Broken Rule | Chapter 38
This post is chapter thirty-eight of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37
Jonas Terra, Rurik, Duke Benedek, and Baron Joszua Chase had arrived in Kubara, unsure of what to make of the empty streets. The buildings they passed seemed deserted, with doors ripped off their hinges and windows smashed. No one walked about the city, no merchants hawked their wares from carts or stands on the streets. They made their way cautiously to the palace, but stopped short when they saw the smoke rising from its ruined wing and billowing out the main entrance. Some of the noblemen and women they expected at court nursed injuries in the plaza outside, and others were urging them to move further away from the palace.
Before they could inquire about what had happened, a man in priestly vestments that were barely recognizable under layers of soot stormed out of the palace and into the plaza. “Gavril and the demon were not alone in their evil!” he shouted. “They had allies, and many of you were among them. The Most Holy will not tolerate that evil in this world. Will you confess your crimes?”
Some of the nobles tried to scramble to safety, others hugged the ground and covered their heads, hoping to ride out his fury. The priest cried out again, “You announce your guilt with your silence. You are guilty, as are many others. The Most Holy demands that I burn your blight from the world.” He held his hands together, and a beam of white hot flame burst forth. He played it across the plaza, through the assembled nobles. Some screamed in agony as the beam ripped through them, some were destroyed so quickly and completely that they didn't have a chance to scream.
Seeing this, Jonas gasped. “That's not possible. Magic like that hasn't been known for centuries... since the War of Despair. Is the old magic loose again in the world?”
Joszua was more practical in his reaction, pushing the other three down behind a nearby garden wall. “Most Holy! What was that?” he demanded.
“Magic,” whispered Jonas. “Powerful magic. The sort of magic that nearly tore this world asunder. It shouldn't be possible anymore. The books were all destroyed.” The screams from the plaza grew closer, as did the oppressive heat given off by the priest's sorcery.
“We have to get out of here!” shouted Joszua, but Jonas was too lost in thought to heed him.
Benedek seized Rurik's arm and pulled him up. “Come on, lad, this is no place for you.” They ran. Joszua tried to pull Jonas with him, but Jonas was too intent on seeing what would happen. Joszua ran after the duke.
Jonas peeked up over the wall and saw more and more fire springing forth from the priest's hands, more and more people falling to his dreadful wrath. He stared at it, unable to do anything else. Where had such power come from? And could anyone stop it? The priest seemed completely mad with it, killing everyone. Surely someone must be able to do something. The noblemen in the plaza were all knights by training. They had their swords with them, if not their armor, but they fell before the flames like kindling. Was there any other power in Tarkannan that could fight this magic? Any other men who could stand up to the inferno the priest could summon from nowhere? What could a man with a sword do against something like that?
And then Jonas realized the truth that he had been hiding from himself since he had first seen the flames. With the things he had discovered since he had begun teaching Rurik, he had more power than he ever had before. Was there anything he couldn't do with stone? He might not be able to match the wizards of old, but he had power. What would one of them do in a situation like this? How would Xanatar deal with a fire mage? Jonas tried to think back to the history he knew of the War of Despair, and kept returning to a single thought. The single most memorable working of earth magic ever known: the Stone Man.
Was that beyond him? He knew now how to bend stone to his will, how to make it change shape to suit him. A Stone Man must move, but what was movement? As he learned as a sculptor, a man might move his leg, and change the shape of his body. He could simply change the shape of the stone, and thereby move a leg. Was the size of a Stone Man the issue? For decades he had worked his will on the stone walls of castles and fortresses. No, size was not a barrier. In truth, he could see no barrier except his own reluctance. The time for reluctance had passed. For too long he had been content to follow the easiest path, or the path least fraught with peril. That wasn't an option any more. He was the only one who could do anything against this nightmare, and that meant he had a duty to do it.
He crouched down behind the wall again and moved away from the plaza, breaking into a full run when he could no longer feel the heat of the flames on his back. He came to the ruins of the cathedral, once beautiful but now a pile of stone blocks and rubble. Stone that he could use. He knelt down, placed his hand on a block, and began his spell. As he chanted, the stone softened without heat and ran like melted wax, spreading out to other blocks. As the blocks joined, he changed his chant to match the new pitch of the combined stone, and they melted and joined together. It was the longest and most difficult spell he had ever worked, taxing his skill and knowledge to the limit. But the stones started to take shape. A shape he was very familiar with now, for Jonas hadn't created a Stone Man, but a Stone Woman. As the stone of the ruined cathedral melted and congealed, the titanic form of Suzana sat up, her features solidifying into a fearsome scowl, and a look of wrathful vengeance filled her eyes. Jonas scrambled up onto the Stone Woman's shoulder, and to those who might watch from below it appeared that he was whispering in the giant duchess's ear.
The Stone Woman took one mighty step, pulling her legs from the stone of the cathedral as if she was stepping up out of a bog. She took another. When her feet came down, the earth shook. She stepped again, moving closer to the plaza near the palace, each step growing more sure, more steady. Controlling her was difficult at first, concentrating on so many things, the bends of the knees, the placement of the feet. But then Jonas stopped concentrating on the parts, and imagined the woman in his mind, imagined what Suzana would do if she were here, if she were a hundred feet tall and had the power to save everyone from the mad priest back at the plaza. He saw her strong and purposeful stride in his mind, and the Stone Woman matched it.
Jonas led the Stone Woman toward the palace. The priest awaited him in the center of the plaza, shouting something, but he was so far below that Jonas couldn't make out the words. It didn't matter. The Stone Woman lifted her foot and tried to crush him under her heel, but the priest leaped aside. The concussion of her heavy stomp shook the ground, and the remaining walls of the palace crumbled, sending up a huge cloud of dust.
The priest sent forth a stream of fire, but the Stone Woman brought her hands up to protect herself, the stone sleeves of her dress deflecting the flame safely away. Then the priest lashed out with his white hot beam and it cut through the stone like butter. He severed the Stone Woman's left leg at the knee, and the titan began to fall. Jonas tried to do something, but he couldn't imagine Suzana so grievously wounded, couldn't get his mind to focus on what she should do to break the fall. The Stone Woman stumbled, her limbs flailing and uncoordinated, struggling to match the confused images in Jonas's mind, but unable to. She tumbled into the ruins of the palace, and lay still.
Jonas fell with her, caught up in the giant stony curls of her hair when he had been swept off her shoulder by the speed of the fall. That must have cushioned the impact, but his world was still filled with pain. His left arm bent unnaturally backward. He couldn't feel his left leg, which was a blessing since he could see sharp bone protruding from his thigh. His entire left side hurt, pain shooting through his whole body if he tried to take anything more than the shallowest breath. He needed to get up, needed to finish the battle with the priest. He summoned his last reserve of will to push himself upward. He moved an inch and was overwhelmed by the pain. He lost consciousness.