Ringing filled her ears. A sharp chime, a cord from a song she had once known, but couldn’t recall. It felt so familiar. Yet strange. Different. Wrong.

  Verna pulled open her eyes, a thin layer of dirt coating her skin and hair like a second layer. Everything ached. She reached gingerly at her side where the blade had cut through, but there was nothing.

  It had all been so real.

  Her heart had pounded just as hard. Her body flushed with fear. She looked at her dirty hands, terrified to see bloody ichor dripping from them. But there was nothing.

  A dream. A very vivid dream.

  Verna craned her neck, soreness rumbling down her spine. Her world had turned upside down. Walls of dirt surrounded her, dust still falling from the sky. A wash of colors twisted high above her. The Spirit Lights. But they spun, contorting, as if in pain.

  Maybe it is just my head. Verna groaned and pulled herself to her feet. Nausea was rocking through her and forcing her back down. All in my head. A lump was lying beside her. Buried in the dirt and covered in black cloth, Verna gasped at seeing his face.

  He was unconscious. Blood dripped from his scalp, but she could see the faintest rise and fall of his chest. His clothes were a ruin, the suit torched black. His crimson red skin was marred pink with burns, the flesh still smoking, peeled, and shattered. She considered reaching for him, but a noise caught her attention.

  Across the dirt crater, two figures stirred. One was clad in a bright blue suit, his shape strange. He fell beside another, one half buried in the dirt.

  “Ver-na.”

  She heard the gasp across the way. “High Priestess?” Wiping smoke from her eyes, Verna saw her clearly. “High Priestess!” She stumbled to her feet, rushing to Raiphera and the strange Tortle.

  “Domina!” Verna panted. “Domina, are you alright? Oh, good Goddess above, what happened?”

  The High Priestess was a mess. Her white robes were brown with spreading blood. Her golden chain was cracked and ruined. The woman’s shaking hands gripped a garden post protruding from her gut. “Ver-na.”

  “What happened?” Verna demanded, clearing the dirt from the old woman.

  “I can’t say,” the elderly Tortle man. “I was speaking with her, then you two fell. I sought to give you both aid. But then that light, that battle, it...”

  Verna froze, unwilling to share her own experience with that horrid dream.

  His gaze turned to the thief. “Is he?”

  “Unconscious,” Verna said quickly. “But we must stop the bleeding. Domina, please hold on. I will go get help!”

  “No,” Raiphera gasped. “No. Stay. I need...”

  “Domina, you need immediate care! I will seek out brothers and sisters. They will help you. They will summon the goddess-”

  “No, not anymore.” Raiphera spit blood. “Too late. It is too late.”

  “It is not too late!” Verna pleaded. “Sir, please, we need to slow the blood loss. I can’t move her. But if you can press-”

  “I can’t. I don’t...” The Tortle’s face went white. “Just the sight of blood is already too much.”

  “Goddess, guide me,” Verna whispered. “I can’t do this alone. Please, I need your help to save her!”

  “No,” the High Priestess gasped. “No, Verna, listen to me! You must listen!”

  “But Domina, I can help-”

  “We are out of time,” Raiphera groaned. “He is coming! This is just the start!” The old woman belched blood, her wrinkled face cinched tight in pain. “Listen to me. This may save you. For the goddess.”

  “Save me?” Verna paused. “Domina, what do you mean? We need-”

  “You need to do this for us all. Only you can redeem yourself. Serve Her light.”

  “What is she talking about?” the Tortle said. “Is this from the blood loss?”

  “No,” Verna insisted. “No, this isn’t right. Domina, there is still a chance to heal you. We can still save-” Her voice cut off as the High Priestess gripped her collar. Determination burned in the old woman’s eyes.

  “Bring The Key to Lightfall. She will fix this. She will save us. Hear me, Sister.” The old woman coughed again, her grip loosening. “Verna, He is coming. You must stop him. You must do this.”

  Verna grasped the High Priestess’s hand. “Domina, I don’t understand. I want to help. I want to serve Her, but I don’t understand! Please guide me!”

  “You must...” Tears ran down her cheeks, every word a breathless gasp. “He is coming. He is coming. He is coming.”

  “Domina? Domina?” Verna held the woman tight, but she was gone. The light faded from her eyes, her body falling limp to the dirt. “Domina, no! I don’t understand! Please come back! Domina!” But the ancient elven woman was silent.

  Verna fell back, sobs racking her chest. “None of this was supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.”

  The tortle put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sister. I'm sure she was very important and... Well, I am Lapat, by the way. But I’ll leave you to... I mean...” His voice wandered off, the words as impossible to find as they are to say. “I’ll leave you be and go check on the boy.”

  He rose, his steps sounding out in chorus to the low ringing that pierced the air. “I can’t do this,” Verna muttered, unable to look at the High Priestess. “I can’t do anything. I don’t-”

  “Hey!” A voice boomed out beyond them. “What is going on back here?”

  A figure came into sight just over the crater’s edge. A familiar shine of steel, the paladin leaned down into the dust.

  “Sir!” Lapat shouted somewhere behind Verna. “I am so glad you are here. We need help!”

  “What happened? Where is the High Priestess?”

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “She,” Verna’s voice cracked, and she swallowed back the pain. “She is gone. Please, help us!”

  “Gone?” The paladin froze. “Who did this! Who is responsible for this?”

  Verna searched for the words, but there were none. She turned to Lapat, his green reptilian skin awash in a strange emerald glow, but he could only shrug.

  “Sir! You must help us!” Verna pleaded, rising to her feet. “The High Priestess spoke of a key. One that needs-”

  The sound of metal against metal ground through the air. Verna saw the Paladin stiffen as if struck. He reached a trembling hand up, just as blood began to pour from beneath his helm. Something swung through the air behind him, crashing against his skull, crumpling him to the ground.

  From the haze, two figures appeared, a bloodied blade and a cudgel in their hands. They had black jackets and some sort of red collar tight against their throats. One was thin and pale, while the other was short and covered in tattoos.

  “Keep an eye on us!” The skeletal man spat. “Should have kept a better eye out, tin man!”

  “Tin man! Tin can! Wham! Wham! Wham!” The short one hopped from side to side, beating his cudgel against the Paladin’s armor with a clang.

  The tall one clicked his tongue, his pale white eyes circling the crater. “Look at this mess! Told you he couldn’t handle it.”

  He’s dead. Verna’s mind spun. They just killed someone. The High Priestess. Now her guard. They just…

  “Wait a minute,” Lapat shouted. “I know you! The jesters! You-you just killed someone! You’ll pay for this! I’ll call the guards!”

  “Hell of a time finding those outfits. Who knew blood blended so well with a jester’s suit?” The tall one laughed, gripping the blood-stained cloth. “I suppose their previous owners found out the hard way, didn’t they, Beirt?”

  The short, tattooed one jumped from side to side, a manic grin across his face. “Guard, yard, card. Fires burn, fires charred.”

  “Oh, the guards? I’m not too worried about that,” the tall one cackled. “Strong drinks tonight. It is the festival after all.” He looked down at Verna and then to the High Priestess, smiling devilishly. “Sang her last note, did she? Never liked the old bitch.”

  “Old, sold, now all cold,” The short one laughed, snot falling from his nose.

  The tall one kicked the Paladin’s helm, “Sorry about your friend here. But I’ll help you just right, little bird. You and the old man, too. But first, I’ll be needing that ring there.”

  The ring? Verna turned, a green glow shining across her eyes. At the center of the light was a metallic band. The same one she’d fought the thief over. It’s black and white glimmer now throbbed with green light, a distant ringing pulsing from it like a song.

  “I…I don’t understand.” Verna stepped back.

  “Nothing for you to understand, girlie.” The two men pointed their bloodied weapons. “Give us the ring warm or we’ll take it from you cold.”

  “Don’t do it,” Lapat growled. “Guards! Guards!”

  “You keep crying out tonight, don’t you?” The tall one sighed. “Here I thought this little songbird was our crier.”

  Beirt jumped into the crater and crept towards the priestess. “Ring, ting, ding. Earyne, I’ll make the little girl sing!” His cudgel swept through the air.

  Verna stumbled back, falling into the dirt, the ringing filling her ears as she neared its source.

  “Stop!” Lapat ordered. “It is dangerous! We cannot disturb the object any further. We don’t know what else it is capable of.”

  “Oh, we know all we need to know,” Eayrne smirked. “Give it here.”

  Verna looked at them, to Lapat, and then the ring, a familiar insanity surging through her,

  “No!” The Tortle shouted, but it was too late. Beirt rushed forward just as Verna’s hand wrapped around the band.

  All the air vanished from her lungs. Electricity snapped through her, setting fire to her bones. A power surged through her, lifting her and throwing her down like some rampant child tossing aside toys. Verna felt her knees snap together against the ground. Then, the surge was gone, vanished into the dirt. Verna gasped, a pained wail forming on her lips. But the earth cried first.

  A roar exploded all around them. The ground felt untethered, a great beast screaming to be let loose. Then an arc of green lightning flew from the ring and into the sky.

  Verna could not speak. But she could see Lapat staring at her, his jaw wide in shock, as if expecting to find her as nothing more than dust and smoke. “How are you...” His gaze dropped to her hand.

  She peeled it open slowly, terrified of what could be held inside her palm. But the band was lifeless. A simple black and white, ash colored ring, with only the faintest emerald shimmer.

  “By the Lady,” Verna gasped. She realized only too late that the murderers were just in front of her but when she looked up, they weren't looking at her. Their gaze was above. Because the sky was falling.

  The Spirit Lights were being thrown against the horizon in a whirling spiraling madness. As if set to leap to their deaths, they dashed against the distant sunset. All the stars were dragged with them. Shattered into fragments of fire, pulled into the Endless Sea, gathering into one.

  Verna struggled to a stand beside Lapat at the garden’s cliff edge. “What have I done?”

  The explosions grew brighter, and the green lightning spread out, clawing out against the horizon as if set to tear it open.

  Verna looked to the thieves, who were as perplexed as her. She looked to Lapat for any guidance but the tortle’s gaze was lost, entranced.

  “Incredible,” he whispered.

  The violence spread, the storm reaching out and devouring the horizon, swallowing the last place the sun had touched. At the edge of the sea, darkness fell. Not the darkness of night. Not the shade of a hidden corner. True, absolute darkness. This void of light spread across the sea, stopping only at the edges of the lightning arc, a horrible frame of broken and ruined edges. It was a void, a swirl of black and white, an ink stain upon the earth several hundred feet wide.

  A clouded black haze whispered from it. A cracked and bleeding horizon that seemed to grow dark in shadow. From its center, a long wooden point slowly protruded, its size doubling and tripling. Tall masts flew through the top, and Verna saw the invader for its true shape. A massive wooden ship. Larger than she’d ever seen. Dozens of feet wide, hundreds of feet long, thick metal plates lining the side like an iron shell.

  The colossal ship was followed by several more falling into the Endless Sea, as if dropped by the gods. Though its escorts were hardly small, the enormous King Ship dwarfed them all by double. One at a time the ships raised sails with a foreign sigil. A flag that ran Verna’s blood ice cold.

  On a red sky, the light was eclipsed by a black circle, a shadow dominating the light. A black sun.

  Eayrne twisted and pointed his blade towards the priestess. “Give us the ring. Now.”

  “What is happening?” Verna stood slowly beside Lapat, the ring glowing emerald in her palm. Her long silver hair swayed in front of her eyes, matted in dirt. “What happened to the Spirit Lights?”

  “Not our problem, not our job,” Earyne hissed. “Give the ring, girl.”

  She looked past the pair and to the approaching fleet, “Who are they?”

  “No matter to us,” Eayrne growled. “Give. Us. The. Ring. Now.”

  “They are killers,” Lapat whispered. “I don’t know what this ring means. But we can’t solve this if we are dead.”

  Verna paused. What if he is right? What am I doing? I can’t do this. I can’t fight murderers. I wasn't’ supposed to be here! Her gaze fell to the body of the High Priestess. “No, we can’t.”

  The King Ship turned broadside. Light flashed across the entirety of the ship. Thunder boomed as fire and smoke flew from the deck. A piercing screech filled the air. Massive explosions erupted across the coastline, tearing into the city.

  “Good, goddess above protect us,” Verna pleaded.

  Again, the thunder rumbled, and again impacts landed, destroying docks, and slamming into buildings. Screams followed as mud and blood filled the air. Lapat threw up beside her as bodies were torn to shreds.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Eayrne ducked as another explosion rocked just below them. “You did this!” He had to yell over the noise. “Give us the ring now!”

  “Take us with you.”

  Eayrne looked back to the approaching ships anxiously, “No, absolutely not. Give us the ring.”

  “No.” Verna gritted her teeth and held the ring high. “I don’t know what this is, but whatever was supposed to happen didn’t go according to plan. Did it? You two messed up. Well, you three,” She looked down at the Hellkin.

  Confusion raced across Lapat’s face.

  “This is not a game.” Eayrne stepped forward, his blade still pointed at her. “If we stay, we will all die.”

  Verna cocked her arm back. The cliffside was dangerously close, eroded away even more by the explosion. “All of us or I toss the ring into the Sea. We can’t fix this if we are dead.”

  “No!” Lapat and the thieves shouted in unison.

  Eayrne’s head whipped between her and the approaching ships, “We can’t take the boy. He’s dead weight.”

  “I’ll carry him myself!” Lapat urged. “Don’t let go of that ring! Just get us out of here!”

  Have I gone mad? Verna’s mind raced. Her hand was slick with sweat, the ring pulsing against her flesh.

  More lightning rocked the city.

  Beirt looked at Eayrne in fear before he finally relented, “Fine. Follow me.”

  Lapat rushed to the Hellkin and threw him over his shoulder.

  Verna looked to him, unsure of why she had insisted on this. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he groaned. “The way to hell is paved with good deeds. Let us depart and pray we don’t find ourselves there.”