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Simurg 2	By : Cynthermes Category: A through F > The Cronnex Series Views: 1409 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Cronnex and its characters solely belong to Trewin Greenaway and no profit has been made out of this fiction.

Chapter List
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Dusk had fallen on the plains when the prince chose to remain within the shrine’s sanctuary. Zeleo sat against the pillar closest to the entrance gazing at the lavender pinkish sky. Few distant stars were starting to peek behind the veil of thin clouds and she absently wondered if the servants would fret to find her nowhere in the palace by midnight.
Serves them right, she thought darkly. Regnantia snorted nearby as if to admonish her. The horse was tied loosely on a boulder, just outside the shrine putting her owner more at ease. Behind them a fire crackled, built on wood and stone. The blue-skinned familiar, she still doesn’t know his name tended at the embers carefully. Beside him and the warming blaze lay the unconscious warlock, Ormaël. His former tanned complexion turned into a sickly pallor and has remained ashen after he lost consciousness.
The prince attempted questioning the familiar if he knew what had happened to the warlock but the only thing he did was snarl, “It’s all your fault!” in her face and she stopped trying… for now at least. He wouldn’t even let her get close after he had carried the warlock inside the shrine and drove himself all over the place like a circling canine murderously after its own tail.
Most familiars were territorial according to the texts she had read in the old kingdom but not on the lines of ‘worried sick on the verge of lunacy’ with their masters. But this one surely was an exception. And the way he had called Ormaël by his name… there was something possessive, almost… loving in it. She could be wrong for she had never been in such a state but it was something she could relate to. A precious person made the heart hurt terribly once lost and her intuition told her that just might be the case if none of them would do something.
Wait, what was she getting so worked up for? She barely knew the man that was set up to be her husband. It would do her good if he died, wouldn’t it? But he could have easily left her alone when she was being stubborn. And he didn’t, he stayed and that was the reason why he is now in poor health. It was somehow…
“Why didn’t it affect you?” The fire popped. A distrustful voice issued right across from it.

Her fault.
Zeleo lifted her head to face him. Her bothersome long ringlets cascaded all around her cloak at the simple movement. “I was beginning to think you didn’t know another word, but his name.”
His russet eyes narrowed in warning. She steeled her gaze and he held his. “You’re one to talk.” He was an arrogant one indeed but not without purpose. “You are to blame for this!” She understood that the brunt of the hostility was coming from the protectiveness for his master.
“That’s about the fifteenth time you’ve told me that. What you’re not telling me is how we can remedy it.” The black prince swiftly countered not moving from the spot of her perch.
Another long stretch of silence widened the gap.
Zeleo sighed. The prospect looked bleak. Arguing wouldn’t bear them good fruit especially a cure for the sick. “We’re going back to the kingdom to get help.” The words were out before she could stop them.
The familiar snapped his head to her direction, incredulous. “No.”
“And why not? None of us is a healer and we can’t help him by sitting on our asses here all day.” Not that she would want to shift from her very comfortable position by the shrine.
Her apparent concern to help somehow softened the hard edges a bit. “No human healer would be willing to treat a person plague-ridden by a Strykul’s nerve gas.” This was definitely news to her.
“Even if that person happened to be a high priest?” She challenged. The very idea was ridiculous but she couldn’t grasp even a smidgen of deception in the familiar’s dismal tone.
He looked her dead in the eyes, “Even the king would not be spared.”
Her temper simmered. “That’s preposterous!” She stood up to her full modest height and strode towards the blue-skinned man. “We’re going to find a healer now!” Zeleo was aghast. These foreigners on their land had the nerve to dictate her on their beliefs! For a healer to deny treatment on the sick just because a demon caused the illness was inhuman! It was worse than becoming a demon!
The familiar suddenly looked taken aback. The reddish flames on the hearth briefly erupted a blue shade and rose higher as if in reaction to Zeleo’s outburst.
Helias was hit by a myriad of visions. And only one stood out.
A prominent image of a brunet young lad honing golden fire as his playthings brought inexplicable fear and a strange sense of nostalgia in every fiber of his being. The force of these churning emotions sent the familiar toppling on the cold stony ground.
Bile rose up his throat and he felt so ill that he retched moments later.
Barely recovering he caught the sight of the manly-dressed woman looming over him. His scarcely cognizant mind could tell that she was trying to reach out her hand but danger flared up in his instincts. Ultimately the more primal senses won. “No! Stay away!” He yelled, distraught.
She slapped him and he was shoved back to his wits. “We can’t have you being sick too! Seriously,” She heaved a furious breath. “What is wrong with you? !”
What is wrong with him indeed? He wiped the little dribble of blood at the corner of his mouth. As much as he loathed it, the brutish woman was right. His loved one was in peril and not even the goddess herself could stop him. Yet somehow it made him feel like a hypocrite… if the visions of that haunting young man were anything to go by. Was it something in the past? Maybe it was or maybe not but perhaps that was the reason why he was so uncertain of himself.
He had betrayed and failed a lover before. He wondered if this was divine retribution.
“Well?” She asked impatiently. Her tyger-colored eyes, he just noticed darted back and forth from his stony expression and Ormaël’s frail appearance.
“Helias.” The familiar blurted, almost without thought.
“What?”
“But not in the kingdom. We’re finding a healer in the next village.” Helias was already morphing into the silver blue majestic beast as he declared these words. The familiar made a light sniff on the warlock before picking him up with ginger canines and tossed Ormaël lightly on his broad furry back.
The blue wolf stopped halfway out of the shrine in surprise when the black prince returned the introductions awkwardly, “Zeleo.”
“Are you coming or not… Princess?” She then stood dumbstruck for several moments before her brain registered a talking wolf with a half-dead man slung over its back.
“Prince!” Zeleo corrected him as she ran outside in the early night sky, untied Regnantia and mounted the steed in one athletic leap.
“I should have known my master has been betrothed to the tomboyish princess of Loquatrea.” Rustling trees, the chirp of night bugs and galloping noises drowned the familiar’s voice.
Yet the black prince was just glad to be far away as possible to the new kingdom that had once again became an untamed, wretched place due to biased human beliefs.
The sorcerer became another person entirely once they slipped back into the suffocating confines of the underground tunnels. The alchemist now wondered if the last exchange between Miermi and his grandsons was something as trivial as ‘leave them today, pick them up another day’. Yet the deeper they ventured the winding pathways, the silence stretched and became more and more deafening.
More of this silent treatment and Naedas feared he would start hearing voices all over again in his head and he snapped. “Please tell me we didn’t just leave the lads to some demon territory.”
Beat.
Miermi paused in his tracks and the visible lines in his youthful face tightened if that was possible. “As a matter of fact we just did.” The alchemist’s jaw dropped but the sorcerer wasn’t done. “It’s the best thing we can do to appease the Grazenfolk.”
“But what about—” The elder man didn’t even let him finish. “Cinder and Elyn can fare better if ‘we’ the ‘more human’ pair stay away for now.”
“Cinder’s…” Naedas tried again.
“The Opposing One’s consort in human form. He is practically the other patron god the ‘demons’ in your common tongue would fawn over to worship whilst I allow myself to be cast over in the other direction in favor of another divine will.” Astral’s protégé heaved in one breath. He loosely hoped his listener didn’t catch on the weight of what he just spewed out in the open.
To his chagrin, the young alchemist’s mouth remained agape.
Miermi was still clinging to a shred of that ailing hope when this string of blunt words spilled from that gaping mouth. “Did you just abandon the lads for the will of your god?”
The sorcerer gave up. “What other word can you eloquently phrase the word ‘yes’ to all of your accusations?”
“You are not even denying?” Naedas was a good five yards away and the elfin man could still make out those ridiculously raised eyebrows.
“Lad, I don’t have another cynical moment to spare.” His Ashwood staff tapped the ground in annoyance.
Naedas couldn’t grasp how a grandchild brimming with rapt optimism could stay intact with his sarcastic opposite of a grandfather. That sarcasm was fast approaching in two legs. “Naedas! Goodness lad! My two grandsons have done enough damage to my heart. Don’t scare me like that.”
The young alchemist then realized he hadn’t moved on the spot his body has suddenly fixated itself in. It wouldn’t be farfetched for the sorcerer to think he might have been possessed again. “Sorry, just pondering I guess.” He blabbed and Miermi sighed.
He had underestimated the idealistic, curious facets of youth, the ones he had forced himself to shed like old skin just to survive through the pain and loneliness of his captivity. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Naedas.”
“Just promise me you’ll return soon as you’ve promised Elyn.” The teal-eyed lad said seriously and walked ahead, southwest of the tunnel straight for Corintha.
The half-mortal didn’t answer until he can no longer sense the human’s aura in the vicinity. “You have my word.” He whispered against the stale air and trudged northwest to as far as the underground tunnels stretched to reach.
These burrowed hollows of earth were such a marvel, Miermi thought. In fact it was almost ludicrous why no one questioned how the tunnels came about given the Corinthan kingdom was less than two decades old. But in the trained eyes of a worldwide traveler, such building feat would not even be possible without supernatural aid.
It was finally time to pay tribute to the god who cloaked himself often in human shape, who carved and tilled the land sometimes fertile enough to leave half-mortal scions. But in contrast to the Goddess Gesryma’s much-celebrated Irin, Astral’s Koru are treated much differently. Being the God of the Dead’s child was comparable to being the contagion itself. The oracles of that time and soothsayers consider the existence of one as bad omen.
For a fertile land to bear the best grain enough to feed thousands, it must also claim the lives it has sustained. The most vital soil sits right at the center of constant calamity, to be frequently tempered, honed, and sometimes ultimately destroyed along with its inhabitants to be reborn again without the impurities of its past. The concept of destruction giving way to life itself was against the ‘Eros’ or the natural human instinct to live. It was inconceivable, the same as their existence.
Miermi remembered the recounted tales of his mother as she fled from one of the Old Kingdom’s greatest cities just to keep her children safe when he and his twin were mere babes. It also didn’t help that the half-immortals from Astral’s line had to have the mark of the pentagram (the first star) in their bodies. Upon inspection, the midwife nearly wanted to smother the newborns if his mother was not coherent enough to act.
All three somehow managed to thrive when an herbalist took them in and they had a fleeting peaceful life on the farthest island in the south.
It was ironic that in his advanced age he would willingly retrace his mother’s footsteps just to go back up north, abandon everything he cared for on the whim of his divine father.
To say that it was devastating would be a gross understatement.
It took him too many of summons (visions and nightmares combined) and each getting more violent than the last to relinquish his guardianship of his one and only surviving loved one.
It was simply heart wrenching to be separated from Elyn. No, he couldn’t even imagine considering the possibility… until now.
The torches flickered and they went out the instant sunlight permeated from above through the mesh of thick tree roots. The fetid smell of decaying leaves mingled with the damp late summer air made Miermi wrinkle his nose. Upon closer look however, a glossy stone peeked from a pile and another one just further on. He was almost there. It was hours past and his thoughts strayed, scattered, and threatened to break free from the protective layer it took years to master. While his mind buckled shut, his heart continued to ache only one name: Elyn.
“Did your tutor forget to remind you that emotions have wider channels than your thoughts?” A deep resonant voice easily permeated through his solid defenses.
He stiffened a fraction before slipping on his blank mask. “No, Absolute Father.”
“Then clamp down on it if only tighter. You are risking the child more in this way.” Miermi could feel the ethereal force slipping away as quickly as it had come.
“Wait, Father if I may be so impudent to ask, why would Lord Astoreth suddenly abandon his memories?”
A sound like rumbling thunder was the only forewarning before the mark on his hand seared with pain and he fell to the ground. It felt like a giant hand had just pushed him to his knees. “Do not dare to be so insolent, child!”
A half smile cracked the bland expression on Miermi’s face. His divine father, the Absolute God of the Dead and Lord of the Spirit World never loses his temper, let alone a slip of emotion. The fact that the simple mention of River Cyll’s guardian, the lesser god and guide of the deceased souls instigated such a reaction… made the Koru stifle the possibilities springing in his creative mind. Could it be…?
Lord Astoreth’s unforeseen disappearance in Ais Dysmassia has led to and contributed to the chaos and disarray of lost souls, wraith ghouls, and undead to cross over the valley of the living. With no one to guide or stand watch on the usual tame waters of the underworld, it became a raging torrent that smashed death in tangible grotesque forms on the opposite bank. All in all it ultimately became a gorging feast for the necromancers or The Eight.
It turned the world for humans, demons, and even for the immortals upside-down. Anomalies sprung up from one thing to another. And to bring the impression that the lesser god’s absence was deliberate to have spawned it all… Miermi was carefully treading on thin ice but he wanted to know the truth. It was part of the reason why he finally answered the summons.
“I have restored your sullied youth for a purpose, Miermi. Use your mark to find Astoreth. Once you do, chant the oath aloud and the netherworld shall trouble the living no more.”
The half-mortal son was not even surprised to have a repeat earful of his mission. It appears still that he wasn’t privy to his divine father’s personal concerns. As the last traces of Astral’s actual presence faded away, the Koru collected himself back upright effortlessly. He dusted the dirt and dead leaves from the hems of his ivory surplice. The stumble might have broken his bones if it weren’t for his now age-resistant body. But he knew with a shudder that his impudent tongue could have cost him not only that bestowed youth but his life. After all, it was elfin nature not to make empty favors.
However, Miermi already caught on that something more was the cause of his mission’s urgency. First, the Second Star became the Ascendant; second was the absence of the Third Star’s Nithaial, third was the manifestation of the Fourth Star in human form, fourth was the lingering absence of Netherworld’s lesser god, and lastly the eventual meddling of the First Star. Put this all together and the only thing missing was The Blessed Gesryma’s intervention.
If the sorcerer knew better, The Immortals themselves were in disharmony. How had it come to this? The Eight were no more but perhaps the little incident in the tunnels justified something else… something more grave. A new enigmatic enemy emerged and it seems it will take every demigod, halfling, wizard, witch, mage, alchemist, herbalist, and even conflicting humans and demons in the service of The Four to take that foe far more dangerous than the Unnamable One, down.
“How much farther?” The horse-rider yelled at the blur of blue up front. Regnantia was the fastest charger in all of Loquatrea but even the lathering steed was having a hard time keeping up with the familiar. Zeleo was certain that Helias’ unnatural speed fooled the eyes enough to trade for invisibility but it wasn’t going to hide the fact that she could spot the level of magic involved. This man couldn’t be just a familiar.
“Just a couple more leagues!” Helias shouted back and reduced speed but only a smidgen. He couldn’t put Ormaël’s life more at risk.He They were entering a trail that was lined with more trees at the edges. The moon had already risen high enough the midnight sky by the time they dashed past the grasslands.
The black prince tried her damnedest to ignore the wheezing as her horse held on to their fast-paced chase. Like Helias, Zeleo cannot afford delays for she might lose sight of the former and possibly the royal guards were now deployed to search for the kingdom’s missing betrothed pair. She grimaced. This was the most convenient opportunity to fully escape her brother’s schemes. As she considered from leaving a while to never going back home, a strong emotion seized her heart. It was a definite… She had done this before.
But when? She couldn’t… recall.
“Oi! Don’t sleep with your eyes open on horseback or you’ll fall!” A voice admonished from her right and then came a furry ball to the left. Zeleo blinked her tyger eyes wide to find the towering blue wolf overtake her lane from side to side. They had somehow slowed down.
Up ahead a small clearing could be seen where the trees have thinned out to make way for the hillside. A wooden fence caught the black prince’s eye, “Have we arrived?” She firmly pulled on the reins.
Leaves rustled in the wind, grass and night flowers swayed. Large silvery blue paws thudded to a halt. The wolf’s ears perked and he lifted his head up to the moon and lightly sniffed the air. Zeleo stiffened, a foreboding feeling spurred from the familiar’s behavior. Something was amiss.
The black prince dismounted Regnantia, shushed her as the horse made a startled tapping of her hooves. Her claymore was already halfway out of its sheath when Zeleo calmed the agitated steed. A few steps forward, Helias kept still, his nose remained high in the air.
The wind blew again and this time it reeked of a highly revolting smell of decay. The familiar’s body immediately went rigid and he could have growled if he were a mere threatened animal. Instead Helias placed ashen Ormaël who was nevertheless breathing deeply on soft tall grass. The blue-skinned man emerged naked from a shower of fur. He busied himself on the travel sack fastened on the warlock’s side and pulled out a falchion that glimmered gold in the moonlight.
“Stay here and guard Ormaël while I slay this monster.” Helias instructed, clearly in the know of what danger lies ahead.
She might have protested if the likelihood of failure didn’t cross her mind. He turned his back sharply when she didn’t voice disagreement but she held his arm, stopping him. Helias turned with a questioning look. “At least tell me what we’re up against.” Zeleo wasn’t about to feign bravado. She had clashed with only a handful of inhuman enemies before and none of them made her skin crawl or spoke literally of death.
“By its smell it can only be two things. Sadly only one of them is actually slayable. Let’s hope it’s the former, yes?” The familiar tugged his arm away and sneaked ahead into the clearing.
He barely disappeared from her sight when a scream nearly yanked her out of her wits.
Helias found his hands suddenly gripping the mystic weapon very tight. His instincts had proven him wrong. Just a few yards away, a lad of age he didn’t recognize was cowering in fear, trapped between a slab of rock too high to climb and not one but two wraith ghouls has set their sights on him. If this situation doesn’t set your throat shrieking itself open, maybe losing your soul would.
Ironically, the Familiar preferred the latter than the other killing method those things often fancy themselves with like… indulging in human flesh. The colder, more pragmatic part in him wondered if this young man was a good enough distraction for them to slip right through the village. But the recent, more benevolent side he didn’t know existed made a second look and noticed something peculiar. The lad’s body was spread against the rock rather than closed around himself…
Was he actually protecting the rock? Helias doubted it. Besides he couldn’t understand the determination in those eyes no matter how much the knees beneath shook as the wraith ghouls staggered closer and closer. Shoving the last-ditch “HOW? !” at the dark recesses of his mind, he charged forward, intent in hacking the nearest ghoul in two.
The rune metal did its work; the falchion completely cut through the ghoul’s body. But before the feeling of triumph reached his face, the lower and upper half of the decapitated parts quivered to move again. Not to mention he essentially captured the other’s attention and now both were headed his way.
The Familiar leapt back a great distance as if to lure them away from their first prey. The halved and the whole pursued him, the former leaving the translucent putrid cloak behind. Silvery hair stood at the back of his neck as the creature revealed its hideous self.
Another startled yell reached blue-skinned ears. But who could blame him? The wraith ghoul was the very epitome of gruesome death: Hollow eyes, grey-greenish body covered in gouged wounds, wiry limbs with a mix of bone and rotting flesh with a nest of creeping maggots and a gaping mouth fixed in a scream while sharp teeth protruded at the edges. It was one’s worst nightmare.
Helias quickly discovered he tripled that horror judging from the mixed innards and acidic slime that just might scorch the plains barren. “What have you done? !” An irate voice issued right behind him. He need not incline his head to find out who have joined the fray.
“Hmm, I think I prayed to the wrong god. And I believe I don’t belong to Ra’asiel’s good graces to get Him to listen.” The Familiar said wryly.
“Whoever listened to your rant is obviously on the enemy’s side. I’m not about to let those creatures send me to that god.” Zeleo countered through gritted teeth; flametongue in hand.
She advanced in spite of the noticeable falter while he remained on his spot devising a plan or perhaps a spell he never tried before. But Helias never got to finish the incantation he was chanting.
The wraith ghouls immediately paused at Zeleo’s approach. Their misshapen heads rose to meet hers. The familiar watched in awe as empty eye sockets ignited in flame like a lamp lighting a dark room. Soon none of them were moving and Helias struggled to know why.
Then the unimaginable happened. The wraith ghouls suddenly made distressed howls and literally started backing away. They didn’t get very far for that flame rapidly consumed them from the inside out.
The ghouls were but pools of gunk by the time Helias snapped from his trance. His initial reaction was to close the short distance between him and his unmoving companion.
Glazed tyger eyes didn’t even register his presence. Zeleo remained frozen in place, extinguished sword still in her grasp and expression, void.
All coherent thoughts fled in his state of panic. “Oi! Are you alright?” Helias grabbed her by the shoulders, fearing the worst: Has her soul been taken? He was about to give her a hard shove when Zeleo inhaled a sharp breath like someone emerging from underwater. She dropped her sword, swayed a little and Helias released her when she recovered. Perhaps out of concern, the words “What happened?” spilled from his mouth instead of the logical, “What did you do?”
She held her brow and slurred, “I… don’ow.” After sometime she managed to straighten up and reclaimed her sword.
Then as if a bolt of lightning were cast on their feet, “Ormaël!” was yelled in unison. Their bodies instinctively took off in different directions. Helias snatched the hem of Zeleo’s cloak before she veered further away. “Oi, it’s this way, remember?” Something occurred to him then.
Russet eyes flicked over their surroundings and alas! Not even a trace of the wraith ghouls was left behind, save the trademark shroud. Just a yard away from it slumped a figure whose fearful brown eyes met his. So the lad didn’t choose the opportunity to run while his pursuers were preoccupied. Still the lad they risked their arses for didn’t move when they approached. The familiar decided that a rebuke was at least in order. “By what in the blessed name of Gesryma are you doing here in the meadow at this time of night?”
“Careful! The spirits might hear.” The young man in question shushed him and lowered his voice in a whisper. “Don’t speak the Blessed Mother’s name so casually at this hour or you’ll invite more trouble on our heads.” His eyes traveled lower and he hastily looked away in embarrassment.
Helias’ brow twitched. He was already regretting to have done this whelp a favor when it hit him. The familiar shifted to hide his blatantly exposed groin, which in his haste, forgot to cover with his loincloth. He absently contemplated if the ghoul’s cloak would do his state of undress enough justice.
His train of foul thoughts was however interrupted by a sweet nightly scent. A white glowing flower was shoved on his face. “This rare herb is called Midnight Lantern, my twerë and I have traveled far and wide the continent to get a hold of this. I wasn’t expecting to get harassed by one of those things while I collect this for him.” The young man said honestly and gestured behind him to the slab of rock wreathed with several of the white flowers. When he got no response, he caught himself before he rambled on about the particular use of the herb and apologized.
“Forgive my insolence, my name is Jaemas, son of Matheas and I’m an herbalist by trade. I was just extremely appalled with my encounter of those…” Jaemas struggled to form the right words, “…horrible creatures. What were they?”
Only one word clicked in Helias’ head. “Did you say herbalist?” He briskly interrupted.
Jaemas nodded and his rescuers shared a glance that didn’t pass him by, “In actuality both my twerë and I share the same profession. If there is anything I could do to repay you, I would do so gladly.”
The Familiar’s heart soared. Their efforts were not in vain and it seems the gods haven’t abandoned them despite all. “My name is Helias and this is the Pr—”
“Primela,” Zeleo cut him short before he could blurt her identity. “Jaemas you are a godsend. We were just on our way to the village beyond to acquire help for our sick.”
“Sick? You two look perfectly fine to me.” The young herbalist gave them both a good once over.
“We have a third companion. Please follow me.” The blue-skinned man replied and dashed forward and jumped on all fours. But when the moonlight hit his body, Helias landed on huge paws instead of feet.
“A Familiar! So that’s why.” Jaemas gasped in awe. “I’ve only read about them in books!”
“Showoff.” Primela scoffed when the blue wolf disappeared in the narrow trail partially hidden by thick foliage. She was just about to join the pair of men when something glimmered at the corner of her eye.
It appears that a sort of silver thread got caught in the fabric of her left glove. She nonchalantly tried to pluck it off thinking it must be a strand of the Familiar’s fur.
“What in the—!” To her astonishment, her fingers literally slipped through the thread each time she did. Desperate, fatigued, and still distressed in the day’s rough tumble she practically rips off the entire armguard. She held out her bare left arm only to find the thread still clinging on the skin of her palm. It glittered its way down and her eyes widened in horror to see the long strand of HAIR (said a little voice in her head) attached to the translucent shroud left by the monster.
The skin-like covering perpetually remained still.
She began to feel relief and nearly laughed at her nerves.
When out of the blue, it moved.
Her mind shrieked: ‘RUN!’ but her booted feet were rooted to the ground. Zeleo stood paralyzed as the cloth of death slowly began to rise; a visible mound at its center. It rose higher and higher while a cascade of silver hair poured down the sides.
She suddenly came face to face with a being whose skin was paler than snow, hair more lustrous than silver threads and frost blue eyes colder than ice. That chilling gaze was fixed directly on her.
It was like standing before DEATH itself.
Zeleo screamed in abject terror but not a sound came out. A pale hand rose and it went straight through her torso. She felt icy claws wrap around her heart and then squeezed.
Her body sagged forward and she collapsed into the arms of that being, her world purging into utter darkness.
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