Light of the Mother

Vardia kept the point of the spear low to the ground as Fulcher, Schon and Arrow continued into the keep. The Kingsguard before him held his katana in front of him, his stance wide and his eyes focused. For a moment the room was still, without even a breath to disturb the air.

Vardia lunged forward, thrusting the tip of the spear directly for the man’s head. As the tip passed the katana, the Kingsguard battered the spear away to the right, using the opening to lunge forward. Guided by the length of the spear the katana was sent forward in an upwards slash. Vardia pulled back his front foot and recalled as much of the spear as he could, catching the katana’s blade with the end of the shaft. Pushing the blade away Vardia swung the spear to the left, aiming to catch his opponent’s face with the point. The Kingsguard bent forward with the weight of his swing, ducking under the spear as he thrust the katana forward in one hand. Vardia leaned back and stumbled away as the tip of the sword pierced the air where he used to be, repositioning his spear into a defensive grip.

He knew he had to be quick on his feet to defeat such an agile weapon, but he had to be careful. Too slow and the blade would find the weak points in his armor. Too fast and he would make errors that could be easily exploited. He took another deep breath and readied himself as the Kingsguard smiled gently. With a blur he approached Vardia with the blade held steady in front of him. Vardia tore his spear upwards to try and catch the man by the ribs, but the katana again battered the weapon away.

Without thinking Vardia retreated at the same pace as his opponent approached, allowing him to regain control of his spear and send additional thrusts forward. Each thrust was met with a parry as Vardia rapidly backpedaled to one of the room’s walls. He shifted his stance, arching his movement to move deeper into the room and avoid being trapped against the stone. Distance was his ally, and without it he’d be dealt with swiftly.

“Good,” the Kingsguard said as he maintained his pursuit. Vardia sent another thrust forward to the man’s knee, attempting to wedge his spear into the soft fabrics around the joint. The Kingsguard’s leg lifted, intercepting the spear with the armor around the shin. He lunged forward off his back foot, using the raised leg to gain additional distance and travel down the length of the spear with enough speed that Vardia could not respond in kind. The katana was raised, with Vardia bracing his free arm across his collar, doing his best to shield the vulnerable parts of his armor from the incoming strike.

The blade came down with force, clattering against the side of Vardia’s helmet and slamming into his armored forearm. Vardia did his best to retreat deeper into the room, but sliding metal shifted into his vision. Blinded by his helmet Vardia tore it off as quickly as he could, inspecting the point of contact. The steel that allowed the visor to remain in place had suffered a severe failure, likely due to the Kingsguard’s strike. Wearing the helmet now would just inhibit his vision. Vardia tosses the helmet away, resigning himself to an exposed head as long as it meant proper vision. He lowered the tip of his spear again, prepared for the next flurry of blows as the Kingsguard approached.

—

Gwyn worked as diligently as she could, despite the horrors surrounding her within her beloved cathedral. The holy warmth of the Mother’s flame spread from her palms as she waved them over the elemental’s body. She could hardly believe what she was doing, healing a creature the texts stated to be an enemy to humanity. But the Prince himself had asked, no begged for her to do so.

There was a softness in his gaze then, one of sorrow and worry and true care. Such a kind soul, she could see it in his eyes. She had only ever seen the prince from a distance before, until that fateful day in the forest where she had healed his head wound. Since then, she had grown to take over the Matron’s role in the King’s Council while she recovered from her mania. Despite all the terrors that had happened, it led her back to the Prince and those soft eyes.

She smiled lightly as her magic worked its way into the elemental’s body, the severe wound on his chest slowly heating up with the Mother’s warmth. Her attention was drawn to the scraping of stone, and she stood and turned to face the altar. The entire structure shifted, revealing a staircase that led to the catacombs beneath the Cathedral. One of the young postulants peered out from the staircase, spotting Gwyn.

“Sister?” she whimpered. Gwyn smiled and beckoned for her to come out.

“Come, girl. We are safe. The Prince has taken the Cathedral, and will ensure our safety,” Gwyn said. “Bring out the others, and call the Matron Mother up.” Gwyn’s heart ached for the young girls studying under the Sisters. They were forced below to hide from the soldiers, and now they had to walk through the remnants of their order to safety outside. Additional girls slowly crept out of the catacombs, along with several that were carefully guiding the Matron Mother. The old woman looked forward with hollow eyes, her mouth held agape as a line of saliva dripped from her chin. She muttered of daemons and body-thieves, and nothing Gwyn or the other Sisters had tried eased her pain.

“Go on, children. Bring the Matron Mother outside. Find a soldier and tell them what happened here…” Gwyn said. One of the girls nodded and moved outside, while the others slowly began marching the Matron Mother down the aisle towards the front door. As they passed the bench where Gwyn stood, they peered at the unconscious and damaged body of the elemental. Most were curious, but the older ones showed recognition and fear as they shuffled past. Eventually, the Matron’s gaze swept across the room, falling on Gwyn.

“Sister Gwyn. What is that?” she muttered. Gwyn flinched, and bowed.

“An ally of the Prince, Matron,” she began. “He has asked for me to heal–”

“The Prince?!” The Matron yelled. She shook off the girls guiding her forward, pointing to Gwyn.

“Sister, dispose of that unholy creature at once!” Gwyn blinked, clutching at her chest.

“Matron Mother, he is… an ally! The Prince is here to free us,” She began.

“I won’t hear it!” The Matron hissed, her eyes glazing over in holy blue. “You will obey the Matron Mother this instant! Slay the daemon’s minion!” Gwyn shuddered as she spread her arms wide, doing her best to hide the elemental.

“Matron please! The Prince is no daemon! He is a kind man, and he worries for this creature’s soul!” Gwyn pleaded. The shadows of the room grew as the light from outside seemed to shrink away from the Matron Mother. The girls ran in all directions, leaving the Cathedral or hiding behind alters and benches. As the Matron spoke, her voice boomed and echoed with a terrible power.

“Betrayer! Corrupted! Fallen priestess destined for the depths of the crushing earth! I will see my order upheld and preserved!” The Matron boomed, her body crackling as she reached wicked hands forward.

“Matron, PLEASE!” Gwyn rasped. The Matron’s fingers glowed for a moment before a torrent of holy flame danced forth. Gwyn fell to a knee as she raised her hands, a thin veil of blue surrounding her and the bench where the elemental lay. The holy fire blackened the stone around Gwyn’s barrier, scorching away benches and bodies alike.

“Oh, Mother Above! I offer back to you the spirit of the wicked Gwyn and her despondent nature! I pray that you bathe her in the fires of absolution and spare her traitor heart back to the divine path in the next life!” The Matron said, as the divine fire continued to cascade around Gwyn. Her barrier shrunk at the heat, the Sister holding up her hands desperately as her power began to fail her. She gasped as the heat began to steal the breath from her lungs, until a warm hand rested on her shoulder.

“Thank you, little priestess. I will handle this,” the voice said. Gwyn turned to look back as tears streamed from her eyes. The elemental had awoken, smiling at her despite his injuries. He opened his hand and flame coalesced inside his palm, summoning a dark black sickle with hot red runes. Gwyn flinched at the sight of the weapon, a darkness she did not recognize pulsing from the blade.

“Wh.. what?” she stammered, but the elemental had stood and approached her barrier. He pressed the tip of his sickle into her shield, testing its strength.

“Wait! We will burn!” Gwyn shouted, though she knew she could not hold back the holy fire for much longer. The injured elemental smiled back at her.

“Observe Akaj, little priestess,” he said, with a wink. The dark sickle pierced Gwyn’s shield, the entire structure vanishing as the Sister fell to the ground in exhaustion. Even as she flinched in preparation for the fires to take her, they never came. She looked up to find Akaj’s darkened blade pushing the fires of the Matron away, splitting them into two streams that flowed away from the pair.

“Impossible! You will all obey the Mother! You will obey me!” the Matron Mother screeched. Akaj smiled wickedly as he approached the Matron, using Flameweaver to bisect the deluge of holy fire.

“I’ve always been a rebellious child!” he mocked, laughing as he approached her hands. Quickly reaching past the origin of her flames, his free hand grasped both of her wrists. The Matron Mother let out a piercing cry as Akaj immolated her hands in orange flames. The holy fire sputtered out as the Matron’s hands were burnt, with Akaj lifting the tip of Flameweaver to the crone’s throat.

“Mother above, save me! Turn away this wicked daemon!” she rasped, staring up at the windows of the Cathedral. Akaj grinned down at her as he waited for divine intervention. When it did not come, his smile faltered into a look of disgust. His voice lowered dangerously, enough that Gwyn could no longer hear it.

“She’d hate you, if she were still alive,” he muttered. As the Matron’s eyes widened, Flameweaver pressed in.