A voice replied, coming not from the statue but from somewhere high on the ceiling. "Telarian, you've fallen to insanity. Killing him will conclude his Final Pact of Apoapsis—a passage will be opened to the Abolethic Sovereignty! Xxiphu would rise!"
"Yes! It is destined to rise—the future is set!" screamed Telarian, nearly spitting with hysteria. "Unless I divert it here and now!"
If Raidon held any question whether Telarian had succumbed to lunacy, he had his answer.
"The future is ever changeable—each new day is a chance to alter fate. Don't mistake your false visions for reality," counseled Cynosure.
"To prevent atrocity, I must commit it," replied the diviner nonsensically. "You, more than anyone, must understand, Cynosure, you who helped me construct the Epoch Chamber. I do understand destiny can be altered—and since it was given to me and me alone to see so far into the future, fate is mine to shape! When a passage to Xxiphu forms over the Traitor's corpse, I shall travel it, ahead of the Traitor's spirit. With Angul-Nis in hand, I shall slay the Eldest, Xxiphu's sentinel who sits on all the abolethic city as if a throne!"
The construct shook its head. "You are deluded, Telarian—even if the combined power of Angul and Nis could slay the Eldest before he consumed you, the city would wake from the violence of your act. It would rise! What fell visions have so deceived you?"
The diviner sputtered then screamed, "I am the only one who can safeguard Sild?yuir, nay, all Faer?n, from the Sovereignty's return from its millennial sleep! I am not deceived, I am the lone true prophet of tomorrow!"
"No, Telarian. Your predictions are corrupted, likely by the Traitor himself, whose apocalyptic dreams insinuate every chamber of Stardeep. Even your Epoch Chamber. How can you be sure it was not the Traitor's aim that Nis be forged, not your own? How can you be sure that your current plan isn't the Traitor's plot, now guided by the nihilistic Blade Umbral?"
Raidon tried once more to rouse Kiril. The swordswoman remained absorbed in a private vision. He turned and prepared himself to charge the distracted diviner. Even as he did so, Telarian's head jerked to fix him with a rabid gaze, saying, "Angul-Nis sees you," before turning back to regard the construct.
Telarian, suddenly calm, said, "I've spilled too much blood following this course, construct. I shall not stop now. Step aside, or be destroyed."
Cynosure replied, "Lay down your weapon, or I shall wrest it from you." Even as Telarian composed a reply, the golem advanced a pace and punched with such speed even Raidon, for all his training, barely registered the blow. Telarian and Angul-Nis were equally unprepared. Elf and blade winged across the Throat, covering thirty paces without even skimming the floor. The diviner's form smashed into one of the great mirrors that tiled the many-walled chamber, shattering it into a thousand flashing shards.
Raidon expected the construct to follow up its advantage, but instead, it moved to the female Keeper's side in two large steps. Cynosure's voice from above said, "Delphe, we have but moments—accept this healing and ward the Well. I shall deal with Telarian." The construct touched the fallen woman's mutilated hand. There came a blue flash and a scream of agony from Delphe, but the construct was already moving toward the shattered mirror.
Not a moment too soon. Telarian retained his grip on Angul-Nis. As the man stood, a wave of ebon-tinged fire from the blade swept out, creating a wind of broken glass that left his wounds healed. The elf laughed as he advanced to join battle with the hulking construct.
A woman's voice came, "Aid me, Sign-bearer!" Raidon's gaze jerked back to Delphe, who was standing, gesturing at him with a hand pink and uncallused like baby's flesh.
Raidon dashed to Delphe's side. He clutched his forget-me-not in his left hand. From it, a sky blue radiance leaked. She had called him the Sign-bearer . . .
Delphe pointed at two ebon-spiked tentacles scrabbling up and over the lip of the Well. She yelled, "The Traitor sends avatars to aid his pawn. Your Sign will provide some protection."
One spike plunged into the stone around the Well, while the other emitted a cloudy green beam aimed at Delphe. Following some unconscious instinct, Raidon intersected the beam's path with his amulet. His Sign flared and the beam guttered out.
Delphe said, "We must slay the avatar before it grows strong enough to summon the Traitor! Even as we speak, it fortifies itself. . ."
Raidon stepped toward the lip. He mentally plunged a questing tip of his focus into the amulet, seeking the inner core of power he'd discovered earlier. Fire woke in his hand then flowed up his arm and face, down his shoulders, chest, and opposite arm. His eyes sparkled like sapphires.
A silvery, sleek shape the size of a man pulled itself from the Well. Raidon stepped forward and connected with three solid cross-kicks, each as punishing a strike as he had ever delivered. With each hit, he heard the sound of breaking bones and bursting organs within the creature. It flinched, yet did not fall.
Behind him, Delphe chanted. Bolts of electricity singed the creature's flesh, releasing a burning, putrid odor that nearly stopped Raidon's breath.
Her bolts carved fist-sized pockets from the amorphous creature, yet it did not fall. Indeed, it seemed to swell after each burst. Raidon attempted to backhand it with the fist clutching the Sign, but an armlike appendage blocked. He slapped the appendage down with his free hand, and surfed his striking hand straight into the creature's torso. Gangrenous fluid burst forth, splashing the monk and burning his skin like acid.
* * * * *
"Recall when we found the bush in the snow, laden with spring berries?" asked Kiril. Another of her treasured moments shared with Nangulis. If she could reconnect with him, perhaps the sundered halves of his spirit would permanently merge . . .
"Yes. But other memories are beginning to resolve, of. . . being confined, unmoving sometimes, but other times unleashed to wreak retribution?"
"Let's not talk of that—"
"No, Kiril, we must talk of it, and you must help me. A great gulf of darkness stretches back from just prior to this moment. A gulf from which images I do not understand assail me."
"Nangulis . . ."
He squeezed her hand. "Please, Kiril. If you spare me whatever truth you're withholding, how can I ever be whole?"
The swordswoman wavered. She looked into Nangulis's eyes. How could she deny him anything? Perhaps, once the truth was revealed, they could leave this place and begin anew together.
"Listen, then. I have not the strength to repeat myself. The darkness that clouds your recollection is a ten-year gap during which a portion of your essence resided in the Blade Cerulean. The blade I wielded to beat back the Traitor whose escape was imminent." New tears seeped from her eyes. With her free hand, she scrubbed at them.
He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. "Yes . . . yes! The soul-forged blade! We had no choice. A purified soul to act as a lens that would focus the Cerulean Sign's duty like nothing else. I volunteered. And . . ." His eyes found hers. "Did we succeed?"
"Yes."
"Then why do you cry?"
"Because you were taken from me, and my life disintegrated!"
"Then how is this conversation possible?" wondered Nangulis. His eyes strayed from Kiril, but failed to focus on anything external. He said, "I see nothing but darkness—only you are lit. Where are we?"