Part Four
From the Ashes
Finreth had gone out for a bit of sparring practice. Seeing Leila roaming around in his room - his secrets - made him entirely uneasy. He had practiced the rest of the afternoon, but his head wasn’t in it. She had a pretty smile. His father would die if he married the servant. The thought made him actually a little happy. It would never happen, but the thought alone was enough to bring him a bit of joy.
In the distance, Finreth spotted a large cloud of smoke climbing into the horizon. A fire had started? He was confused and stared at it with narrow eyes before he turned and went inside, hoping to get some answers. His brother Tuon nearly knocked him over as he passed him through the door. Finreth’s brow furrowed, “hey!?” Tuon looked at him briefly with fear in his eyes before he shook it off and continued out the door. Finreth was flabbergasted by how odd Tuon had been acting lately. He shook it off though, as there appeared to be a fire in the distance that would need attending to and his father would need to know.
His father wasn’t in the throne room, which was highly unusual. Everything seemed unusual lately and it made Finreth deeply uneasy. He looked around before climbing the stairs to check to see if perhaps his father had grown a heart and gone to visit his mother. He stopped as he passed his own bedroom door and heard noises inside. Rage filled him and he threw his door open only to find a scene that would put him in ruins.
His father stood with a raised eyebrow staring into Finreth’s secret hide-away - the bookshelf had been overturned to the side while a roughed up and deeply traumatized Leila sat helplessly on the floor, crying. Galan stood there as well, a smug look on his face when he turned to look at Finreth. “Look who finally decided to join us. Come to paint a bit? Oh wait! You don’t paint, or at least, that’s what you always
say.”
Finreth looked around with his mouth open and his fists clenched.
His father turned to look at him, shaking his head, “and here I thought my only daughter was dead.” His voice was hollow.
Finreth gritted his teeth, unable to say anything on pain of death.
His father turned back to the paintings, “with all the paintings in here, we won’t even need to get you a dowry sorted for when suitors come for you.” He shook his head again and his eyes closed. He opened his mouth again to speak when a shout shook everyone from their thoughts.
“THE QUEEN!” They all jerked towards the door as a servant went running down the hallway shouting. “SOMEONE, PLEASE! THE QUEEN!”
Elganor stepped forward and gripped Finreth’s arm firmly. “We’ll continue this later.” He let his son go and disappeared up the stairs, followed by Galan quickly at his heels.
Leila looked up just slightly from the floor, “I’m so-”
“Get out.” Finreth’s voice was a whisper.
Leila sucked in her lips, tears forming in her eyes, but she stood and ran out the doorway, leaving Finreth alone in his destroyed room. He wanted to sink to his knees, but something pulled at him - he needed to see his mother. She was ill and she would need help. He gathered himself and went running for the stairs behind everyone else.
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Finreth sat alone in his mother’s bedroom next to her body.
Her corpse.
He swallowed at the word. He was not a man to cry about anything before, but he could not stop the tears that fell from his eyes. It seemed like the world was burning alive and no one would be able to save him now.
Finreth welcomed whatever his father planned to do to him once this all settled. One thing was for sure: Finreth would never paint ever again, he swore on it. He looked at his mother’s still form and swallowed back bitterness.
Something wasn’t right though, and it was something Finreth couldn’t wrap his head around. He had been there with Siun the day Amet died. Galan and Tuon had been fighting in some battle of pride when Amet had started coughing furiously. Finreth had been with his mother. He remembered everything about that day with vivid detail. Amet coughed and coughed until blood came pouring from her mouth and nose. She cried and bled out that way as the plague finally took hold of her completely.
This was far too clean for the plague to have taken his mother. There wasn’t a drop of blood anywhere. Finreth picked up a rag from the floor, the one his mother would use to conceal her coughing, and that, too, was surprisingly clean - only speckled lightly in blood that was already dried completely.
“I see I’m not the only one to sense something’s amiss here.” Siun spoke from the doorway. He nodded at the book on the floor next to Finreth. “I forgot my book in here earlier. I was researching how the plague could’ve taken her life so cleanly.”
“You saw how Amet died.” Finreth’s voice was hoarse. “Does this look like the plague to you?”
Siun said nothing, instead he picked up his book and walked over to the window. He closed his eyes as he saw the destruction spreading across the kingdom, “the prophecy has begun.”
Finreth’s brow furrowed, he knew the scholar wanted him to ask, but he just felt too bitter. “Good. Let the world burn.” He whispered.
“‘For in this age the sky will fall, order will right a vicious wrong, and out of the ashes, one will rise.” Siun repeated the fortune to Finreth, but Finreth only shrugged.
“I care not for your wisdom right now, Siun. It will not bring my mother back.” Finreth looked forward.
“I told you the prophecy only because both of your brothers know it too. Perhaps
that is something to think about.” Siun tipped his head down and walked out of the room quietly.
Finreth sat on the information before he sat up completely and looked at his mother skeptically. His eyes searched the bed around her until it fell on the pillow next to her that was slightly crooked.
His mother never touched that pillow, as she hoped his father would return to her bedside one day, and now it lay just slightly crooked. Finreth hesitantly leaned over and picked the pillow up.
He wanted to shake his head and forget the notion completely, however something caught his eye when he moved the pillow.
Blood.
The bottom side of the pillow held speckles of blood, and Finreth’s sorrow immediately twisted to rage. Who could have done such a thing? Galan seemed far too upset and surprised at finding the body of their mother but…
Tuon had ran straight into him as he barrelled out of the doorway of the castle. Finreth clenched his fists. He wanted to scream; and more importantly, he wanted to kill Tuon. He just had to find him first.
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Galan sucked in a long breath and tried to steady himself. His mother was gone and the kingdom was in ruins. It was a king’s worst nightmare, and he wasn’t even the king yet. Galan sat outside, trying to catch his breath and keep it calm. His brother, Finreth, was stirring up a ruckus and he could just barely hear what was being said.
He wanted to know where Tuon went. Galan sucked in his cheek. Those two were always plotting things against him. He had heard about the way they had met in the library just two days ago. Ever since that day Tuon has been acting weirder and weirder, and now Finreth had caught the strangeness too. Galan clenched his fists.
The world was falling apart and what were they doing? Plotting in the midst of it. He hated them for that. He watched Finreth mount his horse and take off riding like something was after him.
Galan glared at him as he left before throwing himself up and rushing to get his own horse. His brothers would rue the day they decided to plot against him.
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Tuon was just barely above being a mess when he arrived at the designated meeting point. The stranger he met had to be here - the stranger Tuon had deciphered was the God of Magic and Madness. He knew a god could grant him this power. All it took was the price being paid, and now it had been.
Tuon swallowed hard, but it felt like his throat was collapsing in on itself. His horse shifted uneasily at the magic that filled the area.
Tuon struggled to walk forward, “I know you’re here! I did as you’ve asked. I paid my price!” He shouted at the trees.
“Did you, Tuon? Did you pay a price?!” Tuon turned around suddenly at the familiar voice, spotting Finreth - his bow drawn and aimed right at him. “Because it looks to me like
mother paid that price.”
Tuon was collapsing inside, “Finreth… you don’t understand…!”
“I don’t? Oh well that’s fantastic news!” Finreth drew the bow back further as sarcasm dripped from his voice, “please enlighten me, oh filthy murderer.”
Tuon opened his mouth when suddenly he felt a strange wave of magic wash over him. He started laughing, “the unicorns!” He shouted, laughing insanely as he fell to his knees.
Finreth jolted back, startled, but he redrew his bow firmly and glared at Tuon, tears fogging his eyes. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!”
Another man’s laughter echoed off the trees,
“my loyal servant Tuon, you have done well.” It was followed by strange sounds of coughing and cursing.
Tuon was rocking as he cradled himself, a strange smile pulling on his lips. He giggled at his name being mentioned.
Finreth’s face was slipping more and more into disgust. “Show yourself, you demon!” He snarled as he began to let his eyes search the horizon for any sort of movement.
“Don’t fight it Finreth! Let it happen!” Tuon called his brother with a crazed look in his eyes.
Finreth shook his eyes and backed up slowly, “what have you done, Tuon?!”
The maniacal laughter started up again, but stopped suddenly,
“oh dear, Tuon. Your brother doesn’t want to play our game. How unfortunate is that?” Tuon’s face hardened to a glare directed at Finreth.
“Ah well. Servant, dispose of him. He is of no use to me.” The laughter rang out along the forest.
Finreth’s heart nearly stopped, “Tuon…” He looked at the man he once called his brother. “Please… think clearly!”
Tuon stood up, his head lolling to the side, and he began to walk towards Finreth with malice in his eyes.
“Tuon, PLEASE! Don’t make me-” Finreth couldn’t finish his sentence, his bow was drawn at his brother who was coming towards him. Tuon’s mind was completely gone.
Finreth’s lip quivered and he had trouble keeping his bow steady. “I don’t want to shoot you! Please! TUON!”
The plea fell on deaf ears. Tuon was humming to himself under his breath.
Finreth closed his eyes and knew that he had to do it.
He loosed the arrow, piercing his brother in the chest.
Finreth fluidly drew another arrow, his eyes narrow and watering as he did so. It was an automatic reaction to keep his bow drawn. Tuon clutched at the arrow in his chest, looking at his brother with pangs of clarity in his eyes.
“Why would you do this, brother?!” He cried out as he tried to pull the arrow from him. The clarity in Tuon’s eyes dissipated, and he jolted forward, running at Finreth.
Finreth gritted his teeth, sucking in a harsh breath as he loosed another arrow.
And another.
And another.
Until the man he once called his brother finally stopped moving.
Finreth’s hand came up to his mouth immediately as he looked at the limp body. Tears pricked at his eyes but he sucked in a breath. It was not his brother he killed. His brother had already been dead. His brother would never have murdered their mother. This stranger wearing his brother’s face was vanquished. Finreth looked down solemnly. “Why did you have to do this?” He said quietly.
“I KNEW IT!” Galan threw himself out of the brush, sword in hand. “You two were always plotting something, and now it seems that you’ve finally turned on each other!”
Finreth turned, his brow furrowed, “Galan? What are you-?”
“Finally!” Laughter bubbled into the forest once again.
“And here I thought things were going to be boring!”Finreth looked around the forest again, “SHOW YOURSELF, you MONSTER!”
“Oh! Ooh?” The man’s voice was amused.
“I’M the monster? Well I didn’t just murder my own brother, now did I?” The voice laughed wickedly.
“What about you, brawny? You’ve had quite a difficult life being the leader of your two imbecile brothers. It must have been hard on you having to fight for your given birthright.”Galan’s sword lowered and his eyes grew narrow as he looked around the forest. “Who… who are you?”
“Nobody important, just a friend, dear Galan.”“How do you know my name?!” Galan raised his sword again.
“I know a great deal of things, like how your brothers were plotting to take the throne away from you.” The voice was sliding up and down over octaves as it spoke.
Finreth’s eyes went wide and he turned immediately to look at his brother. “IT’S A LIE, GALAN! Please! Don’t believe-”
Galan had turned on Finreth and pointed his sword at him. “You always were so deceitful, brother!”
“No! Please! Galan I beg you to see clearly!”
It was too late though, for Galan lunged at him and began his attack.
Finreth fought him off as best as he could, but he was only wielding his bow. Finreth was quick enough to dodge most of his brother’s incoming attacks. After a moment, the same magic that filled the air when Tuon lost his mind began to seep over the two remaining brothers. Whispers began to fill the air - each saying different things to the two brothers.
Galan’s face had grown angrier and he dropped his sword, nodding along with the whispers that spoke to him.
Finreth shook his head as he watched Galan; the whispers spoke of how his mother wanted him to be king. Galan was too angry. He couldn’t possibly rule correctly. If he were king no one could tell him what to do or say. He could paint all he wanted.
Finreth gritted his teeth. The mention of painting was enough to cut clarity into him. He would
never paint again. He clutched his hands over his ears and resisted the whispers, but Galan had no such clarity. “Galan! Don’t listen to them! They’ll make you mad!” Finreth tried to call out to him.
Galan couldn’t hear his brother, and instead lunged for him, going for this throat.
The two struggled against each other for several minutes. Finreth pleaded the whole time, begging his brother to be rational, but there was no logical part left in his brother. Galan, too, had completely lost his mind.
Finreth felt his heart sink, and he almost wanted to give in and just let himself be killed, but he couldn’t do that. He thought of the kingdom, and how the world would fall apart if he did so. No, the world
needed him to keep fighting.
So he did.
He used all of his strength to overpower his brother, who tried desperately to scratch and claw at Finreth’s face, and Finreth held pressure down on his neck until his brother stopped fighting. Finreth’s eyes were closed tightly, unable to stand the horror of what had become of his brothers. Finreth nearly wanted to let the tears fall from his eyes, “you… STUPID, pig-headed, lout! Why couldn’t you listen to me?!” His voice was low and it broke as he spoke. The tears would not come now. Finreth sat numbly next to his older brother’s body while Tuon’s body lay not far from where he sat.
Finreth was ready for the magic to swoop in and take him, to end his life and finally put him at rest, but nothing came.
There was a stillness to the forest and the silence was deafening. The only audible thing was Finreth’s ragged breathing.
Suddenly a sharp sound broke the dead silence, as a slow clap began. Out of the shadows a wiry man stepped, and his clapping slowly got faster.
“Ladies and gentlefolk, we have our victor.” The man gave a wild grin.
Finreth didn’t bother to look up at the man who stood on the other side of the lake, he just focused on trying to breathe.
“The KING of Dragon Valley!” The man laughed, and the magic in the air seemed to stiffen. Finreth knew he was the source of all the problems for the last fifty years if not more. A god truly had been toying with all of them.
Finreth didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of it.
“What says our victor?” The man’s voice jolted up an octave as he stepped forward. “Perhaps he-” His voice grew strangled and he fell to his knees. Magical artifacts grew from the ground and created a strange cage around him. He clutched his neck like he was choking. It did not stop him from laughing, “Agony-wony! I’m so glad you’ve joined our party!” He coughed and laughed again.
Another form came from the woods, this one was dressed in all white. His face was severe and he walked gracefully, speaking as he took each step towards the cage. “By the Order of the Pantheon, under the grace of the World’s Essence... I, Agonin Madere - God of Order and Restoration - charge you, Zachurr Odaline - God of Magic and Madness - with treason of the highest offense. This includes, but is not limited to, the withholding of the magical barrier, thereby not performing the duties as outlined to you by the order of which we both belong, for preventing the gods and others access to their magic and by willfully ignoring the summons to trial to face your misdeeds. The punishment for which, in accordance with laws and traditions of old, is death.”
Zachurr gritted his teeth, “I demand you let me out of this foul cage immediately!” He screeched.
Agonin breathed evenly and let a small smile catch his lips. “I will enjoy this.” He stated levelly. He held out his hand and a light flashed from each of the beams that were holding Zachurr in place.
Finreth, who had watched the whole scene unnoticed, wanted to shield his eyes but he was frozen in place with his eyes locked on the two gods. The lights grew brighter and brighter and Finreth began to squint, raising his hands to shield his eyes, yet not cover them completely. The light grew so bright until suddenly it all sucked in, leaving a very strange calm that rested over the forest.
Finreth looked around, confused, but before he could really grasp what had happened a powerful explosion sent him flying backwards along with the bodies of his brothers.
Finreth’s ears were ringing and the only clear noise he could hear was the sound of his ragged breathing along with the pounding of his heart. His whole body ached. He opened his eyes slightly and could see nothing but ash remaining where the Mad God had been, the cage that was holding him in place had been completely destroyed and reduced to ash as well. There was something moving though, and Finreth almost couldn’t see it. It was like a glittering, translucent serpent that danced around the God of Order, swirling in the air with it’s mouth open, fangs exposed. Finreth felt fear in him when it spotted him and began to dart directly at him like a snake on the attack.
Finreth threw his arms up to shield his face but nothing could stop it. The serpent moved faster than light and pierced into him and his heart stopped.
His blood began to boil in his veins. The pain was completely unbearable. Finreth writhed and screamed. His vision had gone completely blurry, and his hands clutched at his scalp - his fingernails raking through to his skull. The magic twisted and distorted him, filling him and his mind with thoughts he could not control.
“NO!” He screamed against it.
Screeching. Dancing. The smell of lavender over a fire. Howling to the moon.
Violet eyes of a woman he had not met yet.
His skin bleached out, his ears sharpened to a point, his hair curled on end, and his eyes glowed bright orange with power.
Suddenly everything grew silent in his head, and the world seemed to glow around him.
Then everything went black.
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There were voices whispering in his ears, they were all talking too fast and he could only get glimpses of them. He groaned and rubbed his throbbing head. He opened his eyes and realized there was no one else around him. The voices were in his head, and panic set in. He gritted his teeth and his mind screamed internally,
“GO AWAY!”It did. His mind grew suddenly silent at his command and he swallowed and looked around nervously, half expecting the voices to swarm him once again, but all was quiet and calm.
He pushed himself off of his stomach and onto his knees before staring down at his hands - these were not hands he was familiar with. His skin was perfectly white, and his hands trembled as he came to that realization. He idly touched his face with his hand, his fingers running up to his ear which was now pointed and different. This couldn’t be happening. He squeezed his fists with distress and the grass around him died in response. His eyes grew wide.
“That did not take very long.” The man in all white - Agonin, he remembered, spoke now. “What is your name, son?”
He sat quietly and stared at Agonin who had started to walk his way. What was his name?
Finreth, he recalled to himself. He spared a glance at his brothers and frowned. No. That wasn’t his name. Finreth was a painter. Finreth was a brother. Finreth was a prince.
He was none of those things now.
His mind flashed briefly to his mother.
Queen Araiel Glebaal, wife of King Eglanor Glebaal, ruler of Dragon Valley, originating from the noble house Majnun of Galia. Mother of three, and killed far too early. He almost couldn’t stand to think of it any longer.
“Majnun.” His voice was raspy as he spoke. “My name is Majnun.”
Agonin nodded and held out his hand to him. “A pleasure to meet you, Majnun.” He said levelly.
Majnun eyed him carefully, but took his offer for help to his feet - fearing whatever else he might kill with his magic accidentally. He was surprised how easy it was to move. It felt like he weighed nothing at all. He could feel something bubbling in his throat, like a strange laughter, but he suppressed it and coughed instead. Agonin was looking at him intensely. “My name is Agonin.” He stated matter-of-factly. “I ask that you come with me, we have much to sort out.”
Majnun looked at him with narrow eyes, “just where are we-” his voice slid up an octave and his eyes went wide at the lack of control he had over his voice, “-going?” He struggled to finish.
Agonin was unphased. “I’m going to take you before the pantheon and introduce you to everyone, then I will help you get settled in to your new position.”
Majnun’s face twitched against his will and he frowned harder. He knew what Agonin was talking about, but at the same time there was still a piece of him that was in denial. “Position?” He asked nervously.
“As the God of Magic and Madness,” Agonin spoke with even tone, like the unshakable force he was.
Majnun could not help but look down and shake his head, letting out a harsh breath. “A god?”
Agonin nodded, and waved his hand, opening up a portal and ushering Majnun that way. “Welcome to godhood, Majnun.”
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This is where our story ends.
The world had been crumbling under the weight of magical strain as the god of such magic had not been permitting it through. The God of Order finally pinned down and rectified the wrongs of the world, and in the wake bore forth a new god to fill the void left by the death of his predecessor. Dragon Valley would no longer be suffering from the chaos of wild magic, untamed. Instead, Dragon Valley would fall into political chaos. Following the death of his wife and sons, Eglanor would tumble into darkness. He lit the castle on fire and watched it burn to ash while he, and many others, were still inside of it.
It seemed all would be lost - however, one servant snuck away in the dead of night with a painting tucked thoroughly under her arm. She did not look back to see the mob that was coming towards the castle, nor the fire that had engulfed everything she ever knew.
Crown Prince Galan and Tuon would never live to see another day. And Finreth?
Well, as far as anyone else was concerned, Finreth died in the explosion resulting in the death of a god, and the birth of another. Majnun would grow to be one of the most powerful beings in existence and all would tremble at his presence.
The man who rose from the ashes.
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‘For in this age the sky will fall, order will right a vicious wrong, and out of the ashes, one will rise.’
