Chronicles of Akhani - 22 - Free at Last
A thick, black smoke billowed out from the cart. Cold, hard, wicked cackles erupted from deep within Agystos as the ropes fell from him in heaps of ashes. Slowly standing, his eyes glowed red in the darkened barn room. The smoke began to roll out from his open mouth and steamed from his outstretched arms.
Smoke began to pour from Akhani like the waters over a fall. It rolled on the floor as waves in a turbulent sea. Crashing, tossing, and turning, it filled the floor as it made its way to the center of the barn.
The smoke from both of the possessed began to coalesce. As Zhorovna stared at the forming cloud of smoke, she saw the familiar serpent from her vision. Likewise, Akhani witnessed the same cloud form into the amalgamation he had witnessed in his dream. To Agystos, it was that of a great Doiketian hoplite. Laughter rang out from the black smoke as its core began to glow like a hot coal in the midst of a great fire.
“Akhani, the time has come. Your destiny awaits,” the enigmatic shaped hissed. “Come, I shall anoint you as the ruler of our realm. The ceremony can begin.”
Unable to stop himself, Akhani began to walk towards the figure. As Agystos witnessed this beckoning, a surge of jealousy overtook him. Screaming and rending his garb, he jumped from the cart with intent to rush his rival. The thought that a Xotokian would be chosen above him reeled in his mind and blinded him with rage.
Agystos saw the figure turn towards him with arms for embrace. A voice whispered in Agystos’s mind, “Fret, not. The Xotokian is meant only for sacrifice. The land will be yours to rule soon enough. All the land will flow with riches and prosperity for you people, and the Xotokians will never darken your halls any more. All the secrets of the realm will be known unto you.”
Akhani, likewise heard whisperings in his ears telling him of the blood that will be spilled in vengeance of his tormented people. The voice promised all the wrongs to be set right again. For the land to prosper and to know a new day unlike has ever been witnessed. The winds of peace would blow across the land cleansing it once and for all. All that was needed was the sacrifice of Agystos.
Akhani and Agystos, simulatenously, began to clutch at hidden weapons behind their backs. Agystos had grabbed a short sword from the cart, while Agystos gripped his faithful blade. Both blade glowed as amethyst and crimson as their masters gripped them with ill intent. Their corrupted souls were spilling out and into all of their surroundings. Step by step, they made their paces towards one another, as two siblings meeting to embrace. For, in that moment, they had become siblings.
A voice called out to Zhorovna. A voice that rose above the rest. A voice that commanded her to act. Commanded her to stop the mutual sacrifice. To stop the bloodshed before it could begin. The voice resounded in her mind, but was only felt. It was a Word from the gods themselves.
The humble pitchfork, an instrument to maintain the land, to nurture creatures, had found its way into Zhorovna’s hand without recollection. It shown with a gentle, warming light that burned away the smoke as it drew near.
Voices. It was a choir. A choir of singing angelic voices. They rang out from the light. They rippled into the void of the smoke and filled it with sweet air. The smell of incense overpowered all senses, and a hiss rang out.
The dark figure writhed in pain. It wailed in grating dissonance. Flames shot high, licking the barn’s tall ceiling. As the light mingled with the darkness, the darkness fled. Defeated by the light, it took flight. Flying out the cracks in the barn, laughing all the same.
“It’s too late!” The cry came as the smoke slipped from sight. “Their purpose has been served!”
Zhorovna landed, having not actually dealt a single strike of her own, and wondered at what had occurred. She marveled at the pitchfork, the humble pitchfork, which she wielded to cast out the evil spirit. The blood seemed to drain out of Zhorovna, but the blood on the floor was not her own.
Akhani and Agystos were both unconscious and bleeding. Iosodoros and Kodomi sprang into action. They grabbed their medical supplies that they kept on hand for their animals. Panicked, Zhorovna had frozen in place.
“Zhorovna, we need you to help. We need you to follow our orders exactly,” Iosodoros said in a calm voice. “I need you to help me by getting their torsos while Kodomi stitches shut their wounds. We were fortunate that neither thrust the blade into one another. And even more fortunate that they did not hit any major arteries. I believe they passed out while they were in process of slashing. I do not believe Akhani would have missed his mark otherwise.”
As Kodomi went about her work, and Iosodoros continued talking to keep Zhorovna in the moment and out of panic. Kodomi quickly stitched their long lacerations in their chests shut. The blades had sliced deep enough to slice muscle, but not anything that couldn’t heal well. With a smile and a nod to her husband, Kodomi signaled that she was done.
“They’re going to be fine,” Kodomi comforted Zhorovna. “Their wounds will heal. They will just need to rest and recover.”
Zhorovna, however, asked, what they all were thinking, “What will they do to each other when they awake?”
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Thick fog hung in the calm, cool, still air. Loose, flat flakes of rock completely covered the ground save spots of ice, snow, and the occasional clubmoss and heather. Off in the distance, closest to the ledge, a large stone structure.
Akhani and Agystos stood staring at each other in confusion. Each felt strangely at ease despite seeing the one who they most despised. Neither, though, was willing to be the first to address the other.
“Wisdom, let us attend!” Rang out a powerful voice from the other side of the stone structure.
“Blessed are the Fathers, and happy are those who serve,” sang a chorus of voices from far below the ledge.
Strange songs began to be sung. Songs of thanksgiving. Songs of repentance. Song of forgiveness. As the songs continued, Akhani and Agystos found themselves longing to join in with the choir of voices. Longing to participate in the service. Longing live the words that were sung.
Akhani and Agystos found themselves walking towards the stone structure with their arms open as though showing their submission. As they drew near, the fog parted. It appeared that the fog was only outside of a perimeter surrounding the congregants. The members therein were that of each race, both ancient and new.
Drawing closer yet, Akhani and Agystos saw that there were many priests at the stone structure. The other side of the structure was laden with gems and encrusted with precious metals. Large intricate murals, statues, and carvings decorated every inch of the magnificent structure. A single flame sat atop a large golden sphere, but appeared to be without fuel.
The choir of voices stopped, and all fell prostrate before the altar. The flame began to speak as a myriad of voices in total harmonic unity, “The time of forgiveness and restitution is upon us for the land of Achinos. We have brought Akhani and Agystos here so that they may witness what could be. Witness what we have desired our creation to become. They stand before us now, unbelievers. They had been lead astray by their ignorance, greed, and desire for vengance.
“What is offered to you,” began the voices of the flames which appeared to now be addressing Akhani and Agystos, “is a chance to allow us to make you firm, and whole. To allow you to be without the scars that the evil ones had left upon you.”
As these words were said, Agystos and Akhani looked down upon themselves and saw themselves covered with thick, hideous scars. The scars told a tale of a thousand lashings that had stricken them without end. Their fingers glided over them, and a desire for healing filled their hearts.
“Take, drink. Let our fire be your tonic,” the voice said as two ornately priests stood and took chalices from the altar.
The priests, holding chalice and chained censers approached the pair. The priests nodded and both understood to drop to their knees as they were given the beverage. As the the liquid fire poured out of the chalices and into their mouths, a warmth fulled them and coursed through their veins. A light exuded from them, and happiness filled their souls. As the light dimmed, they found that all the scars were gone, and that love was the only emotion retained.
Akhani turned to Agystos, and Agystos likewise turned to Akhani. They each fell prostrate before one another with tears streaming from their eyes. They stood, then embraced.
“You are healed, but your job has just begun,” the voices of the flame continued. “Though the spirits will no longer be able to find any refuge within you, they have made your home their own. We will let Zhorovna hear our Words, and you must obey. Should you turn your back on us, the spirits will re-enter you, many times more strongly.
“Now, go. Your companions await,” the voices of the flames commanded as the pair found themselves opening their eyes back in the physical realm.
“You’re awake!” Zhorovna cried, only moments after had asked what would befall them upon waking.
“Yes, we have been cleansed by the gods of the spirits,” Akhani said soberly as he began to sit of his own accord.
“But, the land has not,” Agystos stated plainly. “That they are leaving to us.”
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