Fight of the Ivanti

The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin.
  Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead.
  ‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the sixth temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’
  He stared at the desolation and his grip on his sword almost failed. He wanted to sit upon the steps and watch the last moments of a war already lost.
  ‘Do not doubt.’ A voice said and Ashara looked down to his shadow, though it wasn’t his. His shadow never mirrored the sharp edges of his armour or bulk of his muscles. His shadow was slender, feminine, shapely and yet as stiff as a statue.
  ‘What is doubt but a biproduct of hope.’ Ashara replied, ‘What is hope but a biproduct of folly.’
  ‘Doubt is the power of our enemy.’ She had a name; Elen and she wasn’t truly his shadow, but she was as bound to him as any real shadow., ‘You are Ivanti.’ She continued, ‘Angel bound, hero of an ancient order.’
  ‘The last of the Ivanti. Our orders are broken, bastions in ruin. The Ostivanti have won. Daegma has won. Colimar lays in ruin.’
  ‘The book.’ Elen whispered, ‘The book holds the enchantment of Daegma’s prison. If we can just get the book, then we can rebind him. Turn his forces back to dust, flame and bog. Give humanity a chance for life.’
  Ashara sighed, feeling that same weight that had pressed on him ever since he had allowed himself to be bound to an angel. It was the weight of a mountain. He bound Elen in a time of peace. Then, only rare skirmishes between the orders and the occasional kingdom war had threatened the planet. Now Daegma was almost free and Barta’s watch had failed.
Giants, dread spiders, the undead and the Ostivanti destroyed all in an attempt to bring back Daegma’s dominion.
  The book. The book is the answer. We can lift the mountain once we have the book.
He turned from the desolation and the sickly, horrible, smoke-filled wind. The temple, a four spired pyramid, was covered in age old ivy and moss. Ashara couldn’t understand why you would hide such a powerful thing in such a weak relic.
  Every step was laborious in Ashara’s armour, but he did feel something. A power coursed through the stone that seemed to clear away the screams, the smoke and the dread. It was like Ashara had passed into a previous age. Even Elen seemed to delight in it. She was a stone angel after all. A servant of Aurda.
  Ashara reached the top step; a door of iron standing impervious above him. Carved upon on it, in reverence or warning, was the three headed ram. Daegma’s mark.
  ‘It looks like his church.’ He said, eyes searching for his shadow, but she was no longer at his feet. She stretched towards the wall and stood there at his height. She was not beautiful as such, more impervious, strong as a mountain and rooted in power that he could not imagine. The wall around the shadow shifted as she moved, elevating her features and bringing her to life in three dimensions. She turned to face him, stone face moving across the moss-covered wall.   He could see in her shadowy face, the cracks where the moss once clung.
  ‘They hoard the book, knowing they can never release him.’ Her hand reached out of the wall. It was callous like aged stone and with it he caught the scent of things ancient. It was not the sulphurous fumes that followed one of the Ostivanti but more like the smell of summer rain on porous rock, bringing life to the minerals themselves.
  The door opened at her command, and she became again a shadow at his feet.
He charged into the room but stopped dead. He was expected. He knew them first by the stench. Used to it as he was, his eyes still watered, and every breath was a torment. That horrible wrongness that accompanied those of the storm forge was stifling. The darkness of the chamber was overcome by the magic that bound the dead back to the earth.
  Every temple had been the same. An open hall, full of enemies. Skeletons, bound by blue light, lifted swords. Ghouls hung from the ceiling, their bat like wings flapping.
Elen moved her shadow across the floor and Ashara followed. He felt the stone and the power of the Ivanti flowed from him. He jumped and the wall to his left pulled. He flew, sword decapitating skeletons as he soared. He adjusted his force, and the ceiling hoisted him upwards, passed green flames. A downward shift took him upon a great stone dais and from there he drove his sword through two more of the undead. Around him, Elen came and where her shadow lay, stone enveloped and destroyed their foes.
  Ghouls swooped down from the ceiling, their wings making a cacophony of noise. Ashara felt the walls and battled with the servants of the devil. He pulled himself between the stone in a constant dance, his sword flashing until the hall fell silent and the enemy was defeated.
Ashara lowered himself to the floor.
  ‘Always the same,’ He said, ‘Soon we will encounter one of the Ostivanti.’
  ‘The Ostivanti are weak without their master released.’
  ‘And yet they have destroyed the world.’
  ‘Numbers.’ Elen whispered sadly. She was missing an arm in shadow form, and she seemed to limp. This fight had wounded her.
  ‘We must-‘
  ‘GIRL OF AURDA. MAN OF CANDOR. FOOLS OF BARTA.’ A great voice boomed. It sent shivers through Ashara’s spine. The voice was educated, normal and yet it seemed wrong and made fear grow right in his heart.
  Elen seemed to shiver, ‘Do not haunt us Daegma. Your time has come.’
  ‘COLIMAR IS MY DOMAIN.’ The voice boomed and the temple rumbled until all became silent.
  ‘He presses on the world Ashara.’ Elen said in a panic, ‘I can feel him. He will crumble the temple and break his prison. We do not have much time.’
  That mountain. That terrible mountain. It pressed on his lungs so that every breath was a struggle against destiny. He gripped his sword and passed through the chamber. Before him stretched a maze. He knew it would be there. It had been in the other temples.
  Elen appeared on the wall of the maze. She was wounded still. She even clutched at her side as if she was trying to hold in blood.
  ‘Stone is ours.’ She whispered, ‘Not his.’
  Ashara nodded and closed his eyes. He took a step towards the stone and then another without flinching. He felt it against his foot. Firm, unyielding and yet malleable. He continued to step and the stone relented, allowing him to step through it. It felt like swimming through reed filled water. Again, that smell of life, of sweet water on rock, filled his nose. He continued to walk, going straight forward through the stone maze. It was exhausting, every step a challenge.   The stone did not yield its strength willingly and only the pressure of that mountain of responsibility, kept Ashara’s feet moving forward.
  He nearly stumbled as he passed through the last wall of stone into the forgiving air. He stopped and for the first time in years smiled as he beheld the central chamber. Light from sky above came through a channel, bathing a large stone altar in pure light. There, the book he searched for stood. The book that would finally bind Daegma and his forces in their prison again.
  ‘What are you doing here?’ A voice asked from the darkness.
  Ashara hoisted his sword as a man stepped into the light. He wore robes of pure white and around his neck the five golden circles of Barta hung.
  Elen appeared on the stone and Ashara could tell from her hunched shoulders and wounded cast, that she was weary of this newcomer.
  ‘Priest of Barta.’ Ashara said, ‘I am one of the Ivanti. I come to bind Daegma once more.’
  The priest smiled and then laughed, revealing blackened teeth. He stood now before the altar and the light shadowed his face. The priest’s eyes glowed a fervent green, but Ashara could see beneath the skin, the demon he was bound with. His bond with Elen was whole but separate. Demons consumed you from the inside. That horrible smell of sulphur nearly knocked Ashara backwards.
  ‘The Ivanti are dead. Barta’s guard on this world is broken. Daegma comes to claim his lands again.’
  The priest lifted his hand, and the floor became nothing but molten rock. This was a demon of stone, Ashara’s opposite. Like all demons they could not make stone yield. They dominated it by force, turning it into a tool of destruction. The heat tore at Ashara’s skin, burning him and melting his armour. He pulled at the ceiling, lifting himself off the ground. The floor disappeared completely, and the demon walked upon it, the flesh of the bound human sizzling with every step. The molten rock crawled like a living thing, clawing at the altar and moving with thought towards the book.
  From below, Elen screamed. Magma began to tear at her stone form. Ashara could feel her power weakening. He needed one desperate lunge.
  He anchored himself on the altar and charged. The demon jumped and met him and together they plunged deep into the molten floor. Heat, so vast and terrible, consumed him. Ashara screamed as his flesh was boiled and pealed from his bones. Only his eyes, protected by Barta, could withstand that heat. As his body burned, he focused on the demon, holding onto him with melting fingers. Ashara channelled all his power and the demon’s scream joined his own. The skin of the demon became cold and callous stone between Ashara’s blistered palms. Together Ashara and the demon lamented, fire entering Ashara’s lungs. The demon became a statue, immortalised for ever and burning darkness took Ashara.

  ‘Wake up.’ Elen whispered, her voice faint and cold.
  Ashara’s eyes opened. The light of the sun bathed him and with it he found some strength to rise. His armour was melted, moulded and joined with his blistered flesh. He was burnt all over and the breeze sent shivers of pain.
  The stone corpse of the demon lay next to him. He pulled with his power to rise and used it to hover towards the book. Elen was nowhere to be seen. The floor underneath was full of waves, like an ocean locked in time.
  ‘Quickly.’ Elen said as a rumble echoed, and dust fell from the ceiling. Then he saw her. She was spread thin, tendrils of shadow keeping the temple from collapsing, ‘The book Ashara. We don’t have long.’
  He did not answer. He had no tongue, no face. Only his eyes were protected. The mountain of responsibility was about to crush him. He reached for the book. His hands, nothing more than stubs now, opened the pages, ready to finally seal Daegma forever.
  His lipless mouth screamed in horror as he read the only words inscribed.

  You have failed again Ashara.

  The Temple collapsed on top of him.

  The sun was warm, the sky clear as the world ended. Ashara stood upon the temple steps; his dark hair blown by a wind that carried with it the smell of the burning forest that surrounded him. The roar of its inferno was only cut out by the sounds of distant screams. There, just visible on the horizon, the great city of Koram was falling. Giants swarmed over the last bastion of men, bringing with them Daegma’s ruin.
  Tears fell from Ashara’s brown eyes onto his pale cheeks, flushed from the burning fire. Every breath brought the sulphurous smell that accompanied the legions of the dead.
  ‘Are we sure this is the place?’ He said to the air, ‘This is the seventh temple I have found, and every one has turned into failure. We are running out of time.’