Forgotten Sacrifices

"Careful, beloved."

The voice was silent yet it echoed through the vast empty cavern, mixing into the quiet cadence of their feet before both sounds faded into the depths. It was dark; only the ghostly magelight from her Sight illuminated their way, revolving around them like a miniature satellite, casting dancing shadows upon the granite walls. No wind blew through this man-made cavern, yet she shivered. Not the natural cold of a winter night; no, this was different. With it came another feeling, a mixture of dread and solace, which she knew her companion couldn't feel.

Only mages would, she thought to herself. She felt each descent they made upon the wide carved steps. She was coming home. Soon, she would do what must be done. She reviewed her plan, going through it mentally like she had since the crisis started. For the thousandth time, she tried to find an alternative solution, and for the thousandth time, came to the conclusion that there was none. She sighed and looked sadly at her companion. Her beau.

He looked her way and smiled. "We'll be there, soon," he said, patting the hand she was resting on his gauntleted arm, before turning his head forward, his strong jaw set determinedly, peering into the darkness beyond the revolving magelight. He broke taboo in accompanying her here. Swordsmen dared not set foot here against the council's decree and even mages shunned this cavern, so deep below the Magical City. The wellspring was here, the source of Power, both Life and Death.

He doesn't know what I plan to do. She felt like screaming at the thought of hurting him. By the time he found out, it would be too late, but magic would be saved.

The stairs ended at last and the cavern rose and widened around them. She gasped and almost tripped at the sight. The swordsman caught her in his arms, steadying her with his strength. All around them, the twisted trees grew, clawing like skeletal fingers at a sunless sky. The wellspring nourished these trees like the sun, slaked their thirst like the rain. Now, however, golden leaves lay decaying upon the rocky floor.

"This isn't the changing of seasons," she wailed. She looked at him despairingly. She longed to tell him. But she knew he would not consent to what she planned. "They are dying."

"Don't worry, beloved," the swordsman said, drawing the katana from its sheath across his back. "We'll find the wellspring." His blade shimmered coldly, as if a howling blizzard was locked inside, but a determined fire raged in his eyes.

Maybe that's why I love him so much, she thought. These humans...they are such simple creatures and yet therein lies their own charm.

They walked through the dying forest of oaks, trees that had been here even before the humans covered it up and built the Magical City above it. She remembered running through it long ago, in another time. She had no care in the world, then, and laughed freely, dancing among the pools of sunlight streaming through gaps in the verdant foliage. But the humans came and the elves vanished, conceding the land to the younger race. It had been decreed by greater powers, her father had told her, that the elves journey to a faraway land where the gods slept. Now the elves are but a fleeting memory of a mythical past. A few chose to remain, to subtly guide the younger race of man, no matter how thankless a task it would be. She was one of those few.

Soon the trees gave way into an uneven clearing. Age-old stones carved with runes of power framed the wellspring, and motes of flickering magelight danced a slow, rising spiral upon its mouth. The aura was overwhelming here, almost tangible, welcoming her into its loving arms, yet threatening to consume her with its purity. And underneath everything was that...rot. That was what she came here for.

The sudden chorus of high-pitched whining almost caught them by surprise.

"Whispers!" she warned her companion who was now raising the ice katana in a stance she had come to know so well. "Wait till they enter the magelight's radius."

One by one, the white whispers began to appear, her magelight forcing them to drop their cloak of shadows. Looking no more than sheets of cloth hanging in mid-air with wild spinning holes for eyes, whispers were the souls of magic; no mundane weapon could touch them.

The swordsman leaped forward, shouting as he brought his sword down on a whisper, slicing it into two. The fabric floated to the ground, lifeless, the edges rimed with ice. He smiled at her and winked, "I'll take care of these. Go do what you must." And he was already upon the nearest ghost.

She ran towards the wellspring, one whisper floating after her. She heard the swordsman shouting again behind her--"Hey, you! Over here!"--and her pursuer stopped and charged back towards the swordsman.

She reached the wellspring, its aura caressing her. Now the cause of the rot was visible. Shadowy tendrils like the roots of some dark tree plunged into the wellspring itself, leading away past the stones and into a shimmering portal, a rectangular Door set in mid-air. She knew it was a Door through reality, leading past this plane of existence and into the Beyond. She looked back at her beau, fighting the whispers, his cold-bound blade flashing expertly through the ghostly sheet bodies. Torn cloth from slain whispers littered his feet.

"There's no other way," she said quietly, dropping a rolled-up scroll upon the ground. "Goodbye, beloved."

Her magic carried her voice to her beau's ear. As the remaining whispers circled around them, emitting their high-pitched whines, he looked at her.

Their eyes met.

She nodded once.

His eyes widened with realization and he mouthed out "No!"

She turned away.

Three loud blasts exploded behind her as the swordsman dispatched the final whispers with successive Magnum Breaks. She could not hold back the tears now. She jumped through the Door before she could hesitate, afraid that she would stop herself if she did. Magic must be saved, she told herself.

A huge worm lay beyond the Door, on a lifeless plain of cracked earth. The tendrils were attached to the worm's body, writhing slowly as it fed on the magic of her world. She must stop it before her world's magic completely dies. She began to recite the Ritual of Closing. Sparks flew all along the Door's outline as it started to close.

Through the Door, she could see her beloved running towards her. She shook her head at him as she finished the short incantation. She could barely hear him, through the closing portal between worlds, but it was clear that he now realized what she had planned all along. She saw him hurl himself upon the Door futilely, saw him bounced back by the force of magic.

She held up a hand, palm touching the invisible barrier erected by the Ritual of Closing. It hurt so much, betraying him like this, but there was no other way. He put up a hand upon the barrier, touching hers, but they were worlds apart now.

"Listen, beloved..." she began.

"Why didn't you tell me?" came his anguished reply.

"You wouldn't have allowed me otherwise," she said, trying hard to stop her voice from quivering. "Now listen, the Door is closed. Magic is saved. All we have to do now is safeguard it so it won't happen again."

He tried to slice through the barrier with his katana, but he only broke the icy blade.

"Listen, beloved. I've dropped the Scroll of Summons behind you. Use it."

"No...." he cried feebly.

The Door was smaller now, only half the size it was before.

"Three drops of your blood would be enough. Then break the seal."

He nodded his head slowly. The Door was shrinking faster now; only his head and the hand he held to hers were visible.

"I love you," she breathed. "I'm sorry...."

And the Door finally sealed shut.

***

"I love you, Geffenia," he replied. But the Door was now gone, and his beloved with it. He stood there for the longest time, shoulders hunched in defeat.

Slowly he turned, picked up the Scroll of Summoning, and sliced open a finger upon his broken blade. Three drops and then break the seal, those were her instructions. The parchment unrolled when he broke the arcane seal, revealing a cutout figure of a man. The paper doll fell heavily to the ground like it was made of denser material. Then it began to grow. Flesh filled out the paper form, followed by clothes. Its features rippled like the surface of a pond, as they began to take shape.

He watched the summoning unfold before his eyes, a cutout doll becoming real. Somehow, he thought the man before him was familiar. It opened its eyes. They stood face-to-face, mirror images of each other.

"I am Doppleganger," the summoned creature said, in a voice so much like his own.

No, he corrected himself, it is my own voice. "Guard this wellspring."

The creature called Doppleganger surveyed its surroundings, the gnarled trees, the wellspring itself. Eventually, it returned its gaze upon him and nodded. "Magic flows from here and into the rest of the world. I shall serve to the best of my ability, master."

"See to it that you do." And with that he turned away.

He made his way out of the cavern, through the city, and past the east gate, ignoring the questioning looks of people. His gripped his broken ice blade firmly in his hand, looking straight ahead. He walked on into the wilderness until his legs gave out, and only then did he cry.

Lude went on to become the greatest swordsman of his time and instituted the swordsman training school in Prontera. But the elven magess Geffenia always stayed in his heart. He died of old age, under an autumn sky, in a newly-formed port town along the coast southeast from the capital city.

It was said that his last words were "Do you think she's there, waiting for me...?"