The Tower of Silence

 

A Tale of the Black Rabbit

 

 

 

She ran as fast as she could manage, frantically scrambling across the heath in her effort to get away. Somewhere behind her she could hear her brother trailing her, calling her name. She didn’t care. She had to get as far away as she could.

 

 

But fear dulled her senses, and she didn’t see the half-buried log in the loam before her foot struck it. She took a dive face first into the ground. Slammed with pain, she couldn’t focus her mind long enough to clear it away. Instead she just sobbed into her fur.

 

 

Her brother finally caught up to her, hopping skilfully over the log with his customary feline grace. He warily crouched down and put his arms around the crying aslaran girl.

 

 

"Rixen, listen!"

 

 

She barely heard, but it was enough to pierce the fog of her mind. "No, YOU listen, Kensi! I was there! I saw it. We have to get away from here. We have to stop it." Her angry voice cut through the misty moors, and when she finished her shout, nothing dared to make a sound.

 

 

Her brother sat briefly in silence, then glanced over his shoulder, back to where the crystal tower had appeared. He hated to admit it, but his sister was right.

 

 

"All right, listen. We’ll go to Shanthmark. Someone there might know of the old ways, and help us figure this out, okay? If you’re right, it’s too big for us to handle."

 

 

Rixen threw her arms around her brother, embracing him tightly. Calmer now, she sniffled back the last of her fear and anger, and nodded her understanding. The siblings quickly camouflaged themselves for the trek across the moors, and set off to the south west, to the aslaran village of Shanthmark.

 

 

It wasn’t long after they departed that the ground beneath where they stopped began to stir, and a spire of crystal began to slowly push its way out from the ground. If there had been anyone around to listen, they might have heard a tinkling laugh, like wind chimes, and seen the flashing of prismatic motes over the peak of the growing spire.

 

***

 

"What do you make of it, Enlay?"

 

The black rabbit stood on his burly friend's shoulders, pressing his paws against the glossy black crystal. His features scrunched as he contemplated the spire, looking for any clues as to its origin or purpose. After a short while, he slumped back, his long ears drooping behind him.

 

 

"I don't really, know. It looks like obsidian and quartz, and something feels pretty off about it, but I can't say anything else for sure. A Harmonicist could tell you if there was something special about them, I guess."

 

 

Nisha circled around from the other side of the spire, her velvet cloak gathered in her hands so it didn't snag on the fallen log nearby. "That's very astute, Enlay. Very helpful indeed." She cast her eyes about the area, finally settling on a fairly level piece of ground which she moved towards.

 

 

"Well what have -you- found out, huh, Nisha?" Enlay shot back angrily.

 

 

The elfen girl only flipped her beaded hair over her shoulder, smiling in her smug way. "I haven't begun looking, have I?" She set her cauldron on the ground and pulled out a few shadows, gathering them about herself to focus her meditations.

 

 

Beneath Enlay, the giant igasho quaked with attempts to subdue his laughter. "You're never going to win with her, little one," he chuckled, before reaching up to steady the swaying furrikin. "But let's leave that alone and try to figure this out."

 

 

Enlay grumbled angrily for a moment before harrumphing and taking a seat behind Campion's head, crossing his arms and leaning into the piles of grey hair before him. "You know as much as I do, Campion. We got a report that spires had appeared on the Moors; we came to investigate. From up here, I can make out what looks like three others. But they just appear... ordinary."

 

 

The two paced around the spire in silence for a moment before a sudden thought brought Campion to a halt. He quickly looked around the clearing, his eyes scanning for something. Finally, he whispered up to the furrikin, "Listen, Enlay. What do you hear?"

 

 

Enlay's ears popped straight up, swivelling slightly as he tried to locate whatever Campion wanted him to hear. After a short while, the ears drooped back. "What is it? I can't hear anything."

 

 

"That's just it, Enlay. Aside from us talking, it's dead silent. Where are the kestrel's cries? Where are the insects' buzzes? The scampering of stoats? This place should be teaming with life, but you can't hear any of it."

 

 

The rabbit quickly back-flipped off Campion's shoulders, landing in a crouch. He could feel it, now that it had been brought to his attention, and he silently cursed himself for not noticing sooner. Sound should have been his area, he reasoned, as he twitched his whiskers and swivelled his ears again, searching for a deeper sound than the igasho could hear. But that too seemed strangely quiet.

 

 

Pulling his flame maple mandolin from his back, Enlay quickly strummed a perfect fourth, sending the vibrations to call out to the vermin nearby. The notes came out sounding strangely flat and lifeless. Enlay watched as a few feet away a weevil faced him, then turned and noiselessly burrowed away.

 

 

"The spire is dampening my song," Enlay murmured as dread realization struck him.

 

 

"It is frightening the fae as well." Nisha joined back with her companions, an unusually sour look on her face. "They refuse to talk to me about what has happened here, and every effort I make to coerce them just results in them spouting panicked gibberish. The most I could gather was something about 'ancient spirits.'"

 

 

“Ancient spirits?” Enlay morosely plucked at the strings of his mandolin, his ears cringing back a the distorted sound. “Do they mean those ghosts down in Paavik? Do they have something to do with this whole thing?”

 

 

“It might be worth investigating. Someone has to know something about these spires.”

 

 

“Then it’s settled,” Campion said gruffly. We’ll be going to Paavik, to ask around. Hopefully we’ll turn up some good information. Hop on up, Enlay.”

 

 

The rabbit gave a final pluck on the strings of his mandolin, trying for a silent blank note. To his surprise, the spire flashed at the noiseless tone, then let out a piercing shriek. Enlay fell to the ground, stuffing his paws in his ears until the painful sound subsided.

 

 

“What the Nil was that?” Campion winced.

 

 

Enlay hopped to his feet and began studying the spire again. “I triggered some sort of reaction, but I’m not sure what exactly happened. I think I’m going to stay here, though, and try some other things. You two go on without me. I’ll be fine.”

 

 

Nisha rolled her eyes. “A bard without his song, I’m sure you’ll be very capable if trouble arises. You can always pull that note again and annoy your aggressors until they leave.”

 

 

“It’s not a bad idea!” Enlay said cheerfully, hopping from foot to foot. “Besides, I have other tricks up my sleeves!” He nimbly jumped into the air, twisting into a back flip and landing on his toes.

 

 

“Fine, just don’t let this be the start of your funeral.”

 

 

The elfen and the igasho turned and walked off, leaving Enlay to study the spire on his own. Several hours went by as he tried different combinations of notes and tones, each time hoping for a different reaction. In every case the music distorted and warped, some more than others, but all fell flat. Only the piercing shriek caused by the blank note hinted at a deeper purpose to the spires.

 

 

Resting sullenly atop the half-sunk log, Enlay pondered his meagre findings. Slowly he became aware of an approaching noise, like the tromping of many pairs of feet on the soft earth, too many for any stealth to hide. His ears shot up and swivelled around as he tried to locate the sound. Then he realized it was coming towards his tower. He quickly bounded a few dozen metres away, hiding himself behind some bushes.

 

 

From the south west came a great number of aslaran, at least two score, wearing the pelts and colours of Shanthmark. They spread out around the spire, setting up guard and talking amongst themselves. Closest to the spire was an elder of Shanthmark, talking with a pair of young aslaran who appeared to be from somewhere different. The young male stood back sullenly, his arms crossed in front of him, while the young female gestured wildly and seemed much more agitated.

 

 

Enlay was about to sneak closer, when he felt a presence looming behind him. He tensed, then suddenly spun in the dirt rolling into a somersault and landing on his feet as a spear jabbed down right where he had been laying. The aslaran warrior before him pulled the spear back, twirled it, and pointed it at Enlay’s head.

 

 

“A fine catch of a rabbit, snooping about Shanthmark business. Hold still, it’ll be easier on you if you just give up and let me skewer you.”

 

 

Enlay smirked, his ears folding down to lay back against his head. “I don’t fancy being a kebob today, no no. Why don’t we try something else?”

 

 

He glanced over at the gathering of aslarans, pleased to see none looking his way. He hopped nimbly on his toes, hoping to resolve the fight quickly. He only had a moment to wait, before the spear thrust at him again, and he spryly flipped out of the way, diving to the ground and nimbly raising up on his hands. From his upside down position, he flummoxed the aslaran fighter, and was able to agilely dodge the next few attacks that came his way. Finally, he was ready to go on the offensive.

 

 

He pushed off the ground, springing up into the air and leaping over the aslaran, landing behind him with a twist that had the rabbit facing his assailant’s back. He hopped up again, slamming his foot into the back of the aslaran’s head and using his momentum to bring his other foot crashing into place as well. He fell back, landing on his hands and springing gracefully into a crouch.

 

 

The aslaran reeled, stumbling forward, then turning and stabbing fiercely at Enlay. But the attacks were wild and unfocused now, tinged with rage at the blows that had been struck, and it was a simple thing for Enlay to avoid them. When his foe slowed to catch his breath, the furrikin gathered a few motes of light into his hand, then released a blast of prismatic light into the aslaran’s face. The warrior winced against the assault, but was struck dead on by a ray of violet light, and he collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed with dizziness.

 

 

Enlay saw his chance, and bounced quickly up on top of a tree stump nearby, his back to the aslaran. With a powerful shove off, he arced through the air, doing a nearly complete circle, but enough that he landed belly first on the aslaran’s head. Enlay didn’t weigh much, but the combination of the dizzying light and the sudden blow was enough to knock the aslaran out.

 

 

Picking himself up off the body of his comatose foe, Enlay realized he couldn’t afford another fight like that. He was lucky enough that he was far enough away no one else came to investigate, and that the tower was continuing to dampen the sounds in the area. He still needed to get closer, so he pulled a few strands of light, twisting them around himself so that he couldn’t be seen. Then, as stealthily as he could manage, he crept back towards the spire.

 

 

***

 

“Baron, if you would, please. I know it is an unusual request, but it is vitally important that we find out what you know.”

 

 

Nisha and Campion stood before the painting of Baron Gapkovic Paavik, entreating the ghostly form of the long dead statesman to help solve the mystery of the spires. Campion had decided that he was a bit too rough to speak to the noble sensibilities of the baron, and so Nisha was doing all of the talking.

 

 

The elderly krokani moved a ghostly hand through the spectre of his white hair, musing for a moment as he thought back to stories he had heard ages ago.

 

 

“You ask quite a difficult question, miss. I don’t recall ever seeing such a thing, even at the height of the Empire. But there are legends of course. Much was lost to the mists of time and the savagery of the Serenwilde forest, but some of the stories of the Vernal Wars persisted despite that. It pertains to the Moors, as well, so I’ve sought out information in the meantime, what little there is.”

 

 

Campion coughed, unable to resist himself. “The Vernal Wars? They’re that old?” A quiet glance from Nisha sent him back to silence, and she turned her attention to Gapkovic.

 

 

“Aye, aye, if it’s what I am thinking of, then yes. The Castle Djarrakh is not the only secret held within the Moors. This legend speaks to the ancient weapon called the Tower of Silence.”

 

 

“The Tower of Silence?” Nisha’s face creased with worry, as she recalled the effect of the spire on Enlay’s song.

 

 

The ghostly baron nodded in agreement. “So I heard it was called. The legend holds that the moors were a favoured place of certain sky spirits. They loved to play in the open skies above the heath, with the kestrels that have lived there. And there was a voice as well, disembodied but stronger and more beautiful than any mortal voice. It was said to be the voice of an angel. And it sang to the sky spirits as they played. But then, one day, Zenos descended on the moors. Many sky spirits died under His assault, and the voice was not heard from for a very long time.

 

 

“The peoples of the moors came together and built a burial tower for the sky spirits. A massive tower of crystal that rose to the firmament. They laid the spirits to rest in the tower, close to the sky they loved so much. And as they laid them down, the voice came again, singing a sad requiem to the departed.

 

 

“The legend goes that from then on, the singing could be heard, from time to time, surrounding the Tower, and whenever ignoble people attempted to defile it, the Tower itself would strike them. One of the Vernal Gods, realising the power it held, braved the voice’s wrath and changed the Tower, silencing the voice with crystal spires. Many mourned the loss, until one day Zenos descended again upon the Moors.

 

 

“On that day, the Vernal God activated the Tower and the power it held was enough to drive the Soulless God back. Zenos fled, for a time, but whenever He returned, The Tower would sing out, and drive Him back. And the rest of the time, the Tower stayed silent.”

 

 

Nisha absorbed the story in silence, and gave a solemn nod when it ended. She cast a glance to Campion, affirming from his glowering countenance that he had come to the same conclusion. The look was not unnoticed by the ghostly patriarch.

 

 

“Something about that story strikes a never with you, I sense. What might that be, miss?”

 

 

“We’ve… had an encounter with sky fae in the recent past. There’s one that seems to want to cause trouble for us. There may be a connection, and this Tower might be part of a plot of his. If so, this could be dangerous for the people of the Moors, including Paavik and Shanthmark.”

 

 

Campion stepped forward. “Even if it’s that fae again, if this Tower’s a weapon like you say, then it could be trouble anyways. If someone gets a hand on it, they could turn it against Paavik. Or possibly even Glomdoring, or worse.”

 

 

A troubled look passed over the ghost of Baron Paavik. “You have an excellent point, young ones. Campion, is it? I’ll contact the head of the guard here, if you two will be so kind as to lead them to the Tower. We must secure the location before it is too late.”

 

 

Campion gave a stiff bow, and Nisha swept into a graceful curtsey. “It would be our pleasure, Baron.”

 

***

 

“The Tower of Silence...” Rixen shook her head. “It seems unbelievable. A weapon of the Vernal Wars?”

 

 

Adaeze the Soothsayer ran a hand over the surface of the spire. “It seems to be one and the same. These are the spires that surround, which means the Tower will be in the centre.”

 

 

Kensi scoffed under his breath. “Soothsayer, there’s nothing there.”

 

 

“Of course not, child.” Adaeze retorted sharply. “The Tower is reappearing, as it has been said to do from time to time. But always the spires first. They channel the sound to the Tower, so when the proper song in sung, the Tower will reappear.”

 

 

Rixen leaned forward, the worry in her voice strangely tinged now with a hint of excitement. “You know the song? You can bring the Tower back?”

 

 

“I can, and will, child. Having the Tower of Silence will be a great boon to Shanthmark. Perhaps enough we will be able to throw off the yoke of the cities and communes, and stand on our own to defend ourselves. Just watch, and we shall see if the legends hold true.”

 

 

The black furred aslaran adjusted her bracelets and bangles, then began to sing a soft, haunting song. The lilting notes began to resonate with the spire, and soon a mournful hum filled the entirety of the Grey Moors. The song and resonance built to a crescendo, and a sudden shimmering light filled the area.

 

 

A roaring wind rushed forth, howling outward from the centre of the four spires. The humming of the spires hit a peak, and with a flash of light and a great roar, it was revealed. Standing tall within the middle of the moors, between the spires, a great tower of granite and tourmaline.

 

 

As the dust settled and the music faded, an almost oppressive quiet fell over the moors, far greater than the forced quiet of the spires alone. As the flood of magic power faded from the air, something else was revealed as well. Crouching beside the obsidian and quartz spire was a small, black-furred rabbitkin.

 

 

Kensi was on him in a moment, fierce to defend his allies’ find. “Who are you, little spy?” he snapped out in a hoarse whisper, quiet but raging nonetheless. “What do you think you’re up to?”

 

 

“My name is Enlay!” The furrikin squealed in fright, his neck captured in the clawed hand of the aslaran lad. “I’m from Glomdoring Forest and I was investigating the spires. You all seemed to know a thing or two, that’s all!”

 

 

“Let him go, Kensi.” commanded Rixen, scolding her brother in low, dangerous tones. He knew better than to cross his sister when she spoke like that, so he released his grip on the rabbit, dumping him unceremoniously on the ground.

 

 

Adaeze the Soothsayer coughed slightly, worn from her action but still keen. “You may have released him too soon, young one. Glomdoring’s vassal town of Paavik is approaching.”

 

 

Enlay squeaked in fright. “Not me! It had nothing to do with me. I’m not the only one interested in the spires, you know. I’m just trying to figure out why the sky fae are messing with me, and this Tower has something to do with it.”

 

 

Adaeze’s milky eyes narrowed. “You are involved with the sky fae? Rubbish, they died out long ago.”

 

 

Rixen shook her head. “I think he’s telling the truth, Soothsayer. And given the Tower of Silence is real, perhaps it’s not so hard to believe that maybe some sky fae actually survived, too.”

 

 

A warm glance was shared between Enlay and Rixen, and he found himself blushing beneath his dark fur. “Thank you for believing me, miss...”

 

“Rixen, the name is Rixen.”

 

 

“Miss Rixen, then! I found a few things out, too, about how the Tower might work, and what exactly it’s for. You see...”

 

 

“Enlay! What’s happening here?” Campion marched up to the group, a contingent of krokani guards behind him. Sour looks from the aslaran were shot their way, and tension could be felt in the quiet air. “Why are there villagers from Shanthmark here?”

 

“Campion, they know about the Tower! You see it’s...”

 

“We heard, Enlay, from the Baron,” Nisha interjected smoothly.

 

 

“From the Baron?” Adaeze’s eyes narrowed harshly. “Baron Gapkovic? So you enlisted Paavik to take the Tower, then, did you?”

 

 

“Take the Tower?” One of the guards strode forward, joining in the argument. “This rightfully belongs to Paavik anyways, you old hag.”

 

 

Adaeze clenched her fists tightly, her claws digging in. “Why you brat! I will...”

 

 

He never found out what she was going to do, because a massive explosion of colour and sound rocked the sky. Enlay stood, hand pointed skyward, surrounded by a myriad of falling motes of light.

 

 

“That’s quite enough! This is a vernal artifact we’re talking about. It belongs to the world, not any one town. So just quit your arguing, and let’s get back to figuring out how to work it.”

 

 

The krokani and the soothsayer quieted, each absorbing the words of the furrikin. Even Nisha had a slight smile on her face at his words. But it was then that another aslaran came staggering forward, clutching his head in pain.

 

 

“Don’t trust him! He’s working with them. He attacked me and tried to kill me before. He probably just wants to use the Tower of Silence as a weapon against us, and give control of the Moors to Paavik.

 

 

“Control of the Moors?” The krokani was furious, and his shout was echoed by cries from the guard he led. “You are the ones who awoke the Tower, to wipe us from the Basin! We have to claim it to protect ourselves!”

 

 

“Calm down!” Enlay shouted, but to no avail.

 

 

“No! Paavik will follow the will of Glomdoring no more! We are free from your control, and we are going to make war against these fools from Shanthmark. Prepare yourselves, aslaran!”

 

 

The Paavikians turned and marched off, and Adaeze turned her ruthless blind gaze to Enlay. “A fine mess you’ve made, you foolish rabbit. You’re lucky we have to prepare for war, or we would string you up here and now.” She turned to the wounded aslaran beside her. “Return at once to Shanthmark. Send a message to Hallifax that we need them no longer, and will fend for ourselves, once we have crushed Paavik and claimed the Tower for ourselves.”

 

 

Enlay stood beneath the spire in despair, watching as a few hundred meters away a small group of aslaran and krokani clashed, unwilling to wait before spilling blood. With a sigh, he leaned against the pillar and slid into a sitting position, his head in his hands.”

 

 

“Um...” said Campion.

 

 

“What happened here, Enlay?” Nisha said quietly.

 

 

“I’m not too sure, guys. I figured out how to activate the Tower, I think, after listening to the Soothsayer’s story. But then she summoned the Tower, and I was found, and then these two, and then Paavik showed up, and you saw the rest.” He heaved a great sigh. “And I don’t know that we have time to sort it all out. These guys are going to kill each other, and be no use to anyone. Campion, Nisha, we’ve got to do something.”

 

 

Kensi folded his arms against his chest. “You could always browbeat them into submission, can’t you?”

 

 

“We do not even need to use our brows, if we don’t want to,” Nisha said coldly. “But it is a point. Glomdoring needs to be alerted to the revolt, and we need people there to bring them back into the fold. Look, Hallifax already descends.”

 

 

Enlay glanced up and say a crystal sphere shoot across the sky, followed by several trill trailing lightning bolts. One glanced at the Tower and pointed downwards, but the group continued on. Enlay jumped to his feet, filled with urgency.

 

 

“Nisha, Campion, I need you two to get on Paavik, right away. Hurry! Even if we convince them to not kill Shanthmark, Hallifax might still attack. In the meantime, I need to do my thing here.”

 

 

Nisha nodded, and Campion wrapped a burly arm around her slender frame. He reached out, and tugged on an aetheric strand that connected to the Master Ravenwood, and in a few short moments, the two disappeared in a flash and sparkle of motes of pure light.

 

 

Enlay turned to Rixen and flashed her a winning smile, then turned and ran across the Moors, heading for the Tower. Rixen looked to her brother, who simply scowled, and then she turned and ran after the furrikin.

 

 

“Enaly, wait for me!” She caught up to him, then slowed slightly to match his pace. “I want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

 

 

“I’m not gonna argue, sister! We’ve got a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it in!”

 

 

***

 

 

On the heathy plains of the Grey Moors, the aslarans of Shanthmark and the krokani of Paavik came to blows. Spear and claw met mace and fist, and the area around the Tower was silent no longer, filled now with the roar of battle and the cries of pain and wounding.

 

 

The Tower itself was the prime area of contention, and so the tide of battle crashed against the granite and tourmaline edifice. Blood spilled on the heather around the stone. Once a burial site for sky fae, the Tower of Silence now served as a gravestone for fallen warriors.

 

 

The warriors cared little for the history of the Tower, and would have invaded it, had the entrance not been sealed by Enlay. Inside the ring of the tower, he and Rixen had braced the doors with stones, knowing that if the fighting slipped inside, their chance of activating the Tower would be lost.

 

 

Far from the madding crowd, in the village of Paavik, another fight ensued. Campion, the wyrden igasho warrior, stood against foes from Serenwilde and Celest, who had descended upon the village, intent on taking it as their own. Nisha was near her friend, guarding him with the shadows and fae as best she could.

 

 

A kephera monk leapt at the igasho, bone shofa blades clashing against the tempered wyrden steel of Campion’s cutlasses. The two exchanged blows, the monk dancing elegantly around the cutlass blades, and lashing into the igasho’s thick-furred skin with his own weapons.

 

 

Nisha’s eyes remained focused on her friend, as she watched his aura fluctuate amidst the blows. Reaching out, she let his pain flow into her, dulling the edge and healing his wounds. She had the resolve to withstand it, and the monk they fought was foolish enough to ignore the shimmering light that passed through her and Campion, and ignore the healer at her duty.

 

 

The lack of focus on the true threat let Nisha reach a point of safety. Confident that her friend could withstand a few blows, she called out, bringing a redcap out from the shadows. She knelt before him, slicing her hand on her athame and rubbing the blood that spilled forth on the dark fae’s cap.

 

 

“I give my blood to you willingly, and request service in return, fae. Go to that bug, and collect from him that which I give freely. He will not be so accommodating, so take by force.”

 

 

The redcap grinned and cackled, flexing out his razor claws, and jumping at the bug. It was enough of a distraction. The kephera flailed wildly as the redcap clung to his back, stabbing vicious claws into the thick carapace and soaking up the oozing blood that welled forth. No longer able to focus solely on Campion, the kephera was unable to defend against the cutlasses effectively, and soon fell beneath the swords and claws. A final gurgle escaped its mandibles, before Campion’s sword descended a final time, severing the bug’s head from its body.

 

 

Nisha wasted no time, tugging on the cape of her companion. “We waste time, Campion. Quickly, to the Baron!”

 

 

With a final look at the wilde corpse before him, Campion turned, grabbed the elfen girl, and ran to the decrepit mansion on the hill. Vehement arguing could be heard at various places inside, but the painting of the Baron was untouched.

 

 

“Baron Gapkovic, emerge!”

 

 

A ghostly glow filled the room, and the elderly krokani spectre stepped forth from his painting. “There is little point in discussing the issue now, young lady. We have made our decision. We are going to use the Tower to wipe out Shanthmark once and for all.”

 

 

Nisha scowled miserably. “I wouldn’t say that, your lordship. You realise that with Glomdoring’s aid, you will be much more effective at killing the aslarans? We are the best warriors in the Basin, which is why my ally here just slayed an infiltrator to your town, and my vassal in the Moors has claimed the Tower for Glomdoring already. Indeed, you cannot use it, now, not without us.”

 

 

The baron laughed. “Just who do you think you are, girl? I don’t need Glomdoring. Glomdoring needs me! And you don’t serve our interests. You won’t march against Shanthmark. Go bother someone else.”

 

 

“Even as we speak, Hallifax is taking control of Shanthmark, Baron. They are gaining aide from the skyfolk, and you will have none. Perhaps with the Tower, you can take a few aslarans down, but an entire floating city? They will crush you. But with our help, you won’t have to worry about them one bit.”

 

 

The ghostly spectre frowned, his single, ice-blue eye squinting as he thought over what she said. Finally, he shook his head. “And so? Can you guarantee that with the aide of the Forest, if we pledge to you, you will protect us from Hallifax while we deal with the aslarans of Shanthmark, and protect the Moors from them?”

 

 

Nisha nodded, hoping her lies would be enough. “We’ll do every thing in out power to assist you, Baron Gapkovic. We hold the Tower of Silence, and we will use it for the benefit of Glomdoring… and all who pledge their allegiance to our way of life, and our cause.”

 

 

The Baron laughed and slapped his phantom leg. “Perhaps we should follow Glomdoring after all! This calls for a bit of celebration, I think.” He stepped forward, and his presence seemed to brighten, his ghostly form becoming slightly more opaque. “Nothing Matters but Glomdoring!” he bellowed, his cry echoing throughout the village.

 

 

From all around, krokani, convinced that their war would be better fought under the auspice of the dark forest, let loose a rallying response. “Glory be to Glomdoring!” they shouted, and a cheer went up throughout the village as they pledged their allegiance to the Heart of Darkness.

 

 

Nisha sighed in relief. “Excellent decision, Baron. Now, we need you to withdraw your troops, so we can better prepare them.

 

 

The ghost frowned, but could not go back on his word. “All right, miss. But it is a harsh battle. I might not be able to stop them.”

 

 

***

 

Below Enlay, the fighting continued. He and Rixen worked heir way up the Tower, ascending through webs and spiders, some long dead, some freshly revived, as they moved towards the top. Occassionally, they would stop and look out the windows along the stairway, looking down onto the battle field below. Out to the southwest, Shanthmark had been placed under a deep could cover. To the southeast, Paavik now glowed with a twilight purple. And yet the fighting below did not cease.

 

 

Rixen shook her head in worry. “They are going to all kill themselves, every last one of them.”

 

 

“Not if we can get to the top of the Tower. I have a feeling what we’ll find, and then this will be all over.”

 

 

The two walked in silence for a while longer, before finally the stairs emerged in the top of the tower. A huge platform spread out beneath the sky, filled with strange runes and marks that seemed to tell of the sky fae that were now thought long lost. But to Enlay’s dismay, there was nothing else, not even a slight adornment, or the least of a moonlit sparkle.

 

 

“I thought for sure this involved him somehow. Where is the moon beam?”

 

 

“Moon beam? What are you talking about?

 

 

“It’s a long story, Rixen, but the short of it is, I thought that this was part of a trick by an old enemy of mine. He called himself Rhenboe, prince of the sky fae. I figured we’d find a moonbeam up here, or a hint to one, but there’s nothing at all.”

 

 

“Well, we have to worry about that later. I know the Dark Forest may not care, but I don’t want this fight to go on longer than it has to. You said you knew how to work the Tower?”

 

 

“Oh, yeah! And don’t worry, I don’t want this fight to go on either. But the Tower, yes. See, it’s called the Tower of Silence, and from my testing, I thought it was dampening my song, and making it less effective. But it turns out that’s not right. It’s actually -absorbing- the power of my song. I realized it when Adaeze told you about it. The angelic voice that sang for the Fae was a Voice of an Elder God, and the Tower was modified to use the Voice as a weapon. I’m guessing Zenos ate it at some point, but the Tower remains, and it’s able to use the notes of the Great Song, and amplify them”

 

 

“So, what do we do?”

 

 

“Well, watch this!”

 

 

Enlay began to strum his mandolin, filling the air with melancholy notes. The Tower began to hum in response to his tune and the stones began to shimmer with violet light. The song built, until suddenly Enaly brought his hand down on the strings, striking a discordant note meant to sound like the caw of a crow. Instead, it just fell flat.

 

 

“I… I don’t understand!” His face fell as he realized his plan didn’t work, and despair gripped him as he watched the colour fade from the stones.

 

 

Rixen, however, wasn’t about to give up. She ran to the centre of the platform, sat on her knees, and took a deep breath. “Enlay, I want to try something. Try that again, but focus your song on me. Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

 

 

She began to sing, copying the song that Adaeze sang hours before. The stones took to humming, and slick rainbow patterns began to wash over the stones. Enlay looked concerned, but began his song again, building up to the terrifying crescendo. He turned and focused on the aslaran girl, staring a her with burning intensity. Then, as her song reached its pitch and the hum of the tower was at its loudest, rainbows and violet light flickering madly across the surface, Enaly violently strummed his mandolin again, and this time it worked.

 

 

The notes screeched out, sounding every bit like Crow’s harsh caw. The notes tore into Rixen, and it was all that she could manage to keep from screaming in agony. But she held her song, opened her throat, and channelled the crow caw through herself. The entire Tower thundered with the power of Crow, and the caw tore across the Moors. Beneath them, on the bloodied ground, the aslaran and krokani fell to their knees, stunned by the power of the notes. The fighting ceased in an instant, and when the notes faded finally, the beleaguered fighters returned to their homes.

 

 

Atop the Tower of Silence, Enlay held Rixen in his arms. She had passed out from the exertion of being hit with, and channelling through herself, the power of Enlay’s note. He gingerly brushed a lock of hair from her face, and whispered, “You did it, Rixen. You stopped them.”

 

 

For a moment, she did not respond, laying comatose in his arms, then suddenly she coughed and spluttered, and her eyes flew open. She turned and wretch, spitting up a pile of blood and questionable matter, before shuddering a final time. She opened her mouth to speak, and to the surprise of both her and Enlay, a silvery streak of moonlight shone forth. She snapped her mouth closed, her eyes wild and confused.

 

 

Enlay however, knew what to do. Reaching down to his satchel, he pulled the scarab he carried from the clasp, and held it before her. “Take this,” he said, “and swear your service to Lhiannan, Queen of the Slaugh. She will cure what ails you.”

 

 

Rixen swallowed hard, but saw the warm look in Enlay’s eyes. With flashes of silver escaping as she spoke, she said “To the Queen I swear my service, and to the Glomdoring I swear my life. I have felt its power, and I know it is right.”

 

 

The scarab flew out of Enlay’s hand, fluttering about Rixen’s head before landing on it. She gasped suddenly, and the beam of moonlight escaped from her mouth, before the scarab flew straight into it. She coughed and spluttered again, spitting out the scarab, which held in its claws the second beam of moonlight. Ignored by Enlay, it scuttled back to his satchel, and reattached itself.

 

 

The black furred rabbitkin took Rixen’s hands in his own, and with a smile, said “Welcome home, Rixen.”

 

 

Somewhere above them could be hear a tinkling laugh, like wind chimes, sounding through the clear sky.