Waylon's Crossing - 34. Chapter 34: Light the Way

Waylon's Crossing
Chapter 34: Light the Way

For all that they were demons, they had done well clearing a path to the heart of Waylon’s Crossing. The city’s guardian sent his minions to stop them, but they were merely decoys and Mostyn cared not if they were massacred. A smaller band of handpicked servants accompanied him through the bowels of the city, up through the crypts, and into the Cathedral itself. The stone was hard and unyielding, infused as it was with the Light. There were blessed soldiers here as well, but they were nothing before the well-trained members of Xeran’s army. The old men and boys of the Cathedral were an irritation, nothing more.

Every passage, every trinket, every man, woman, and child within the Cathedral blazed with the Light. Mostyn directed his minions in destroying that light and their advance slowed. No matter! He would have that altar and its power. Trained and ready, Xeran would join his sister in the dawn rituals and then bring her here, to be sacrificed when the sun rose to its full height. Then all Mostyn’s planning would come to fruition. Without Waylon, this place would be the first to be destroyed, with devastation spreading outward in all directions and worlds until nothing else remained.

Mostyn laughed.

The priests and their acolytes fell back. With every step, Mostyn drove the Light further and further back into its heart.

Mostyn touched a newly darkened expanse of wall, feeling its fearful defiance and laughing. “Waylon! I come for you now as once I promised.”

Everything would be destroyed! Torches from their sconces spread fire to ancient tapestries and banners, furniture and scrolls. Every flicker of vanishing Light sent sparks of fear and pain into the heart of his enemy. His soldiers tied wet cloths around their faces against the smoke as they pushed on.

At last and with only a handful of loyal soldiers remaining, Mostyn stood in the nave. The last of the Cathedral’s defenders stood ranged upon the steps leading to the altar. The power there, and its light, blinded Mostyn, but he could practically feel the scream of impotent rage as row after row of pews succumbed to the fire.

“You can protect this city no longer, Waylon!” Mostyn bellowed. The desperate fear of the priests made him smile. “You protect these sheep when you would not protect me. Look at me! Do I need your protection now? It is you who now cowers in fear! You think these pitiful creatures can save you from me?”

The earth elemental sent his troops forward. He stood waiting with the long, rectangular section of the Cathedral in flames behind him. Those long-neglected benches for absent worshipers would never be occupied again. Mostyn looked to his left and right at the decorated glass waiting on one side to herald the dawn and the other to bid farewell to the sun on its passage from East to West. This was the center of the church, where the arms of the cross intersected the nave. Ahead were the apse and its altar. Behind the decorated screens beyond the altar lay the sacristy, where the strongest Guardian of Light yet cowered.

Soldiers and priests battled across altar steps bathed in blood and baptized with the screams of the dying. Above, the sky turned blue with the oncoming dawn. In minutes, the first rays of the sun would rise above the horizon and turn the colored glass into golden light.

Mostyn bellowed at his troops. They must destroy the Cathedral now! Mostyn would lay waste to the sacristy and Waylon would be destroyed! This must be done such that when Xeran awoke the demon gods of destruction and death, there would be no Guardian here to stop their summoning. They would wreak devastation upon the World of Night and then Mostyn would bring them here, turning their power upon the World of Light. The bonds between the worlds would be shattered.

It was going to happen exactly as he envisioned! It was -- what was this?

“NO!”

What he’d taken for fearful cowering was instead Waylon gathering the last of his strength. A drip of candle wax dropped, shimmering, from the heart of the candelabra above the altar. It fell and, when it hit, the stone exploded in a dizzying burst of blue and golden color that pierced like a dagger into Mostyn’s eyes.

His men fell back and stared. There were more defenders now, dazed and buffeted by the wind that whipped candles from their holders and cloths from the walls. Dust and smoke cloaked the apse, turning them into wraiths.

“Kill them!” Mostyn demanded, spurring his men into action before the defenders could recover from their shock. Mostyn didn’t know where they’d come from, but he didn’t care. Waylon had expended his energies summoning creatures of the Light, and Mostyn wanted them dead before the city’s protector could summon others.

Some fled in screaming panic, but many -- too many -- turned to fight. Mostyn dug his feet into the quaking stone of the Cathedral to rip deep troughs, roaring in rage when his powers fell short of the stairs. He called forth the powers of water and fire and air he’d stolen to fling them against Waylon, but the Guardian possessed greater reserves than he’d guessed. These efforts, too, were in vain.

“You will all die a thousand deaths!” he screamed. “You’ll die in agony and alone! Flee now and live! Stay and you’ll curse the day you were ever born!”

*              *              *

Duncan blinked as the blinding light faded leaving him looking down into Jacen’s stunning black eyes. He smiled and Duncan abruptly released him, shaking the tension out of his hands. The heat surrounding them wasn’t unexpected; house fires were intense, but this felt different somehow. There was light and shadows where there hadn’t been before … and then a deep voice shattered everything.

Reality re-formed back into the one place Duncan knew better than anywhere else. He gasped. The Cathedral! What were they -- how …?

A quake shook the stone beneath Duncan’s knees. A silver goblet fell from the altar to splash him with scented oil. The sound of metal ringing against stone was lost as Jacen screamed. Even that was not as loud as Duncan thought it ought to be.

He fell hard on his ass, jarring his arms as he sought to catch himself. His brain refused to understand what his eyes saw: people dying, people he knew. The church was on fire and armored men fought and killed the priests whom Duncan had served with and studied under as a young acolyte. Beyond the smoke-filled steps, a monster of a man stood in the nave. He was bigger and broader than any man or being Duncan had ever seen. His legs were as big around as tree trunks and they seemed to be made of the same stone as the cathedral floor. His eyes were gleaming, dark pits and they stared at Duncan with hate.

Duncan recoiled and bumped against the half-unicorn. They grappled for a moment and Duncan gasped as his family’s signet ring blazed a brand into his skin. Stopping, the tumult of fighting and death fell away for just a moment.

He remembered reading with the red demon, Azil, in the study. He was unlike any demon Duncan had ever met, intelligent and possessing a quick, dry wit. His was a kindred spirit, but their burgeoning friendship was shattered by strangers bursting in on them. Duncan had lashed out instinctively, just as he’d done in his home library the night Jacen flopped into his life.

The air elemental’s words came back to him: “You are one of the Touched … Have you never noticed anything strange or untoward about your family line?” He’d also asked after friendship with unicorns. Looking at Jacen, Duncan thought that he might -- just might -- satisfy that requirement.

Magic. Magic had been destroyed in the Demon Wars, and yet he’d used magic several times in the past few days. He’d done things he’d never in his life imagined possible.

“Duncan.”

He saw Jacen’s lips move though he didn’t hear the words. He leaned forward and kissed him, the small, soft mouth opening easily. Pleasure, gentle but unrelenting gripped his spine and Duncan stiffened.

“…Flee now and live! Stay and you’ll curse the day you were ever born!”

Duncan growled low and dark in his throat. He rose and turned to face those who dared invade the sanctity of the church. In front of him on the altar was the Book of Ancients. Duncan set both hands on the closed, leather-bound cover. He closed his eyes and prayed. He didn’t know where the words came from, but he didn’t resist: “Dominus illuminatio mea, gaudeamus igitur. Vocatus atque non vocatus deus aderit.”

Legends would later write themselves from the accounts of the survivors that spoke of light shining down from the heavens. The Light’s Champion appeared as shining silver and gold and time ceased its reckoning. Beams of light shone from the champion’s eyes to spear the monster of man’s sins, the devil come to waste the last citadel of the Light.

The battle between Light and Dark lasted a thousand days and a thousand nights.

*              *              *

_"Bryce?"

Tiny fingers moved a braid from one side of his face to the other. They trailed along his forehead to his cheeks and lingered on his lips.

Bryce twitched and groaned. He opened his eyes to see Delaur sitting on his chest. He stared at the glistening, silver eyes for a second before shrugging away the instant “What the hell are you doing here?” and the follow-up “How did you get here?” Aure never answered those questions, so why would he expect his child to answer differently. Instead, he just groaned and rubbed his aching head. His neck hurt, too, and he wondered if his back would ever be the same. Odd that Karadur hadn’t just killed him.

_"Bryce?"

Palm to his forehead, Bryce groaned again. “Can’t you say anything other than my name?”

_"Bryce."

“Oh, go away.” He waved at the tiny hands ghosting across his face.

_{"Bryce. Bryce, Bryce, Bryce. Bryce Bryce Bryce Bryce Bryce."}

“Ow!” He bolted upright, glaring at the elemental who’d yanked his hair. He followed the earnest pointing to the glow of light above the Cathedral. “You know I can’t go in there.” He wrestled his braids free and stood, holding onto the wall as his head spun for a moment. “Fucking Karadur,” he muttered. His back cracked as he straightened.

_“Bryce.”

The elemental patted his head insistently and pointed to the cathedral again. Bryce groaned. Looters had been here since Karadur had almost thrown him through a wall, so the good stuff was gone, but he did find a sword half-hidden beneath one of the mercenaries. The tip was broken, but it would suffice.

Wiping his hands on his trousers, Bryce picked up the sword and crept closer to the Cathedral. This area of Waylon’s Crossing had fewer people in it than he’d seen earlier; more bodies, however. Buildings were coming down or had already fallen, and smoke filled the air.

The light over the Cathedral brightened as Bryce moved swiftly through the maze of streets. He ducked behind an overturned wagon as a group of city toughs scurried by. They were laughing, dark and low, but Bryce didn’t look too closely at what they carried. He hurried on his way.

There was nothing quite like the smell of burning hair. The screams and shouts of fighting were further away leaving only the results: broken homes and ruined streets, fragmented families, and death everywhere. He stepped over piles of debris, but the blood clogging the cobblestones was harder to avoid.

A child cried nearby with no parent to soothe her fears. He paused, ears pricking as he heard a wolf howl, carried thinly on the wind. Other creatures of the night crept forth to feast on the chaos and carnage. The street he stood on was deserted; no one would be coming to fetch the child. He lingered. Delaur tugged more forcefully on his hair.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t just leave the kid to be picked apart by scavengers. He scooped her out of the debris and tucked her against his body. Her trusting face pressed against him where her hands clutched at his clothing.

Running was a little harder now. Bryce slowed his pace as the streets became further cluttered. He saw the park where he’d gone with Alan. That night felt like a lifetime ago. The Cathedral was there, straight ahead. He stopped, staring up at the beam of light slicing up into the clouds. Colors swirled along the beam first red then gold then purple and green and others Bryce lacked the names for. The Cathedral shone as if the light of a thousand candles blazed within, spreading fingers of green and red and blue out over the city through the stained glass windows.

_{"Bryce. Bryce, Bryce!”}

“Yes, yes, I know.” He’d never been this close to the Cathedral before. The street known as Angel’s Way was blessed and burned his feet like coals. Tonight he felt no tingling warning, no heat as the soles of his boots melted. This could have been any other street, minus the light chanting and deep shouting coming from within. The ground shook, rattling the Cathedral’s windows.

The child in Bryce’s arms gasped and her hands tightened to pinch the skin beneath. Bryce juggled her as he surveyed the grand stone building at the heart of the city. Waylon fought with something, something that taxed every ounce of strength the city possessed.

Delaur made a strange noise that was not quite a whimper. He huddled against Bryce’s shoulder, looking up at him with huge, liquid silver eyes.

Above their heads, stone groaned and Bryce barely leaped out of the way in time as one of the statues plummeted from its perch. More followed as Bryce raced for the Cathedral’s main doors. The thick wooden doors were under a complex stone arch. The pillars supporting the domed top were carved with angels whose eyes seemed to condemn Bryce for his trespass.

Another quake made the door shudder on its hinges. Jumping back, Bryce shook his head on nervous laughter. He’d been a child the last time he’d been inside a church. He couldn’t quite let go of the old awe. Entering a church in the midst of battle made everything worse, for who would dare fight one of the Ancients?

The door felt warm under his hands, but welcoming. Bryce had to set the sword aside in order to haul the door open without dropping the girl. Dust and smoke billowed out to greet them. Even Bryce coughed. Quickly, he tore off the sleeve of his shirt to use as a makeshift facemask for the child.

He set her down beside one of the evil angel carvings. “Stay here.” She looked up, her big, green eyes filled with tears as Bryce tied the strip of cloth around her head. “See these things?” he asked her, pointing to one of the pillars.

“The angels?”

“Yes, that’s right. They’ll protect you. Just stay here, okay?” He tugged the mask into place, patted her head, and stood. He lingered by the door with its foul smoke. The little girl waved to him and Bryce waved back. With a final glance to Delaur, Bryce picked up the sword and slipped inside.

Smoke swirled in slow, graceful spirals broken with drops of light that sparkled like sunshine through mists. If Bryce wasn’t so terrified, he might have thought it pretty. The church was shaped like a cross, with the altar at the front. Light, pure and white and dazzling, entered from somewhere above -- he’d seen it in the clouds outside -- and illuminated the altar. As Bryce eased between the wall and the twisting, petulant fire licking along the church pews, he could see the human mage, Duncan, standing behind the altar.

Bryce stared. The light filled Duncan, lifting the hairs from his body and giving his eyes a vivid, searing glow. They brought tears to Bryce’s eyes just like bright sunlight. He froze where he stood with his eyes squeezed tightly shut and he could still see Duncan with one hand on some sort of book and the other outstretched. More of that bright, white light shot forth from his palm, cutting through the dark, lurking smoke until ending abruptly at an invisible wall.

On the other side of the wall stood a grotesque, clay figure with skin melting to puddle around its feet. It was approximately man-shaped, with a huge head, no neck, and open, gaping mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” The words, though barely a whisper, fell into the silence and shattered.

That great, ugly head swiveled upon its shoulders until the bottomless eyes bored into Bryce. “Bryce,” its mouth said before its lips moved in a parody of a smile that froze Bryce where he stood.

It was laughing, he thought. How did it know his name? Delaur’s incorporeal arms tighten around his neck where the elemental clung to his back, shivering. Bryce shouted as the fire darted toward him, hounding him against the Cathedral’s walls where the stone stung his bare skin. Though weak, blessings and prayers permeated the stone, raising blisters to remind Bryce of his trespass into a place of the Light.

He dropped the superheated sword before the metal could damage his hand; the sword turned into a molten puddle before his eyes. Bryce shielded his eyes from the fire, searching desperately for a way out. He wasn’t far from the door, if he could just -- But, no, the fire lapped closer to wrap a claw around Bryce’s ankle. He shouted and threw himself backward, barely escaping landing in the molten steel seeping around the cracks in the floor.

“So,” said the elemental. To his horror, Bryce saw that he’d come toward him and his eyes were fastened on something just over Bryce’s shoulder. Delaur …

“Bryce!”

That was Jacen’s voice! Of course; where the mage went, Jacen went also.

The ground shook as he tried to get to his feet, knocking him sideways and into the wall.

“You shall not escape me a second time!”

Bryce clapped his hands over his ears, crying out from the deep, guttural rumble that was the earth elemental’s voice.

“Get into the light, Bryce! Quickly!”

The fire danced only inches away, darting forward and back like a many-headed snake. This was the doing of a fire elemental, but however he looked, Bryce couldn’t see it.

“Bryce, run!”

Then Delaur screamed, his child-like voice high and chiming like just before glass broke.

Bryce turned his head, seeing how the fire had wrapped an orange strand around a wisp of Delaur’s white-silver cloud. Bryce slapped at the flames, breaking their hold. Then he surged to his feet and ran toward that place in the Cathedral where the foggy darkness broke upon the blinding light. Flames caught at his clothing and the floor heaved to break his stride. Even the air itself seemed to hinder him, Aure’s swords appearing from the smoke to sweep at his head.

Shocked, Bryce halted and turned around to stare at the ominous, hanging weapons. “Aure? Let him go!” The swords flashed, crossing blades in the blink of an eye.

The earth elemental’s laughter rattled the stones under Bryce’s feet. He was even closer now. “Aure no longer exists as you knew him, but if it is together you wish to be, you need only come to me. Come here, vampire whose name means death. Come.”

Globs of mud fell from the outstretched arm to puddle at the elemental’s feet and rejoin the slippery structure. Eyes that were not eyes shone the silvery color of an air elemental.

“Bryce.”

He could almost see Aure there. He was there, he was! “Aure!”

“No! Bryce, it’s a trick!”

A path fell open through the fire. Charred remains of seats crumpled into ash. The elemental’s body shifted with black smoke, reaching for him.

“Aure.” He was alive! “Aure!”

A silvery-white blur whizzed by his face. _{"Bryce. Bryce, Bryce!”} Hands of oily black seized the baby elemental, making him shriek. _"Bryce!”

Bryce darted for the baby. “No, no! Let him go!”

The earth elemental laughed, smoky hands drawing him nearer and entangling the silvery strands as they sought to escape.

The fire leapt up to bar Bryce’s way. He fell back, but he could still hear Delaur screaming fit to murder Bryce’s ears and squirming, managing a small distance before being hauled back again.

“Bryce!”

A flicker of motion caught his attention. He barely turned in time to catch the object before it hit him. “Ah, fuck!” The slim dagger dropped to the floor with a muffled clang. “Fucking silver!” Bryce shook out his burning hand.

More strips from his shirt made the handle reasonably safe to touch and Bryce scooped it up, charging over the fire barrier after Delaur. The fire twisted and grabbed after him, snaking along his ankles like vines. He knew that if they got him down on the ground, he was done.

He managed one glance over his shoulder and saw the mage standing firm with Jacen peering around his shoulder. Bryce couldn’t go into the light and the light seemed to be held back by whatever the earth elemental had done. The air between the dark and the light shimmered with thousands of tiny specks of dust as if the air itself had stopped moving. Bryce couldn’t recall an elemental having the power over more than one element.

The dagger sparkled in the dark, slowly burning away the cloth strips that allowed Bryce to grip the handle. He jumped another twisting strand of orange fire and another came in from the side to swipe his feet out from under him. Rolling and rolling because to stop was to die, Bryce hissed as embers slipped in under his clothes.

The earth elemental was so close that Bryce’s hand slipped on the mud continually leaking from the humanoid body and reforming. He held Delaur, the little elemental weeping big, silvery tears that went no further than his chin.

Bryce clutched the dagger and leaped.

The knife stuck fast in the elemental’s back, but he roared, throwing the baby elemental free as his arms revolved to reach behind him. Just before Bryce lost his grip, he saw the silver sinking deeper into the elemental’s back. Then he was flying through the air with the white light coming closer and closer and closer.

*              *              *

Duncan wanted to duck as the elemental hurled the vampire directly toward him. His eyes widened, but he couldn’t move. The words he kept saying kept going and going. He couldn’t release the book, couldn’t lower his hand, couldn’t even turn his head to look at Jacen still standing with his hand on Duncan’s shoulder.

The vampire landed sideways on the border where the darkness resisted the light Duncan directed toward the elemental. It was like some kind of shield and just like back in the precinct under interrogation, Bryce landed and hung there for just an instant before the light consumed him. The most disturbing thing was how he didn’t scream.

“Duncan!” Jacen’s hand tightened on Duncan’s shoulder. He used his other hand to point.

Silver threads shone out of the dark mass that was the elemental, splitting his skin which began to slough off onto the ground. The elemental was shouting and clawing at his back, but his arms kept falling off onto the floor.

“Hit him now! Harder! Wow, I hadn’t thought … Duncan, are you listening? That thing killed Smoke!”

I don’t know what I’m doing! Duncan wanted to say, but he couldn’t. The magic -- for that’s what it certainly must be -- was in control. He could feel it in the tingles where Jacen’s hand squeezed him; he could feel it in the burning warmth from the book; he could feel it in the calm comfort slanting in from somewhere above. The light beating down on them soaked the limp curls around Duncan’s face in sweat.

He didn’t know what he was saying and the shock of doing this at all was beginning to wear off. Tears ran from eyes that couldn’t stop watching and couldn’t blink. Oh, dear God, help me.

Beside him, Jacen grunted and fell to his knees, but he didn’t let go. Duncan’s shoulders bowed and the white light along that dark barrier began to crackle. The sun was beginning to rise.

Duncan’s fist drew back. “Culpae poenae par esto!” He punched right through the wall; light and goodness to chase out the evil surrounded the struggling mud creature as the fires died and the winds picked up. Duncan’s eyes smarted from all the dust and debris whipping around.

The elemental’s eyes bored into Duncan’s, its voice lost in the rising winds, but he knew it cursed him. He could feel the hate rushing toward him, fused into the light that he couldn’t release. Cracks appeared in the Cathedral’s ceiling as the entire building rumbled, the floors lifted and dropped, and the walls bowed inward and then out. Duncan was shouting; his throat ached and burned. Dust and dirt rose from the crevices where it hid and sanded away at exposed skin.

The evil beat at Duncan’s mind where it could no longer fight back with magic. He wanted to recoil but couldn’t and so gave up everything he had or was or could be to the Light, to end this fight. He could feel the elemental’s last attack arching toward him and accepted it freely. There was strength inside to shunt aside that last, inimical thought. There had to be.

Silver sparkled, expanded and spread across the elemental’s clay surface. Fire shot from its eyes and water from its mouth. The wind encircled the remains, pulling and clawing, whittling away until the only thing left was a lump of silver.

The ancient stone building groaned under the stress as the first rays of dawn filtered in through the eastern windows. Duncan felt it then: a warm, gentle kiss of sunshine to his brow and gratitude which sizzled all the way down to his toes. The ceiling on the eastern side fell in. Duncan slumped over the altar as the strange compulsion left him along with his strength. It was raining stone.

Shadows broke into tiny dust motes whirled away by the wind and then blessed silence.