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The arrow struck Haloreth in the shoulder and buried itself halfway up the shaft. Haloreth let out a roar so full of hurt that it pained those who heard it. The arrow’s jagged point had torn at his muscle, and with every beat of his wings the arrow seemed to cut its way deeper and deeper into his shoulder. He bared and gritted his teeth as he made for the temple roof, a wide surface for landing, but then he felt a second stab of pain more excruciating than the first. The poison began to do its work, diving into the wound to burn and boil. Haloreth moaned and writhed so that he missed the roof and crashed through one of the temple’s large stained glass windows.
The Temple of Tierrion, a place for the worship of Ahatho and for the recognition of the Everyn, had been built so that everyone who entered would be humbled by its vast architecture. The ceilings loomed stories and stories above so that the trespassing birds flew around as freely as they did outside. The massive pillars held up the roof like a forest of stone trees, and the sanctuary’s length swallowed up voices before they reached the other side. It was a vast and silent place, a place of whispered prayers. But when Haloreth fell through the window and crashed to the floor, noise that had never before been heard inside the sanctuary destroyed the silence.
Haloreth lay on his side in a ruin of broken glass, many of the pieces stuck in his sweat soaked fur. So much like a shipwreck on a rocky shore did he seem, hull bent and cracked with open sails torn and plastered to the sand. Reeling from his crash, he groaned and growled where he lay. Then he remembered the arrow in his shoulder and made to remove it, but snap and snap as he would with his jaws, he could not catch the broken shaft, for his neck would not bend so far to his shoulder. The arrow was just out of reach. Defeated, Haloreth let his head drop to the ground and let his body remain still. Despite the twisting of his form with wings stretched out at odd angles, Haloreth had no desire to move from where he lay for at last his body had found rest from his exertion and even some relief from his pain. His ribcage rose and fell as he felt the firmness of the floor beneath him, a promise for rest undisturbed. But then something happened that he did not understand.
It came as another sharp jolt of pain that shook his entire frame, a jolt of pain that would have had him roar from the torment of it all, but breath had suddenly escaped him. His muscles began to twitch and jerk about. To here and there on the broken glass he writhed, and no position of his wounded form could bring him comfort or reprieve. Then his limbs—as if by separate wills—began working on their own, lifting him off the floor with great shudders. So began the change in Haloreth. No longer did he appear as a pitiful creature sprawled out in misery but stood erect and mighty, his muscles swelling under his flesh, carved by a new unnatural strength. So came his body moved and mastered by the poison that boiled within him, and Haloreth felt his mind was next besieged. Like an enemy’s voice, the poison seemed to speak to him, demanding that he let a new rage rise. Then quickly came the memories, those that tempted anger—Solanan striking him in the race, the foul smelling being of threat in the crowd, back and back all the way to the rope that held him as a cub. Then the poison conjured an image, attacking Haloreth’s very will to be Maris’ protector. There came a horrible image to his mind, one of her being dragged into the woods by an unseen creature, of her being taken to their place by the river to be held underwater and drowned. In his mind he saw her struggle in the shallows as she was murdered, and the water of the river turned the dark color of poisoned tree sap.
Finally Haloreth found his breath, and out of his mouth came a shaking roar that filled the city with his rage. Never could he let such a thing happen to his Maris. Her protection was all that mattered; all other laws and virtues he had once held would bow to that.
Upon hearing the tone of sheer anger in Haloreth’s roar, the multitudes in the amphitheater filled with panic. People moved in all directions as they sought out ways to flee and find refuge. The soldiers tried to maintain order, but they too were wary of what an enraged aeriathea might do. The maddened roars and bellows continued to resound from the temple, and the multitudes grew more and more fearful, fleeing the amphitheater in panicked droves.
Maris stood above it all on her balcony, hands shaking and eyes unblinking, color drained from her skin. The anxious tumult of the crowds below did not move her. She stared and stared at the far, broken window through which Haloreth fell; yet she could not believe.
“Queen Maris, we need to leave,” Haeron warned, but she made no sign of leaving.
“What has happened to you Haloreth?” she whispered. “What has happened to you?”
Haeron then grabbed her hand and took her down the balcony steps where they entered the streaming crowds. Maris felt arms and shoulders roughly jostle her about as she held onto Haeron’s hand, but as they squeezed through the masses her arm was stretched and their hands pulled away from one another. Maris reached out and called Haeron’s name but no one took her hand. She was shoved off to the side and fell to the ground. Countless knees and shins knocked her about, and she saw her headdress knocked from her head and crushed to pieces by the stampeding feet. Through the feet and legs Maris crawled to a nearby wall and pressed herself against it for protection. As she cowered there, she felt something leak into the corner of her eye. Her fingers touched her brow, and she drew them back to see that they had blood on them. It suddenly became hard for her to see as the blood stung her eye and tears blurred her vision. The sound of thumping feet started to dwindle, and Maris, blinking terribly, caught glimpses of the last people fleeing the amphitheater. Following behind them, she began feeling her way along the wall and headed towards the sound of Haloreth’s roars.
“She is here,” cried a nearby voice. The voice startled Maris, for she thought she had been alone. Forcing her eyes open, she saw that Metaro the Broken stood before her. He was a half dozen paces away but would approach no further. His eyes did not meet hers but looked down to the ground. Haeron then came around a corner and ran to where they stood.
“Why do you leave her stumbling?” he asked, rebuking the man in tatters.
“I cannot take her hand,” replied Metaro submissively. “Great shame would fall upon her if I did.”
Haeron grunted at this reply. He took Maris by the arm and quickly led her out of the amphitheater and onto a street. She looked back to see if Metaro was following them but he was nowhere to be seen.
Another roar came from the temple and it echoed in the street where they ran. Haeron took them into the protected confines of an alleyway and began checking each door they passed. Most of them were locked. Not until they were halfway down the alleyway did he find a backdoor to a stable left open. The stable was dark and the air was stuffy and still, muffling the noise of distant roars. Bronteos and gandas shifted nervously in their stalls and stamped their hooves. Haeron led Maris inside and latched the door behind them.
“We will stay here until it is safe,” Haeron said. He kept by the door and listened to the noises outside. Maris found one of the troughs in the stable and washed her face, cleaning the blood from her eye. Like Haeron, she too listened to Haloreth’s roars and bellows coming from the temple.
“I need to go to him,” she said at length.
“You cannot go,” Haeron replied, his eyes looking out of a chink in the door. “Something drives him mad.”
“I will reason with him and calm him.”
“He is beyond such counsel.”
“You do not know him as I do.”
“And you do not know what you are hearing. That is the cry of bloodlust, a cry I heard many times in battle, and those who made such a sound were not to be approached, even if they were your closest allies.”
“You may fear, but I will go on my own,” Maris said, her voice trembling. She went for the door but Haeron blocked her way. “Let me pass!” she ordered. Haeron turned his back on her and continued to look through the chink in the door.
“Bold defiance!” she cried. “I ordered you to let me pass!”
Maris grabbed a hold of his arm and tried pulling him away from the door, but it was of no use. She then started pounding her fists against his back with all her might.
“I can save him!” she screamed, “I can save him!” But no matter how much she yelled and hit, Haeron could not be moved.
The cloaked figure spied down from the top of the gargoyle where he perched. He saw that his poisoned arrow had done its work. With his task finished, he returned the bowstring and vial of poison to the pockets within his rags, but when he turned to leave, he found his way barred.
Arkos stood but a few steps away on the gargoyle’s shoulder, blocking the only way to the observatory. No one could have ascended the observatory tower that quickly, but there he stood, still as if he were a part of the tower, firm despite the wind whipping wildly about. Startled, the cloaked figure had to catch himself from falling back, and once he steadied himself, he slowly edged his way backwards on the gargoyle’s giant snout while sizing up his opponent. The first thing he noticed was the knife gripped tightly in Arkos’ right hand, but then he studied the eyes and sensed something deeper and more fearsome than the blade.
“I know of your kind,” the cloaked figure growled from behind the mask. “The Thorn Harbinger said that one of you would bring about the end of me. But how can you be what he says when I entered this city without your eye catching me? How can you be what he says when I shoot one of the flying beasts and you do nothing to prevent it? Even as I think it now, I begin to doubt that you are a legender.”
Arkos flinched at the rebuke, if but a little. The cloaked figure reached for the dagger at his belt.
“Let us see,” the cloaked figure rasped, “if the Thorn Harbinger really knew the truth.”
He charged at Arkos, dagger raised high, and Arkos held his hand out in front of him in response. For a moment the cloaked figure thought he saw the ghost of a giant bird fly off the end of Arkos’ arm and come straight for him. A blast of strong wind struck the cloaked figure full in the chest, and it was enough to knock him back. He slipped on the ice and slid off the gargoyle’s head. Fingers clawing, he got a hold of the gargoyle’s snout, and there he hung, body dangling over the city.
Arkos peered down at the cloaked figure and into the strange yellow eyes that glared through the holes in the crude wooden mask. Defiance stared back at him.
“To the new world that comes after me,” the cloaked figure hissed, and with that he let go of gargoyle’s snout and fell out into nothing.
The aeriatheas Wayrasi and Solanan came to the temple and landed on the edge of the broken window. When they looked through the opening that Haloreth had made, they saw him on the temple floor doing battle with himself, shaking his head back and forth, rolling on the ground as if his skin had caught fire. In one moment he would run for the temple doors with a mad eye fixed on rending and tearing those who would hurt his Maris, but then in the next moment the bit of good sense that in him remained would halt that will and have his rebellious body stumble to the floor. All the while his throat would roar in despair and anger. Never had Wayrasi and Solanan seen an aeriathea act in such a way, and they sensed that something had corrupted him. Wayrasi called down to Haloreth in soothing bellows, asking for him to calm himself. Haloreth looked up to where they perched. He disregarded Wayrasi but had bared fangs for Solanan. He remembered the blow he had taken in the race—indeed a tinge of pain lingered on his jaw. Wayrasi again called down for peace and reason, but Haloreth only snarled in reply, his ears folded back and the fur on his neck on end. Therefore Wayrasi turned to Solanan and bellowed somberly of what they would have to do. Haloreth was to be subdued, even killed if they could not restrain him, for he was mad and too dangerous in his state. Solanan agreed. Haloreth may have been mad, but he understood what the two aeriatheas meant to do: his own kind would turn on him. Such a thought was enough to have the poison finish its work—enough to overrun what little remained of his good sense. Like chaff in fire, his mind was then alight with rage.
The two aeriatheas leapt through the window and descended upon Haloreth. With startling quickness, Haloreth took the statue of a saint in his mouth and hurled it through the air. The statue struck Solanan in the chest with such force that he fell to the ground in a heap. Haloreth then leapt through the air, caught Wayrasi’s forearm in his jaws, and threw the dark aeriathea across the room to where he crashed into an altar of burning candles. Wayrasi rolled on the floor and howled in pain as he clutched his bloodied forearm to his chest. The joint of the shoulder was undone, and for the rest of Wayrasi’s life, he would have a limp to remind him of that battle.
Haloreth, standing over where Solanan lay in senselessness, prepared to tear out the golden aeriathea’s throat, but something fell upon him and pinned him to the ground. The other aeriatheas had entered in through the broken window, and Quenyal and Talagos had landed on Haloreth’s neck and tail. Aysu alighted on the temple floor, but she was too afraid to approach the knot of wrestlers. Haloreth’s eyes were too red with blood and rage, and she sensed that he could not be subdued. He threw himself with Quenyal and Talagos at the columns of the temple. Talagos was in her prime with a strong back and sturdy limbs and Quenyal had done battle with many beasts of the mountains, yet the way Haloreth wildly struck the two of them against the columns made them look as if they were made of nothing more than cloth and stuffing. Again and again he swung them. Quenyal and Talagos held on as tightly as they could, digging their claws into Haloreth’s flesh, enduring the pain that ran tremors down their spines. Haloreth, however, felt no pain. He did not tire or wince, for the poison had made him immune to weakness. Never had an aeriathea shown such strength or speed. It seemed as though time had slowed in Haloreth’s eyes, so what he saw was the shape that blood took when it flew from his enemies’ gashes and wounds. There was only so much agony Quenyal and Talagos could take, so they lost their hold of Haloreth and were thrown to the floor. Haloreth looked down on the limp forms of the aeriatheas, but the poison had broken his pity for them.
Aysu remained standing, but she was smaller than Haloreth and had seen what had happened to the others. She bolted for the temple doors in hopes of escape, but Haloreth caught her by the tail and pulled her back, her claws scratching uselessly at the floor. Haloreth threw her as though she were a small stone, and she hurtled through the air and through the broken stained glass window, breaking more of it as she went. Shards of colored glass rained down on the marketplace outside, and Aysu crashed onto the steps of the library. Haloreth leapt through the broken window after her and came to the middle of the marketplace, crushing the merchant carts where he landed. He turned on her with eyes that sought out something to rend and tear. Aysu met those eyes and cried out in fear.
While leaning over the edge of the gargoyle and looking down to where the cloaked assassin had fallen to his death, Arkos heard the terrible howl of an aeriathea. It was different from the roars he heard before. It was the sound of another aeriathea, one in danger, and at the sound of it, something stirred inside Arkos.
A riverbed in the desert can lay dry through the passage of many seasons, yet with one heavy rain, torrents of water can come rushing down its dry trenches and swell at the banks. A cliff can mark the edge of land and sea for thousands of years, but with enough gnawing of the waves, the cliff will crumble into the sea. Like the sudden and mighty acts of nature, unexpected forces began to work inside Arkos. His limbs became enlivened, and his skin began to tingle. Something deep within him began to rise, an ancient, fearsome, wondrous thing. Therefore it seemed to him that his task had not ended with the fall of the cloaked assassin. Yet if he were to serve the aeriathea in danger, the steps leading down the tower would not bring him to her in time. So he did the only thing he knew to do. He jumped.
Winds hissed passed his ears, and the rooftops below that promised him death
steadily grew bigger in his sight. He reached out his hands and began to craft the air around him. It was difficult to work with such matter since it was moving so quickly, but Arkos concentrated hard on his task and pushed away all the distraction of the doom that lay below him. It was then that a translucent material began forming itself around Arkos in the shape of a bird; wings like cirrus clouds began beating along his sides and wispy tail feathers followed in his wake. Just when he needed it to, his crafting of the wind came to life. A translucent deogren, a giant bird of prey made from crafted air, held Arkos within itself like a cape, and Arkos began to glide rather than fall. His creation soared with all the speed of the wind and took Arkos towards the danger.
Aysu attempted to crawl her way behind the library pillars for some form of protection, but in her battered state she could not escape. As Haloreth approached her, she could see more and more of the madness in him. His legs stepped in all directions at once as if they were fighting amongst themselves, and his head tilted to the side so the foamy drool in his mouth spilled to the ground. The blood of the other aeriatheas stained his mouth and fur, and Aysu couldn’t help but think about her own blood being shed. Haloreth drew closer, teeth bared and snarling. But then something hit him and made him tear his gaze away from her. A carving knife was stuck hilt-deep in his front paw. He looked down at it quizzically, only to pull it out with his teeth and then spit it to the ground. When he turned to see who had thrown it at him, he saw Arkos standing alone in the marketplace.
Without warning, Haloreth sprang at Arkos with a gaping maw of fangs. His teeth came crashing down with a force that could break a man in two, but Arkos dove to the side of the bite. Quickly bounding up Haloreth’s wing, Arkos climbed onto the back where he was safe from the deadly fangs. Haloreth snarled, flapped his wings, and bucked in anger. His wing beats blew over the merchant carts and created a windstorm in the marketplace, but Arkos took handfuls of the aeriathea’s fur in his fists and clung on. Eventually the wing beats became so powerful that Haloreth began to fly. Higher and higher he rose until most of the city could be seen below, and when he reached that height, he dove down from the sky, straight for the rooftops. Haloreth pulled his head to his chest so that his back would receive the brunt of the impact with a large chimney. But before Arkos crashed into the brick, he jumped from Haloreth’s back and tumbled down onto the roof. Haloreth made a sickening crack when he collided with the chimney, and he spun through the air and went crashing down into the street.
Arkos, dusty and bruised, hung on the eaves by his fingers. He looked down at Haloreth lying motionless on the street below. It appeared that the aeriathea had broken his neck with such an impact and that he would rise no more. But the poison would not let the aeriathea die. Only it could kill him now. Without a groan of huff of pain, Haloreth got to his feet and immediately hunted for Arkos with his eyes. There he saw Arkos pulling himself up over the eaves to run the rooftops, to head towards the gardens. Too narrow were the streets for his wings to open, so Haloreth did not fly but pursued Arkos by foot, plowing through a cart of timber wine and loosing a flood of scarlet down the street. Arkos jumped from roof to roof and nimbly maneuvered his way around chimney pots. He made sure that Haloreth followed close behind. When he reached the last roof before the gardens, he leapt from its eaves and into an orchard of tansi fruit. Leaves and branches broke as he fell through them, and he landed on the lawn with a soft thud. Through the rows of tree trunks, Arkos spied Haloreth charge into the gardens from the street. The aeriathea uprooted the tansi trees and tossed them aside as if they were no more than weeds. With space enough to open his wings, he flew up to where he could see Arkos running through the orchards.
The walls of the city lay a good distance ahead of Arkos, but he ran as fast as a ganda in full gallop. With a score of long strides he made it through the tansi fruit trees and entered into the kudan trees. Just beyond them lay the road that led to the city gate. Arkos pushed branches aside as he ran and squashed fallen fruit with his feet, nearly slipping on the orange pulp. A large shadow then began to cover him. Only when Arkos could feel the mighty gust of wind that Haloreth brought did he dive off to the side and hit the ground. Just above Arkos’ head, Haloreth’s jaws snapped shut but closed down on nothing. As he flew by, he dragged his tail along the ground, plowing the earth as he went. Arkos would have been crushed at the bottom of a freshly cut trench had he not quickly rolled out of the way. When Haloreth passed, Arkos picked himself up off the ground and kept running. Soon the cobblestone of the road that led towards the city gate pounded under his feet.
As Arkos ran, he took the blue stone from the pouch on his belt and began speaking to it, giving it instructions. “Do not break him,” he told the stone lastly, and when Arkos reached the archway of the open gate, he quickly found a crack in the mortar and jammed the stone inside. With the stone in its place, Arkos went through the archway to the outside of the city and waited for Haloreth to come.
The stone left in the wall began to rattle in its place as if the land were quaking. At first it rattled by itself, but then the shaking spread to the other stones, big stones and little stones alike. Soon the whole gateway began to shift and change as if it had taken on a life of its own. The doors buckled on their hinges, and it seemed that the whole section of the wall would collapse, but it all held together. From a distance, Arkos conducted the movements of the stones and mortar with the unseen guidance he possessed in the movements of his hands.
Then came Haloreth, sweeping down from the heights and heading straight for Arkos, rage fueling his speed. Arkos held his ground even in the terrible moment right before the fangs and claws would be upon him. There was a great rumble that shook the city walls and a crash that made an explosion of dust fill the air. Then all became suddenly quiet.
No claws had torn into Arkos and no fangs had bloodied his flesh; he stood quite whole on the road outside of the city gate. The stones on the top archway had become like teeth and the cobblestones on the road below did the same. The gateway had been shaped into something like that of a mouth of a giant beast, and it had closed down on Haloreth as he tried to fly through. The stone jaws held fast to him. They could have crushed his neck with ease, but the stone Arkos had put in the wall had honored the request not to break the aeriathea. Haloreth’s head and neck stuck out from between the stone teeth and even though he was pinned there, he still tried to lunge at Arkos. A wall made of any other stone would have perhaps given way to Haloreth’s unnatural strength, but the stones and the mortar were made of erthmarrow and would not move. His throat growled angrily, and his fangs snapped at his foe as Arkos stood a safe distance away.
Arkos paced back and forth and explored Haloreth’s eyes with his own. Their vessels had cracked and bled the whites into red and showed Arkos that he could do nothing. He knew the poison had gone too far. Arkos kicked the nearest stone he could find with all his frustration, and in the same motion he let himself fall cross-legged on the ground. Sitting just a few paces from Haloreth, Arkos bowed his head and waited.
It did not take long for the poison to end its work. Eventually Haloreth stopped trying to lunge at Arkos and the red in his eyes clouded over. In the last moments a peaceful calm overcame the aeriathea as if he were going to sleep. He lay his head down on the road and closed his eyes.