Fall from grace

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Continuation of Unknown Destination

"The sins of the mother bear fruit in the children that they bear."
Children of Dune

Ashes to ashes. .

A forbidden love that should never have been. The boundaries are willingly crossed, a terrifying need and a no less terrifying love that will not be denied. Lovers that will not, cannot deny, tremble in an unconscious awareness of their last light of day; the surreal ecstasy of having found both heaven and hell, and all that lies between.
Together, as one, they become an inferno, a fiery melding of flesh and spirit, light and dark, no thought given to the folly of this unholy alliance, this very deed, this fall from grace. Their eternal salvation and their divine damnation. .
A small sleeping child, a being born of light and dark, stirs, his peaceful, innocent dreams shattered and twisted by the nightmares of his mother. Demonic purification. The yawning void slowly gaped open wide before his tiny, startled face; a lurid glare shone upon skin already beginning to deepen toward dusk. The kingdom of his father, the birthright of a child not yet held within Hell's beloved embrace. A tenebrous shroud of abysmal splendor so lovingly adorned the wondrous image spewed forth from the gate for his viewing pleasure. .

Dust to dust. .

Silence. The kind of quiet that permeates the air after a battle. Black figures surround a lone shimmering light, a light that is nearly consumed by the darkness emanating from them. Waiting. Their aura permeates the air, an old, dank and rotting tomb disturbed by the living. Scattered about them are more such figures, with twisted, broken limbs and bodies, the fallen ones.
Held in restraint and covered with blood, much of it her own, stands a woman. Into this quiet aftermath of chaos enters a male, ethereal in his beauty, as it is with all of his elven-kind. Dark is this one, an ancient evil by design, by choice. Apathy is worn with all the weight and elegant grace of a bejeweled crown, etched upon his regal brow. A gesture from him and the woman is released; her countenance shifts from deliberate emptiness, torn between a warring conflict of divine hate and absolute love. A flash of movement. Toward that woman's chest drives the tainted, rusting metal that pierces the heart, delivered by the hand of the son. From deep within the damned soul of ancient evil, a tormented, howling cry of anguish begins; rushing upward and out, torn from his body by the cruel, jagged tear ripping open the very fabric of his existence. A sound that could shatter the eardrum of even the immortal. It goes on and on, as the stricken woman slowly falls. .

Aeron sat up sharply in her bed, listening quietly to the soothing sounds of the night, to the steady, even breathing of the sleeping man lying aside of her. The dream. Again. But changed this time, different, more prophetic as the future and the present began to run together, like two wild, coursing rivers that merged, and plunged through some tight canyon for a brief time. And now she knew the truth, knew whose hand wielded that dagger. Perhaps, on some inner level, she had always known and always denied what was to come.
The woman rose from her bed, bare skin caressed by a cooling night breeze, not the touch that made her shiver though. Nor was she sure whether it was the knowledge of what she must do, or the knowledge of what was about to unfold. Her head turned aside, dark eyes falling on the sleeping figure in her bed. His hair fanned out over the pillow, raven’s wings fluttering in the night. Another shiver. It was just a silly superstition; borne in a time when people lived their whole lives based upon omens and signs from their gods.
She stood a long time, naked in the dark, watching him sleep, listening to his quiet, even breathing as it moved in and out of his chest. Her hair fell about her torso like a nightshift; dark and rich against the backdrop of her golden-olive skin tones. But it did little to ward off the chill she felt, and Aeron knew that chill had nothing to due with the warm night. After a time, she turned away from him, seeking the pack and clothes prepared earlier in the evening and left by the foot of her bed.

She bent over the man a short time later, whispering words he might hear in his dreams, and left a feather-light kiss on his brow. Unable to bear the look in his eyes if she waited for daybreak to leave, Aeron stole out into the night, ran like a furtive thief fearful of being caught in the act. Coward, her mind accused her, the word echoed in the hollows of her heart. But, far better for her to feel the coward, than feel her resolve crumble beneath the weight of his anguished despair.
On her pillow, glittering in the darkness of the room, lay the very jewel he had brought back to her. At its core, the night-black jewel gleamed with a dull light, an acknowledgement of her beating heart. A whispered wish echoed in his dreams.


Keep it safe for me. .

[Aeron Ktrenna]

The forest grew still as she moved, traveling beneath the shaded canopy of trees, withdrawing from this world more and more with each step. By the time she was far enough removed from the populated area, Aeron would be walking in two worlds at the same time. And with her would come the things waiting in the shadows, the cursed ones who fed off the anguish of souls, damned and doomed for all of eternity to seduce those like Aeron, the ones who walked between the day and the night. These were the things that murmured to evil creatures, urging them to commit sordid and vile acts; the angels or avatars who inspired the heralds of light to wage their holy wars, spill blood and bring death in the name of their gods. With each step she took away from this world, those shadows drew closer, grew in strength, and gained power and form. Harbingers of the abyss, messengers of all that is tainted, unholy and evil to its core, they had existed since time began, and would bear witness to its end. And now, for a time, their influence would be felt by evil and good alike, a nameless fear, a shift in the balance of order. Such is the price of blood magic; this was the cost to be paid, the price for the power she needed.

If Aeron was aware of her dismal entourage, she did not show it outwardly. Her mind was consumed with the process of building the gate, the spells that must be laid, and the twist she planned for her deceitful offspring. But that would only come about if her mind were completely under her control, for he could pick out thoughts. In these lands, the few lei lines she had located were of no use to her in this task. They were unclean, imbalanced and wild, a dangerous risk for any journeyman, let alone a former adept. Former. That word irritated her, was it folly on her part to have put aside her studies in magic and pursue the sword? She had told herself long ago, what little magic she needed, she already knew quite well and had long since mastered. Simple spells that she used daily, spells for shielding her mind from others, some for concealing her true age from those with the eyes to see; one concealed the effects of centuries of bending magic to her will, the tell-tale silver streaks in her hair and ice-blue coloring of her eyes, restored to the original darkly rich shades and varying hues of brown. She had reached the level of adept thousands of years ago, and turned aside to pursue the art of combat and war, following in the footsteps of her long dead father and his tribe. In a way, she had chosen to do this to honor their memory. Now her father and mother, his tribe, and other tribes from that time, were the myths of the past, the bedtime tales told to children, epic poems and songs, passed on by bards until men and women became legends and Gods. The truth was long lost and not even an echo of who they really were remained. This knowledge saddened her deeply at moments, for they had been an extraordinary people. To have all that they had done and been, twisted and distorted by. .

Her steps came to an abrupt halt, the dark head lifted sudden and swift, her eyes narrowed and Aeron glanced around the woods. So, he knew. Clever child, distracting her with memories he knew would tug hard on her heart. That meant he would be waiting to step through the moment she triggered the gate. Elendil knew she could not open it and at the same time, be ready for him. Her son had indeed grown in skill and power; his manipulative ploy had been so subtle, Aeron had fallen into it quite easily.
A shiver ran down her spine as a raven took flight from its resting place on a branch. Had the damned bird been following her all this time?

The small clearing where she had halted would due. It was far enough away; any damage would be minimal, though there was little doubt, the end result she hoped to achieve, would be felt by a fair number of the peoples in this area. In particular, those who were gifted in magic, for they could not have ignored the effects of the outcome she hoped for, not even if they had tried.

For the rest of the day, and long into the night, she labored, taking brief rests between each step, drinking small amounts of water, but consuming little in the way of real sustenance. The damned, cursed things waited quietly, knowing before the end of this, she would have to draw from the font of their existence. .

[Aeron Ktrenna]

Aeron stood back, tired, shaking, but the task was done. The sun was slipping closer to the horizon on the second day of her labors. It had taken a night and two days to build this gate, no small feat by the standards of any mage. An old stone wall that was probably part of an abandoned farm, had served as the foundation. Aeron had simply knocked a section away and built a crude arch, which spanned the gap. That had taken the better part of the first day. During the long night and the day which followed, she had woven the lines of magic in an intricate pattern, her instinct taking over when memory had failed her.
Another step back, she spent but a moment admiring her work, and took the time to test the overall stability. If it fell too soon, her son could very well be trapped in this land with her. And if that happened, Aeron could never forgive herself. In theory, if the stonework collapsed, it should cause the magic within the gate to implode. In theory. But, not given to assumptions, Aeron had a wild card to play, drawn on one of her own recent experiences.

An hour was spent resting, consuming small slips of water, and going over her weapons. She had no real magical weapons with her; those had been left behind, stored in vaults. Never having had much use for them, she had chosen to store them safely out of reach. Some of the weapons she possessed might have caused great harm in the wrong hands. All she really had was the dark jewel and the bloodstone. Aeron dearly hoped they would be enough.
At last, she stood, and took a few slow, deep breaths in and out. Her dark eyes closed to seal out the night, her thoughts whirled madly for a moment, then became still. Small nocturnal creatures roamed nearby, she could hear them as they hunted for even smaller prey. Still, she did not move, and eventually, even the sounds of the night faded away. Deep within she felt that perfect moment happen, the moment when she grounded her essence by the strength of her will, and the magic came alive inside.
Her lids fluttered, Aeron’s eyes opened and the words to trigger the gate rolled off her tongue and hung in the night air. Shades of blue, flickering light mixed with white began at the bottom, and rose slowly, growing brighter and brighter against the darkness as the light expanded, erratic at first. The illumination surrounding the gate grew steadily, becoming a blinding light in the dark clearing. It frightened away the nocturnal inhabitants, serving as a beacon in the night to anyone who might have glanced in her direction.

A gasp of shock for the view on the other side, her confidence was momentarily shaken. Home. There it was clear as day, the main gate, guarded by four men, not just two. All Aeron had to do was step through the arch and she would be home. This was not part of the plan; the woman had already accepted going home was just not possible.
“How. . .” the word was whispered in stunned disbelief as Aeron took one single step toward the very last place she had ever thought to see again.

One fated step swiftly became the sensation of flying backward through the air, her flight halted by the thick trunk of a tree. Aeron groaned from the impact, feeling for all the world as if her spine and the trunk of the tree had just become one. The world of night and gate blurred and melded, until everything was just bright pain. She heard him, felt him standing over her, and cursed his name in a dozen silent tongues.

“You are looking well, mother.”

[Aeron Ktrenna]

The world as she knew it was pain, bright, vivid, pain. Aeron’s gaze moved past her son, fixated on the still-open gate. Home beckoned with all the power of such ties and roots, the power we give to it. Elendil’s head turned to follow her gaze, and he smiled.

“Tempting, is it not? Can you reach the gate and step through before I can stop you? And what if you do, what then, mother?” His voice paused in an effort to stroke the anticipation she must feel for his next words.
“Why, that would leave me here, in this land, a place so poorly prepared for one like me.”

Using the tree for support, Aeron pushed upward, with her back sliding over the rough bark.

“A lack of vision I have little doubt you would use to your full advantage.” She made the effort to pull her gaze away from the mesmerizing possibility within reach. “You know I won’t let you live, you know I cannot.” Her chin lifted in a gesture of pure defiance.

“You are mistaken mother, your life has left you with little more than delusions. It is not I who will die this night.”

Her heart quivered, for her son had grown to resemble his father, in appearance and she recognized the same stamp of arrogance. Elendil was, by any point of view, beautiful in the elven way. The kind of beauty, which broke the heart and made mortals weep with longing.

“Do you remember the garden, Elendil? The walks, those long walks we took, exploring the woods, swimming in the river?” Aeron took a step forward, pushed herself away from the tree and stood straight, despite her injuries.
The child who was little more than a stranger to her now, smirked in response to her question. He turned away from her, turned his back to her, an arrogant gesture in and of itself. It had been one of the first things she had taught him; never turn your back on your enemy.

“I hardly think the circumstances are appropriate to a stroll down memory lane, mother.” Despite his black, tainted heart, he remembered, all too well. For his mother had loved him as his father had not, she had devoted herself and her life to him for years.

“You would destroy the things closest to your heart. And for what? Power? The means to pursue an end which is emptier than you are now?” She shook her head and looked away from him as if he disgusted her on every level. “Power, my son, requires not only the will to use it, but the wisdom to know when and where it is best used.”

He spun around to look at her. “And what would you have done with it, mother? Waste it on that impossible hypocrisy you call balance? No, at least I will bend things to my will; force those who you would have negotiated with to their knees. Spit on those who you called friend and slaughter those you knew as your enemies.” His glaring look burned into her mind, she could feel him searching for the hidden truth behind this strategy.

Aeron sadly shook her head, and drew alongside of her son. The warmth of her palm cupped his cheek, for the one thing she could not deny, he was her son, and her love for her child was unconditional. “And when you have done all that you intend to do, killed all those you wish dead, made slaves of those who might be useful, you will still be as empty as you are now. Power is your master, and you, my son, answer to your master’s beck and call at every turn of your fortunes.”

He withdrew from her in anger and frustration, for her mind was closed to him. No shielding was perceived or sensed, if anything, his mother seemed more open to him than ever she had been. His hand rose, she felt the air humming with power about to be unleashed. It came in the form of a crushing wall, unseen by the eyes, but the weight of it was enormous. If she did nothing, Aeron would be crushed beneath it as surely as she would have been crushed beneath tons of falling stone back in the ruined keep. Still, she did nothing, took the pain into her soul and waited to hear her bones begin to crack. Seconds passed by as eternal moments, the force drove her to her knees, and still she did not fight back. Her lungs ached, her body screamed in silent agony, and still he kept his will in place. Something inside tore; she felt the odd sensation as it ruptured. .

[Aeron Ktrenna]

But the beast within felt no such love, no such allegiance. It only knew if nothing was done, both would die. It’s spirit had fought for it’s freedom for so long, and to die like this, caged and chained, bound by a will not it’s own, was unthinkable. Out of the dark depths it rose upward, seeking the way and the means by which to break the chains wrapped about its soul. Terror gripped Aeron as she felt it rising, and she knew, if it were unleashed, she might never regain control again. The fear of what she might do, could become, far outweighed the instinct to protect her son. Blood ran hot; the raw power running through her body burned her nerves, made every single part of her scream with the need for release. Elendil’s wall shattered, crumbled and fell away as if it were nothing but made of straw and sticks. He staggered back and smiled at his mother, a smug expression. So, she had found her backbone after all. But his smile swiftly faded, replaced by a look of uncertainty. Her eyes brightened, the color drained out of them until they were like glass, transparent and crystalline. He watched with growing concern as the transformation continued, stared as the love which had showed openly on her face was replaced by cold, undying hatred. And he struck, sending at her everything he had, using all the power within his grasp.

It was the one spell he had spent months preparing, studying, researching. The one few would ever have dared to use, Elendil dared. A spell, which tore open a void between the planes, the place he intended to send her soul, leaving behind nothing but an empty, useless shell. A force beyond the scope and grasp of every adept he had ever studied with. It is fantasy, they had told him, this cannot be done. And even if one could accomplish this feat, the consequences of opening a gap between one plane and another, could go on for hundreds of years. .

But he had perfected it on a small scale, always retaining his control over the void. Now, the void was large enough to swallow a tree, let alone the small form of his mother. But she resisted, and made no effort to close it, rather let him fight to keep it open and retain his control.
Elendil should have known better, for his mother had been Lyrion’s favorite protégé. Aeron had watched many a time as he seduced some naïve, young mage and slowly sucked the life from their bodies. The only reason it took him weeks to accomplish it, was because he savored their slow deaths, the too-late light of recognition dawning in their eyes when the poor fool came to understand the nature and reason of their illness, and the terrified realization of their own impending demise.
Thus, while Elendil fought to keep the void open, fought to pull her soul from her body, Aeron fed off his power. She drew the energy he unleashed into herself, away from the void, away from him. One way or the other, whether she died in the process, she would drain him to the point of death.

This silent, deadly battled went on for some time, one gaining ground, and one losing ground, at times both of them hovered on the brink of collapse. He was committed, once this spell had been set in motion on this scale, he could not simply halt it. When the end it came, it was quiet, almost anticlimactic, the void simply snapped shut, for there was not enough energy to sustain the force, which had ruptured a hole between two planes. Elendil staggered forward as his knees buckled and folded beneath his thin frame, his legs unable to support his own slender body. Aeron felt thin, worn, and the place within where something had burst ached with a dull sensation, growing more numb and cold by the moment. She caught her son as he fell, his feather-light weight tapped her fading strength, and she fell with him to the ground.

It was a quiet end, neither spoke, all that had ever needed to be said, had been said at one time or another. Words of love from her and proclamations of hate from him had been exchanged often in the last years. The beast inside fell back down into the depths, despairing of ever being free. Aeron listened, hearing as if from a great distance the whispers, the laughter of the damned, cursed things in the shadows. He was theirs to claim, her son. She listened; holding him tenderly while his life flickered in her arms, and quietly went out. She felt them come and take him from her, and only then did she become aware of weeping. The pain grew distant, replaced by numbness and cold, she did not care. She curled up on the ground, her arms as empty as her soul in this moment, and waited to welcome oblivion with those same empty arms.