“So long,” he whispered. “So very long.”
“This is where we will cast the spell,” asked Qurrah. “This is where we reopen the portal to their former world?”
Velixar brushed the stone with his fingers. The stone rippled like water against his touch. “Come, Qurrah. Let it be done.”
Tessanna kissed his cheek. “Make me proud,” she whispered. The half-orc joined Velixar’s side. He glanced at the words on the page. They appeared simple, but he knew better. The strength required to open the portal would be enormous, otherwise Velixar would never have needed aid. He felt sweat trickle down his back as he repeated the words over and over in his mind.
“Wait,” he said. “We should rest. We are both weary from the battle…”
“We should sunder the wall between the worlds while the chance is still before us,” Velixar said, interrupting him. “Are you afraid, Qurrah Tun?”
“Of course I am,” Qurrah said. “I am no fool. The power needed could tear me to pieces. And what of Tessanna?”
At this the man in black turned and offered his hand to the girl. Smiling, she took it.
“Your magic is instinctual,” Velixar told her. “Given to you by the goddess herself. You will know when the time is right. Qurrah, I ask you, are you ready?”
Qurrah closed his eyes. He could still feel the weight of the dead he raised pressing on his mind, but it grew lighter with each moment. Within himself he had found a well of power that frightened and exhilarated him. Could he tap it again? He put his fingers against the wall and stared at the painted portal. Within the fire on the other side he saw raised swords and legions of armies silhouetted in black. Did he have the strength to condemn all Dezrel to such a fate?
He felt Tessanna take his hand. He glanced behind and saw the love in her eyes, the trust, and the fragile faith.
“Yes,” Qurrah said. “I am ready.”
Velixar began first, chanting in a deep, monotonous tone. Over fifty lines filled the page, varied in their pitch and pronunciation. Qurrah took a deep breath and joined in. At first he felt no difference from the other cantrips and spells he knew, but then the power hit. It was as if he had latched onto a carriage as it sped by with its horses at full gallop. Deep in his chest he felt a pull, and as he poured all his will into continuing the words, he felt his whole body trembling.
“Qurrah!” he heard Tessanna shout. The strain was horrendous. Every bit of magic shrieked out of his soul. His vision faded into a mix of red, purple, and yellow. Within the psycho-sight the words on the tome burned like fire. His voice rose higher. His throat tore, and as the blood ran down he knew he was going to die. At his side Velixar continued casting, even as the book shook in his hand and the red glow of his eyes dimmed to nothing. The wall before them raged like the surface of a lake within in a storm. All he could hear was a constant thunder, but whether it was real or in his mind he did not know. The words continued. The magic continued. His death grew closer.
“Take my hand,” he heard a voice say, and in the madness he sensed a stability he had never thought possible. He reached out blindly. A hand took his, and its grip was iron. He collapsed, unable to see the words of the book but not needing to. Every thought, every image, every breath was dominated by the power of the spell. He screamed, and even as he screamed he continued.
A tiny sliver of blue swirled in the center of the wall. The spell was nearing completion. Qurrah tried to speak the final lines, the lines that would wrench open the wall and end Dezrel, but he could not. His screaming was too loud, the pain too incredible. Through tear-filled eyes he looked to Velixar and saw his true visage. He was a skull with eyes, bones with a robe, death in a body. His features no longer changed, for he had no features. Just his eyes, which were dull and colorless. He too was screaming, and his wail was the final blow against his shattering psyche.
“Forgive me mother,” a voice said, its sound a perfect calm amid the thunder. “Forgive me, but I wish to be free of your desires, your eyes, your power. Please, mother. Forgive me.”
Tessanna placed a hand upon the wall. Wind swirled in every direction. The ground heaved in protest. Images and sounds from the far corners of the world assaulted them, random and wild. Amid it all, the girl with blackest eyes felt at home. So softly she whispered the final words that neither had the strength to say.
“Take away it all,” she whispered as the portal ripped open in a sudden, violent explosion of noise and air. Qurrah and Velixar flew back, their limp bodies rolling across the ground. Tessanna arched her back and lifted her arms as the chaos swarmed over her, followed by a blinding white light that quickly turned red. Her vision returned as the light lost its strength. The portal gently swirled, its being filled with what looked like millions of tiny stars. Compared to the original portal it was tiny, only the size of an ordinary man. Tessanna brushed its edges.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Backing away, she laughed as she cried. “But I couldn’t be happier, mommy.”
Velixar was the first to his feet. “We did it,” he gasped. His voice was raspy and weak, but with each passing moment it sunk deeper and firmer. “Celestia has lost! Ashhur has lost!”
Qurrah’s haunting laughter echoed in the cavernous room. “Do you sense it?” he asked as he lay on his back. “Can you feel the hatred? The goddess is furious, Velixar, oh so furious.”
The portal shimmered and shrunk as if in response. Qurrah and Velixar screamed in turn as they felt sharp pains spike into their minds. Celestia was trying to close the portal.
“Leave them be!” Tessanna shouted as Velixar fell to the floor and Qurrah rolled around on his back, his laughter and screaming an intertwined sound of lunacy. The castle rumbled as if the earth itself were angry.
“Desperation,” Velixar said as his own screaming faded. “There is nothing she can do but strike at us in futile frustration.” He knelt on knee and stared at the portal as a red liquid ran from both his eyes. A wave of his hand and the shimmering stopped. The portal swirled faster, stronger. The stars pulled back, leaving a deep blackness fixed in the center. The blackness grew.
“Something is coming through,” Tessanna said as she backed away. Qurrah stood, turned to one side, and spat blood. He grinned as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Who approaches?” he asked Velixar. “A lowly demon? A commander of an army? Or is it Thulos himself? Will he bow to you, or cut off all our heads before we can speak a word?”
Velixar pulled his hood low over his face and smirked. “If you thought the latter was the case, you wouldn’t be smiling. Stay on your best behavior. While Karak has sought an alliance with his brother, the same cannot be said for Thulos. For centuries they have hunted for this world.”
Tessanna wrapped her arms around Qurrah’s shoulders and braced her chin on his shoulder.
“Unless its Thulos, we can kill it,” she said. “So we might as well be polite.”
Air hissed out of the portal as if it were exhaling, and then the creature stepped through. He looked human, albeit a magnificent version of one. Giant muscles flexed inside his crimson painted armor. Only his arms were exposed, the rest covered in well-crafted mail made of plate and chain. A golden helmet rest atop his head, its nose guard hanging long past his chin. In the back was a small hole so that the man’s brown ponytail could be pulled through. Emblazoned across the chest piece, colored a vibrant yellow amid the crimson, was the symbol of a fist. Hanging from his hip was a giant sword sheathed in black leather, gems, and rubies. The man stared at them with wide amber eyes. His skin was bronze, and every inch covered with scars. When he spoke his language was that of the Gods.
“We have opened doors to many worlds, but this is the first brazen enough to open a door to ours,” the man said. “Who is the idiotic dabbler in magic that created this rift? Name yourself so that I may punish your stupidity.”