

But all of this was merely used by Uldyssian to create his own distraction. Inarius did not fear such devastation, not with his abilities. He reacted as the human intended, contemptuously waving his hand to dismiss what had been cast against him…and gaining Uldyssian the opportunity he needed once again to reach the mad celestial.

They crashed into the ruined entrance of the crumbling building. Each time they struck each other, the magic unleashed wreaked more chaos upon the land. At last, the roof of the Cathedral, no longer sufficiently supported by the ruined walls, caved in.

But even then, the pair saw only each other. The Prophet no longer spoke, and his shape twisted into some nightmarish form between his mortal guise and his true appearance. He flung such power at Uldyssian that the human expected to die a thousand times over, but the son of Diomedes continued to outduel the angel miraculously.

And it began to tell. Inarius’s attacks grew ever so slightly weaker. It was not any trick this time; Uldyssian could sense that. The angel was faltering. He very likely was not tired, but now uncertainty was eating at him as it had done to Uldyssian in the past.

Then Uldyssian struck Inarius a blow that sent the winged figure tumbling into the wreckage of his once-imposing sanctum. Uldyssian quickly fell upon the Prophet and began pounding away at him with all the forces he could summon from within. His strikes were such that lightning flashed each time he hit, and the ground was torn asunder.

He raised a fist surrounded by a black aura, a fist with which he intended the final blow—and suddenly his attention was snared by something other than Inarius. Uldyssian fought to ignore whatever it was, certain that the angel was simply seeking to create another distraction.

But then a faint voice penetrated the heat burning through his head.

Serenthia’s voice…pleading with him to look to the sky.

He did—and at that moment, Inarius became less than nothing to him. Their entire struggle, all the destruction and death that had taken place because of their feud, none of it meant anything.

For now the sky looked as if it were not real, as if it were instead a vast drawing on a gargantuan piece of parchment. More impossible, that parchment had a vast rip running across it, a literal tear in the sky.

And through that tear flowed an astounding, breathtaking swarm of magnificent beings whose armor gleamed brighter than the sun and whose many wings created a dazzling display of colors unmatched upon the mortal plane.

The armed hosts of the High Heavens spilled out over the world.