Bladeshire 20

By David C. Daoust

Stairs. A spiral of stairs heading ever upwards. Chantilles was back in that tower. She had not quite pieced it all together yet. Images invaded her thoughts as she climbed ever upwards. She knew she lost the cross, it flew from her hand, but she could not quite remember why it was so important. Little by little more memories returned… Fear gripped her… worry took shape. Worry for Khadory, trapped in a hole… And Abe, fending off an undead hog… All while she was trapped here, again, in the Tower of Darkness.

A small flicker of light appeared in the darkness. One she had never witnessed in this place before, nor had she ever heard the tiny voice that followed. Not here.

“Whaa?” the smiling sprite expressed in wonderment before asking, “What are you doing here?”

Chantilles was taken aback. She recognized her as the sprite she had met in her home. The very sprite that had fluttered through her window to join the visiting Spriggans. She was a bit more glowy, but she looked equally as happy (or insane) as she had earlier. The Sprite did say they would talk more later…

The sprites very presence shook her mind from the mire that confused her. It all came flooding back– Chantilles had barely been able to express what was going on above, before she was snatched away. There was no way Khadory could know the danger she had witnessed.

The small being seemed to study the environment “…this isn’t good, this isn’t good at all.”

“How are you here?” Chantilles asked.

“I wanted to talk to my new friend!” she announced with a very loving smile, darting forward she kissed her forehead, then darted back. “I did not expect you to be in such dire circumstances.”

“Do you know what this place is?” Chantilles grasped at hope.

“It’s a trap, a trap for your mind,” the tiny fairy explained, nodding all the way through. “You’re lucky we decided to be friends. I’ll tell you that much.”

One step at a time, Chantilles was climbing ever forward.

“Just stop,” the sprite insisted. “It is hard for you to realize but you are being compelled upwards… just stop moving.”

Chantilles did just that. The world seemed to wobble, but the stairs stopped dragging her upward… it was a weird sensation. The windows appeared and her attention was pulled to them…

“No,” the small fairy flew between her and the windows, denying her the view of the city outside, “Just um, do the opposite…? Maybe. Try going down the stair.”

It was as good a plan as any, Chantilles turned and took a step down. It only took the one step to find the bottom.

Reality shifted and the tower of darkness was gone. She found herself in an unfamiliar environment, stone floor–wide stone chamber, though there were no stairs behind her. Just a rather large clear crystal; a three-foot tall, floating on air, crystal. The room itself was a tapestry draped circular great hall, larger than Chantilles had ever witnessed. Lit by candlelight. What furniture there was, was finely carved varnished wood, rich and beautiful. Silken cushions piled where appropriate. Splendor Chantilles had never witnessed.

‘This was the Tower of Darkness?’ she thought.

“I’d say it was the crystal that was the ‘Tower,’” the Sprite answered her unspoken thoughts.

In the center of the room was a wide pool of water built into the floor, though the liquid within, Chantilles realized, was anything but water. Silvery and fluid, like a mirror made of water. Kneeling before the pool was a female elf. Eyes closed, she had silvery blonde hair, a golden tiara, and long silken gowns that hid all form beyond her bare, slender neck and frail shoulders.

“This must be her… take a look,” the sprite said gesturing to the high elf. “Try to focus on her…”

‘Must be who?’

“The one that trapped you,” the Sprite answered sharply. “You really need to focus on her right now.”

‘Focus on what?’

“Her mind,” the small fairy guided her forward. “Such swaps work both ways.”

No sooner had she fully focused on the elf, than Chantilles found her eyes fluttering open. She looked at her slender fair skinned hands… and down into the liquid where she found her new reflection. She realized she was now in the body of the elf.

Within the suddenly shimmering ‘water’, the reflection of the high elf maiden faded. Instead, she could see herself in the torchlight… in that burrow. She knew it was not her. Or rather that it was her body… but not her mind. She witnessed herself with Khadory. Yet there she knelt, looking in the pool as the elf. It was all very confusing.

“Whew,” the friendly sprite sighed in relief, “at least we made it through the scary part!” The happy Sprite almost celebrated before explaining, “There was a solid chance you might have just dissipated into nothing! That is, if you had realized you were disembodied…”

Chantilles was too interested in what was going on in the pool’s image, to even realize what the sprite had just implied, let alone understand it. She could see Khadory; torch in one hand, the axe in the other. Something had snarled in that deep dark burrow. Something fierce. She witnessed her own stolen body, calm and uncaring, seemingly without fear, as Khadory braced himself for whatever may come out of the darkness.

The thing that came was not what was expected. It was not the Irontooth Shrew! Not the thing they had braved the bottomless kiln to contend with. It was something vaguely human, though rotting. Green flesh… massive fanged teeth and huge inhuman claws. Gaunt and twisted; This was a ghoul. This was a creature that fed on corpses. A creature of legend, long lost to the ages. Lost with the undeath’s rule over Llewelynn. Chantilles knew of no such thing, she only saw a monster bearing down on her friend. Her elven hands clutched at the edge of the pool, as the fear clutched her heart. There was nothing she could do.

“Oh, but we must do something,” Chantilles said to the sprite in a strange lilting voice.

“What?” the sprite lost her cheery demeanor, for just a moment, when she noted the young girl was afraid. “What for?” she studied the image in the pool and realized what the young girl feared, the smile returned, “Oh, I’m sure this youngster will be able to handle such a weak old thing as this ghoul.”

“A ghoul?” she asked frightened.

“From long ago,” the sprite elaborated. “Before this boy’s kind came to cleanse the lands. Nasty horrid things, forever doing the bidding of those blood craven fiends.”

“The Vampire Lords?” Chantilles recalled from stories she had heard in the past.

“I think they liked to proclaim themselves as such,” the sprite conceded with clear disdain. “I’d say this nasty green ghoul, lost its master, and was forced to feed off what corpses were left behind…” She pieced it together aloud, partially from thoughts gleaned from the girl’s mind, “Following behind a nasty old shrew, in place of a haughty bloodsucking fiend… All in the hope of rotting scraps to gnaw on. Yes, hidden deep beneath the ground where the sun can’t burn him, nor the people put him down. Desperate times for such a thing.”

The nightmare claws, the oversized fangs. It lunged into the torchlight. The light itself burned the ghoul’s skin… but not enough to slow it. The lunge, though, it forced the boy back… Chantilles watched as Khadory swung the axe wildly before himself, an action which inadvertently forced the torch up into the soft earthen ceiling. Darkness filled the image as the torch was snuffed, just enough, that Chantilles could no longer see the vision in the pool.

“Well, that was unfortunate,” the sprite said simply.

“You don’t seem worried at all,” a fearful Chantilles accused, letting loose of the pool as nothing but darkness could be witnessed within.

“I mean,” the sprite shrugged. “It is only Death. You’re the mortal ones —isn’t that the point?”

Chantilles did not understand what she said, only that of death in relation to Khadory. She felt lost in frustration. Eyes widened, heart felt like a cold lump in her chest. She had to do; she had to go. She was up, long silken gown trailing as she rushed from the room, out into a strange hallway.

Armored high elven guards posted throughout, none reacted to her presence beyond straightening up a bit… Her mind raced as she hurried away. Elven maidens coursed the floors, each in their own flowing gowns, each pausing for her to pass.

The frantic Chantilles found more stairs. Half-worried the steps may be another trap, yet fully knowing she could not help her friend from there, she rushed down them to find a lower antechamber.

More female elves, elven maidens… she ran square into three of them. The one was apologetic, until she got a good look at Chantilles’ eyes. The sneer that followed barely hid the mirth behind the strange maiden’s own eyes.

The maiden stopped the other two elves, throwing her arms out before them. “My apologies,” she said with a bit of a curtsy.

Chantilles’ mind reeled, she located a door… framed by windows that could only denote the outside –she rushed through it.

Out into the light of day, the sun was warm on her borrowed elven skin. Then hot. She suddenly burned; searing pain enveloped her mind. The flesh charred, blackened. A guard to either side of the doorway hastily reacted.

“My Queen,” one yelled as she threw her cloak over the frantic elf, protecting said queen from the sun and forcing her back through the open doorway…