It was after he had released himself into her and she lay caressing his skin that she asked:
“Oslin, what will happen once the moon cycle is over? Will you forget who I am?”
His eyes watered at the question.
“No, my love, I will never forget who you are.” She propped herself onto his chest.
“Will you stay? With me?”
“Only if you wish it. But will you? I may be a bore after one moon.” She laughed and then looked at him with a seriousness and an intensity that he had rarely seen in a person before.
“I will wish it with all my heart. It shall be cut out of me, if I do not.” Oslin was horrified by the thought.
“No, my love,” he said, kissing her face. “You shall do no such thing. I do not think I can enjoy you in equal form if you do.” They laughed heartily, creating enough time for them to prove to each other that they did love each other before making ready for war.
In the Great Hall, they were given weapons and provisions and set off for the Pinnacles. Oslin flew them easily to the place. Once they got there though, they realized their work would be cut out for them. The Pinnacles were a myriad of towers that were superimposed on top of each other, creating mountains of towers. Oslin informed them that it was also enchanted cleverly so that someone could be hoodwinked; he would not be easily able to break the defenses. Saria was the only one who was elated.
“Oslin, would you be able to see what I see?” He looked at her Eye of Fire and knew what she was thinking. He held her hands and suddenly their vision was one. He could see the endless tunnels, paths and traps. He helped to stretch her vision and soon they found the way: a narrow door partially hidden between pinnacles. And it was so that they ran through the labyrinth, opening door after door until finally they came to a pair of heavy doors which lead to Zjorn’s antechambers. But there was a problem: the key they needed was an enchanted key, which was located behind the doors.
Saria looked with horror at Oslin.
“Which one is it?” There in the middle of the next room was a large table with dozens of keys of different shapes, sizes and colors. Oslin magically conjured the key that was needed. It levitated off the table but fell promptly.
“The enchantment is shrewd. You can only physically take the key out.”
“How will we get to that key?” cried Koslor. Saria searched and found an answer: a narrow opening through a high point in the wall. An opening which no human could get through but something smaller would.
“It is a silver key with a blue stone in it,” said Saria, picking up Jorli and raising her magically up to the hole.
“Look at and touch no other key,” said Oslin. “If they are all enchanted, there will be a good chance that there will be traps.” From the hole, Jorli looked down at them, winked and disappeared. Saria followed her as she crawled through the narrow space and leapt down into the room behind the door.
In the room, Jorli sped across the floor and pounced upon the table. She looked at all the keys and found the one they needed, near the middle of the table. Quickly she darted over the keys and came to the one. Carefully, she picked up the key with her snout and rushed back. But the key was not balanced evenly in her mouth and started to wobble dangerously as she crossed the table.
“No!” whispered Saria. “You can do it…don’t drop…” The key slid out of Jorli’s mouth and was about to hit the table when she caught it with her paws. Saria exhaled slowly as she watched Jorli jump down from the table and scaled the wall to the hole. Jorli returned through the hole and jumped into Saria’s waiting arms. She examined the key and a realization hit her.
“Once we open this door with this key, we will not enter the room we just saw, will we?” Oslin could not help but feel admiration for this woman. Had it not been for the seriousness of the situation, he would have been quite disposed to show her right in that moment. He restrained himself by only saying that the key would most likely take them to Zjorn. They looked at each other for a moment and with a swift motion of her hand, inserted the key and turned. Light spilled from the crack of the door and shot into the room, shaking the room with such strength that when the smoke lifted and the dust settled, the room was completely destroyed.
From beyond the destroyed room, Zjorn stepped over rubble.
He was a tall, willowy man who looked older than he was. Years of searching for the way to break the spell of the Forbidden Lake, he, like very few others, knew the meaning of being denatured. What started as a search to increase his power turned into his own downfall. It was to live your life as if you lived between worlds, an eternal insanity that would only have moments of lucidity. In those moments, he sought to find the pure liquid to cure himself. But his mind would wander and he would find himself in this senselessness. It was during that same senselessness that he would have killed, as he did with his own flesh and blood. He had held his dead father in his arms during one of those moments of lucidity and cried at his misbegottenness. He never had very much time to think about it for from moment to moment. He saw how he erected towers in the Pinnacles, a maze in which he placed himself in the center. He had retrieved the child and now was aware that the boy was part of the plan. He had wanted to stop himself on several occasions but as the years went on, his lapses of lucidity were fewer and it made him realize that he would soon be consumed completely by the self he did not know. It was the death of his soul and for having taken that drink of the Forbidden Lake, he had destroyed what, in that moment, was of little consequence to him. All for the sake of greed and self-gain. And as he slipped into the insanity of his day to day, he wished that someone would have the decency of putting him out of his misery. If they could.
His alter ego surfaced and had heard the intruders come when the correct key was nearly dropped. Foolish, he thought. The intruders got what they came for. The room was completely devastated in such a fashion that anyone would have easily have thought that our heroes had perished. And as he moved a stone with the tip of the boot, hoping to find remains of these trespassers, he heard the unexpected:
“Give us the child.”
He spun around. Saria and the others stood in Zjorn’s chambers, unscathed. One look at the group sent him laughing in a maniacal fashion. It was a laugh that lingered and scratched but the group stood firm.
“I can see that you are to face your death in a few moments,” he said, recovering. “Pure luck led you this far but now, it is time.” With an upward swing of his hand, he threw forth a beam of light that sizzled the air as it shot at them. Only Saria and Oslin kept their eyes on Zjorn as both crossed their arms, sending a blue light in an arc around the group. Zjorn was stunned.
“How can that be?” he stuttered, staggering backwards. Then realization struck him.
“You are both human?” Saria smiled pleasantly as she brought her arms down in a full frontal attack. Arcs of blue light sped like knives and burst into smaller arcs, tearing at Zjorn’s counterattack. Oslin shot burst of wind in a rapid fury but wasn’t quick enough from blocking a blow from hitting Saria. She was thrown back and in a brief moment of distraction, Zjorn nicked Oslin in the shoulder. He cursed as blood was flowing crimson under his sleeve. He raised his hands in a counterattack and with all his might, blast the wall away, along with Zjorn.
Meanwhile, Koslor and Jorli went to find the child and found him in a small crib sleeping, quite far from the skirmish. The child slumbered peacefully and as Jorli reached down to pick him up, a cry erupted from Saria’s throat.
“I would not do that if I were you.” Koslor and Jorli turned around to find Zjorn nearing them menacingly. Suddenly, an ear-piercing cry filled the room as Perlen and Sinlar swooped down on him and slashed him with their claws. Oslin materialized and with a hurricane force, threw him across the room and against the opposite wall when he stopped slightly. And so did Zjorn.
They were both distracted by a light blue glow emanating in the room.
And there Saria stood, dust settling around her. Although her clothes were torn, she gave a air that was frightening to behold. Her hair danced around her and a wave, as if of water, emmanated from her and expanded slowly. As soon as it touched Zjorn, however, it hit him with a foce that pummeled him through the wall into the far wall in the next room, creating a recess in the brick. Seizing the opportunity, Saria appeared and with a swift movement, sent flying the blood-letting blade that the Keeper had given her and it hit him in the shoulder. A scream of scathing force burst from Zjorn’s lips as he lay in agony. His blood was spilling and for him, it was a sensation he was not aware could happen to him. Saria stood over him and was amazed as this man, the Keeper’s brother, slowly changed in countenance. He began to look haggard and simply old. He looked up at Saria and smiled weakly.
“I have wished for so long for someone to kill me,” he started. “I am never conscious long enough to know what I am doing.” He looked pleadingly at her. “Please kill me. I will never find the correct liquid. Please. Before he comes back.”
Saria looked at him with sorrow. Here was the man who killed the Keeper’s parents. Someone who, in search of personal gain, fell farther from grace than many could ever have done. And she felt sorry for him. Leaning down to pull out the knife, she was concentrating on the hilt and had barely noticed that the man in front of her had shifted shapes. He grabbed the knife from his shoulder, sunk it deep into her chest and in a blink of an eye, they were gone. Relir was gone as well.
