The Chronicles of Heaven's War: Burning Phoenix (73 page)

Crash! Twang!
Trisha’s sword was
almost wrenched from her hands with a counterblow delivered by her
opponent’s defensive thrust. It was her turn to stare dumbly in
disbelief. Never had she seen someone respond so quickly to fend
off such a striking blow. Jumping back in an attempt to distance
herself from another counterblow, she hurried to gather her wits as
she stared, wondering what damage she might have delivered.

In a blur, the woman creature’s sword was
raised high again. She winced with discomfort, feeling warm, sticky
ooze running down her lower leg and into her boot. She puzzled, for
never had an opponent been fast enough to touch her flesh with any
bladed weapon. Had her repulsive blow not come as quickly, her leg
would have been cleaved in two. As it was, the stroke cut deep into
her kneecap, barely missing a tendon.

Though painful, and the wound bleeding
profusely, the cut was superficial. This strike only made the
creature more dangerous. Her adrenalin now surging, she advanced
anew, crying an insult as she charged.

Swords flew at blinding speeds, a blur of
blue fire and explosive, flaming orange as blade crashed against
blade. Colliding, the weapons rang with the screech of greats
eagles in mortal combat. The woman creature would drive a sweeping
stroke downward to cleave a skull only to be thwarted by a
defensive stay, instantly followed by Trisha’s tempestuous
counterstroke, attempting to cut tendons or disembowel. This was a
fight to the death, no one questioning that outcome, only who would
be the victor.

For the first time in mortal combat, the
woman creature wondered if she might lose the day. So many her
blade had delivered to Gahanna. It had mattered little whom or why.
It had been her job, to do her master’s bidding, yet the victory
had always been assured, she never having a doubt who would gain
the satin sheets that night. Tonight was so different. Doubt was
growing in her heart. Already her fingers bled, a knuckle
shattered, and her chin carried a nasty wound.

Failure was no option. It was not her own
demise she feared. This vile beast had to be destroyed or all might
be lost! The very Powers of the universe depended on her to
prevail. She was delivered here to do such a thing. She could not
fail...would not! With renewed effort, she doubled down with her
attack.

Trisha marveled that she still lived. The
speed at which this monster attacked and the power unleashed with
each blow amazed her. True, she had damaged her opponent a bit, but
there were no telling blows delivered that slowed her adversary
down. Being unarmored did serve a tiny advantage. She could respond
quicker to her opponent’s attack, but it came at a price. Already
she bled from several nicks and cuts, as well as the more serious
injuries. Her left breast was cleaved deeply, soaking her torn
jacket crimson red, and a gash across her forehead threatened to
blind her as it bled out, unimpeded. Despite the injuries
necessitating her giving ground, she still charged the attack when
possible.

Sounds of cries, screams and foul oaths rent
the night air as these two titans clashed on Olympus’ summit. To
the victor went the glory, to the vanquished the fall of their
universe. Neither could afford to lose. Both must win, no matter
the cost, yet only one was to walk away with the victory. Bodies
crashed into pallets, crates fell, hands reached for throats, boots
kicked, fingers gouged, and fists flew… all the while blades
ringing, defiant.

Giving no quarter, the woman creature dove
upon her protagonist, her sword hammering blow after blow like hail
on a tin roof. Trisha deflected each blow, offering a counterthrust
as opportunity afforded. Those opportunities were rapidly
diminishing, the woman creature’s sheer mass and long reach making
it difficult for her to take the battle offensively.

Slowly she backed away, gradually her
strength waning. Although her blade still shielded her from the
enemy’s death stroke, how much longer would it protect her? Unless
something changed the tide of battle soon, there would be no
returning to loving arms this night or any other night again.

She was failing Lowenah - had failed her and
all those relying on the prophecy. She,
the great sword
, the
flaming light of Sharon
, was about to be extinguished in
eternal darkness. And there was nothing else for it. She could feel
it, her power ebbing along with the flow of blood from her many
wounds. The moment was close, but she would not give up the fight
until it arrived.

Slamming the latest onslaught away with a
grunt, Trisha dove low in an attempt to finish what she had begun.
Too quickly, a defensive counterblow arrived, thwarting the
assault. The woman creature caught Trisha’s blade near the hilt
with a counterthrust that nearly lifted the field marshal off her
feet when she carried through with an upstroke.

Trisha was pitched back and nearly toppled
over. Her left hand, bruised by the blow, broke loose from the
hilt, leaving the already injured right hand to wield the sword in
her defense. She attempted to regain her footing while holding her
sword high to ward off a coming blow.

The woman creature spun her sword about
again, sweeping it down across the hilt of Trisha’s sword. Trisha
heard no sound nor felt any pain as the blade flashed past her
eyes. As her face was spattered with blood, she watched her own
sword sail away from her, several fingers dancing haphazardly in
the air before falling to the floor.

A garish grin grew across the woman
creature’s face as she reeled back to deliver the deathblow.
Swearing vile curses, she swung with all her strength a blow for
mid-skull.
“Your brains shall the crows eat!”
She screamed,
just before her blade struck.

The sword smashed into the side of Trisha’s
head, the power of the blow lifting her backward, off her feet. The
blade tore through her body, slamming the woman’s head hard to the
left and sending her into a flying twist. Bone, flesh, tongue and
teeth spewed from a ruined face, spattering blood and gore across
crates and floor. With a
thud!
the field marshal fell,
head-first, into a crumpled heap on the hard concrete floor.

The woman creature quietly stood there,
bloodied sword at the ready, puzzling over what had just happened.
Her mood changed from puzzlement to disbelief when she heard a
groan and saw her adversary slowly roll over, terribly damaged but
very much still alive.
This was impossible!
Her enemy’s head
should be sheared asunder, a feat she had mastered many times with
ordinary blades of steel...but with a derker sword?! Perplexed, she
stepped forward to have a closer look.

Trisha’s right ear was split in two, her eye
ripped from its socket. From there, the pointed blade had swept
down at an angle across her face, pulverizing the upper jaw,
cutting away a great deal of tongue and inner mouth, smashing out
many of her teeth, and tearing the left jaw bone from her face. Yet
she was still very much alive, though barely conscious. Her head
lolling from side to side, Trisha, surrendering to her coming fate
feared not her demise, regretting only her failure to best this
monster of evil.

“
Why don’t you finish it?”
A chiding
voice angrily called out from the far end of the narrow aisle.
“How is the butcher’s bill paid when the prey still
lives?”

The woman creature glanced up to see Lowenah
standing there. Looking back at the bloodied vanquished, she shook
her head in question. “An oak of four handbreadths would not
survive such a blow, yet this creature took it and lives! I do not
know... I do not know... Never have I contested against one greater
than this - fast, furious and skilled beyond belief it is!”

Lowenah threw her hands up in disgust.
“Sarah
, my foolish Sarah! Oh, for the wisdom of ‘Molly
Whan’!
Have the history lessons of your old world been wasted
on you? Strike the shadows in the dark of evening and the dancing
swan-maiden shall perish...”

The woman creature Lowenah called ‘Sarah’
looked at her, concern growing on her face as she pondered the
moment.
Molly Whan
? The story of a hunter who mistakenly
killed his lover in the darkness of fading shadow, thinking she was
the hunted prey. What was this all about? Whose
blood
dripped from her sword? Was it that of the Worm’s servant, a wicked
spy in their midst, or…
or
…?”

She slowly backed away, the words of
VanGoddawin ringing in her ears. ‘It is an easy thing to take a
life, but oh, so difficult to return it to one murdered in
innocence! Take Wisdom’s road, my child. Do not string the arrow’s
quill until you are certain who your enemy is.’

But she
was
certain! With her own
eyes, she had watched the evil deeds of this person, its violent
attacks against her King, so full of itself, speaking denunciations
against the holy ones. She had studied this evil creature
carefully. She was certain, wasn’t she? Lowenah’s visible
displeasure was shaking the faith of her certainty. She recalled
VanGoddawin’s parting warning, ‘Remember, once released, the
unstoppable arrow cares not for friend or foe.’

Lowering her sword while taking another step
back, Sarah cried out, panic growing in her voice,
“Tell me,
please! Have I murdered your child?”

At that instant, a frantic Zadar rushed up
beside Lowenah, lanner drawn. Looking first at the armored warrior
holding a long, bloodied blade, he chanced a glance at the ragged
pile on the floor, his eyes filling with horror when he recognized
it to be Trisha. Crying in despair, he lifted his lanner, squeezing
its trigger, while attempting to push past Lowenah to deliver a
killing shot on his lover’s murderer.

Lowenah caught the distraught man up short,
gingerly removing the lanner from his fingers. Holding his arm
securely, she pulled him close, “Your girl lives! Do not shame me
with the shedding of more innocent blood this night...”

Although stunned at Lowenah’s revelations,
Zadar dutifully obeyed, tears welling up in his eyes. “I promise,
Mother, to do as you say.”

“Thank you, son...” Lowenah softly replied,
slowly releasing her grip on Zadar. “Go to your girl. She needs you
so at this moment.”

Zadar rushed down the corridor to gather
Trisha up in his arms. Tears streamed down a distraught face as he
dropped onto his knees and bent low, gently lifting the woman so
that her head rested in his lap. This was not the first time in his
life he held a torn and ruined companion. But never had his soul
grieved so as it did for this most cherished one of all! He began
to slowly rock back and forth while softly calling out in broken
prose sweet refrains of love and endearment.

As if drawn up by a fisher’s net, Trisha
roused, staring sleepily through a growing, dark mist, searching
for the face behind the lilting love song drifting upon the
dizzying dreamscape. Finally, for only an instant before sinking
below the foaming waves, she looked into the eyes of the man so
tenderly caressing her heart and soul. Then, as the song floated
liltingly upon her ears, she slowly drifted down into the quiet
depths of mindless sleep.

Choking out Trisha’s name, Zadar searched to
find if her spirit remained clinging to life’s hope. With shaking
fingers, he carefully undid the woman’s blouse until he rested his
hand over her heart, waiting breathlessly for the soothing,
rhythmic message he so desperately needed to feel. Was it a moment,
an hour, or forever? Zadar could only recall the excruciating agony
of waiting the desperate eternity before that first thump of the
woman’s heart pulsed through his hand and into his soul.

Trisha’s chest began to slowly rise and fall
as weak lungs took up a quiet rhythm of deep sleep. Chancing to
take his eyes away from her for but a moment, he looked over at the
woman standing a few paces away. His forlorn look of desperation,
of questioning accusation, reflected in the woman’s eyes as she
helplessly stared back at the destruction she had wrought. He
quickly fixed his gaze back upon his precious treasure. Pulling her
close up in his arms, Zadar lowered his head and began to sob.

Sarah leaned against a broken crate to
steady herself. Whether it was the bleeding injuries that made her
feel so weak, or the growing realization of the reckless
destruction she had delivered, the woman did not contemplate.
Watching Zadar grieve over his loss drew forth a torrent of visions
that long haunted her past - visions never allowed to bubble up to
the surface for fear their reflections would expose the true
monster demon lurking behind the mask of pious
self-righteousness.

Had all the killings she had fomented, both
in this world and the one before, been always for some righteous
cause, self-preservation, and necessity, or had she become the
hunter of men for the thrill of the chase, exhilarating with
demented joy as she smelled the blood of her hapless victim? Never
had she looked upon her adversary as a person with feelings, hopes,
or desires, nor had she contemplated her opponent to be someone’s
child, lover, or companion. How many arms had she made bereft of
cherished love? How many hearts had she filled with hopeless grief,
just so that she could sleep alone, unmolested, for a night?

That same forlorn grief began filling
Sarah’s heart. She cast her gaze toward Lowenah, searching her face
for a hint of sympathetic understanding. Eyes pleading, she begged,
“Please, my Lord, my Breath and my Soul, it was a mistake, only a
mistake! The arrow has been unleashed and cannot be returned to the
bow. Forgive, please, your little child for her foolishness...”

Lowenah was in too foul a mood to play the
game of consolation. She angrily spat,
“Fool! Do you think I
cannot read your very thoughts, your wallowing in self-pity,
seeking consolation for evil deeds by my absolution?”
She
pointed an accusing finger, shaking it at both Sarah and also the
unconscious Trisha. “Your conceptions were no mistake - no children
of drunken debauchery or of senseless fornications are you. In your
mothers’ bellies, I wove your every fiber, your fathers seduced to
their beds by my very command. From the blood of jackal queens and
Dancing Stones were you made, to become slayers of demons in these
Worlds Above and the Worlds Below.”