Sorry if you thought that Jaigran was dead. What can I say? I have said before that this is a four 'book' series, and I'm not going to spend all of next year on the epilogue. Should've known that he wasn't actually dead. Just mostly dead...
Part LXVI: The Guardian
Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.
Slowly, the tendrils of consciousness began to be again felt as he slowly realized that he was lying on the cold stone ground. Alive. Pain still rippled through his stomach as Jaigran slowly managed to stand up. His shirt was ripped and torn aside to reveal the gash across the stomach. But the gash was not as mortal as it once had been. It seemed less shallow—less long—as if his flesh was knitting back together. The blood had stopped, though there was a small pool under him.
Gripping his corsha spear, Jaigran managed to use it to stand up, leaning hard against it as he looked toward the window on his right, through which he must have come, and then the corridor stretching out to the left. Jaigran could see that he was high up in the Citadel. Nearly to the top. He hobbled toward the window, looking out to see what was out there. Below, elves mulled around, airships hovering overhead. A deathly silence filled the air, a signal that the battle had drawn to a close. Their attempt at assassination had failed.
Jaigran brought his wings up before realizing that it would not work. They were torn, and would need to heal. He would have to go down on foot. Hobbling forward, Jaigran moved down the hall, which began to curve around into a circle. A door emerged to his right, on the interior of the circular hall way, and stairs on his left. Jaigran moved toward the stairs to leave, and then paused, turning toward the door.
Something gripped him. And no matter how much Jaigran rationally justified his decision to move toward the stairs, he knew—he knew that he was supposed to go through the door. And, hand shaking, Jaigran slowly opened up the door and stepped into the central room on this level of the Citadel.
The circular room was tiled with elaborate patterns, unnaturally devoid of any of the dust that had accumulated in the other parts of the Citadel. Mosaics adorned the walls, scenes of battles and of golden corsha weapons. And, in the center of the room, reality ended.
A pillar of nothingness stood in the center of the room, a pillar indescribable with human terms. All Jaigran knew was that, in that pillar—if it could be called a pillar—reality ended and nothingness stood in. The hairs on the back of his head stood on end as he slowly stepped toward the pillar. And then it spoke.
Jaigran. A voice physical, and yet not. A voice almost mentally spoken, but yet physical. A voice which transcended reality. A voice that Jaigran remembered. The voice of the elven girl who had burst into his chamber. And Jaigran knew that he had found what he was supposed to find in the Citadel.
“I-I am here,” Jaigran said, planting his feet firm as he leaned on the spear.
You have arrived, the voice acknowledged. You have come to find me.
“What do you want with me?” Jaigran’s voice came out as a whisper.
I am the Guardian, the voice said. I am the sustainer of the world. And I have chosen you.
A chill went down Jaigran’s spine as he again spoke, repeating words. “What do you want with me?”
I offer you power, Jaigran. I have chosen you to free me from my bondage so that you may be Emperor over all.
“How can you give me that power?”
I am the Guardian. A being—if it could be called that—made out of the same nothingness stepped out form the pillar, slowly taking form until it became the translucent image of an elf, tall and with a look in his eyes, a look which told everything about how powerful the elf esteemed himself to be. I am the sustainer of the world.
“What do you mean?”
Who governs the world? Who keeps the world on its course around the sun? Who keeps the planet from hurtling into the unknown or being cast into the sun? Who formed the golden corsha objects long ago as a safeguard against evil? The being gazed at Jaigran. I, the Guardian, have done this.
“You lie.” Jaigran was shaken.
I lie? Ah, Jaigran. You know the truth in your heart. All this and more will I show you. Within me lies the power to rule over all. I can give you the world, Jaigran. I can destroy your enemies. The being extended out his hand toward Jaigran.
“What does it cost?” Jaigran knew that there was always a catch.
Items of nothingness came out of the pillar, forming illusions of objects—a spear, a rezquiet, a pair of gloves, an axe, a rapier, a pair of arjla swords, an axe, all formed out of golden corsha.
To be freed from my prison, all these objects you must collect, the Being said. The golden corsha weapons, endowed with power to defeat enemies, power that can be used to open my prison that I have been kept in for millennia. You have two of them already, the only reason that you still stand before me alive.
“What do you mean?” Jaigran asked, suddenly realizing the immense vault of power that he stood before.
Do you not know that your wound was mortal for an individual? Why have you outlived all other elves? The secret lies in the golden corsha, Jaigran. One would have not been enough, but two have sustained your life. You are not holding ordinary corsha weapons, Jaigran. You hold the weapons of legend.
“I already know that,” Jaigran said tersely. He knew that they were the weapons of legend—that’s why he kept them, though he had all other times gotten rid of corsha for guns.
You trust in them like a child—hoping and praying that they will save you, but having had no evidence to prove your hopes, the Being said. Until now. There was a tingle on Jaigran’s spine, and he slowly turned to see, hanging above the door, a golden corsha rapier, waiting to be picked up. Jaigran slowly walked toward it, and then moved his wings—surprised that the cuts on the wings had already healed, as he picked up the rapier with his other hand, now carrying three golden corsha weapons.
He slowly turned and came back to stood before the Being. “Now what?”
See how soon your wounds have healed. Jaigran looked down to see with astonishment, a mere scar across his stomach, the skin red and inflamed—but rejoined and connected again—the cut gone. Jaigran looked up in frightened wonder.
You must collect the four other weapons. A weapon was given to each race. You now have the humans’ spear, the elves’ rapier, and the orcs’ gloves, which have let you control the elements like I have. You will take the others and bring them unto the place that I have made to free me.
“Why should I trust you?”
I offer you power. I offer you life eternal, even as I have. I will continue to open my plan so that you will see how you will be Emperor of the universe. I will walk beside you in my body that I have formed of air. You must use your three golden corsha weapons to free my illusion.
“Free your illusion?”
My illusion that I have made is bound to this chamber. With your golden corsha weapons, you can free it to walk beside you. IT has no power of its own—fear not—but it is my spirit, with which I can walk beside you and instruct you. You can decide whether or not you fully trust me later. Join me Jaigran. I will give you the world. The being held out his hand toward Jaigran. And Jaigran took it.
Question of the Day:What is this Being?
Part LXVI: The Guardian
Date: Yippah 16th, 114 A.U.
Slowly, the tendrils of consciousness began to be again felt as he slowly realized that he was lying on the cold stone ground. Alive. Pain still rippled through his stomach as Jaigran slowly managed to stand up. His shirt was ripped and torn aside to reveal the gash across the stomach. But the gash was not as mortal as it once had been. It seemed less shallow—less long—as if his flesh was knitting back together. The blood had stopped, though there was a small pool under him.
Gripping his corsha spear, Jaigran managed to use it to stand up, leaning hard against it as he looked toward the window on his right, through which he must have come, and then the corridor stretching out to the left. Jaigran could see that he was high up in the Citadel. Nearly to the top. He hobbled toward the window, looking out to see what was out there. Below, elves mulled around, airships hovering overhead. A deathly silence filled the air, a signal that the battle had drawn to a close. Their attempt at assassination had failed.
Jaigran brought his wings up before realizing that it would not work. They were torn, and would need to heal. He would have to go down on foot. Hobbling forward, Jaigran moved down the hall, which began to curve around into a circle. A door emerged to his right, on the interior of the circular hall way, and stairs on his left. Jaigran moved toward the stairs to leave, and then paused, turning toward the door.
Something gripped him. And no matter how much Jaigran rationally justified his decision to move toward the stairs, he knew—he knew that he was supposed to go through the door. And, hand shaking, Jaigran slowly opened up the door and stepped into the central room on this level of the Citadel.
The circular room was tiled with elaborate patterns, unnaturally devoid of any of the dust that had accumulated in the other parts of the Citadel. Mosaics adorned the walls, scenes of battles and of golden corsha weapons. And, in the center of the room, reality ended.
A pillar of nothingness stood in the center of the room, a pillar indescribable with human terms. All Jaigran knew was that, in that pillar—if it could be called a pillar—reality ended and nothingness stood in. The hairs on the back of his head stood on end as he slowly stepped toward the pillar. And then it spoke.
Jaigran. A voice physical, and yet not. A voice almost mentally spoken, but yet physical. A voice which transcended reality. A voice that Jaigran remembered. The voice of the elven girl who had burst into his chamber. And Jaigran knew that he had found what he was supposed to find in the Citadel.
“I-I am here,” Jaigran said, planting his feet firm as he leaned on the spear.
You have arrived, the voice acknowledged. You have come to find me.
“What do you want with me?” Jaigran’s voice came out as a whisper.
I am the Guardian, the voice said. I am the sustainer of the world. And I have chosen you.
A chill went down Jaigran’s spine as he again spoke, repeating words. “What do you want with me?”
I offer you power, Jaigran. I have chosen you to free me from my bondage so that you may be Emperor over all.
“How can you give me that power?”
I am the Guardian. A being—if it could be called that—made out of the same nothingness stepped out form the pillar, slowly taking form until it became the translucent image of an elf, tall and with a look in his eyes, a look which told everything about how powerful the elf esteemed himself to be. I am the sustainer of the world.
“What do you mean?”
Who governs the world? Who keeps the world on its course around the sun? Who keeps the planet from hurtling into the unknown or being cast into the sun? Who formed the golden corsha objects long ago as a safeguard against evil? The being gazed at Jaigran. I, the Guardian, have done this.
“You lie.” Jaigran was shaken.
I lie? Ah, Jaigran. You know the truth in your heart. All this and more will I show you. Within me lies the power to rule over all. I can give you the world, Jaigran. I can destroy your enemies. The being extended out his hand toward Jaigran.
“What does it cost?” Jaigran knew that there was always a catch.
Items of nothingness came out of the pillar, forming illusions of objects—a spear, a rezquiet, a pair of gloves, an axe, a rapier, a pair of arjla swords, an axe, all formed out of golden corsha.
To be freed from my prison, all these objects you must collect, the Being said. The golden corsha weapons, endowed with power to defeat enemies, power that can be used to open my prison that I have been kept in for millennia. You have two of them already, the only reason that you still stand before me alive.
“What do you mean?” Jaigran asked, suddenly realizing the immense vault of power that he stood before.
Do you not know that your wound was mortal for an individual? Why have you outlived all other elves? The secret lies in the golden corsha, Jaigran. One would have not been enough, but two have sustained your life. You are not holding ordinary corsha weapons, Jaigran. You hold the weapons of legend.
“I already know that,” Jaigran said tersely. He knew that they were the weapons of legend—that’s why he kept them, though he had all other times gotten rid of corsha for guns.
You trust in them like a child—hoping and praying that they will save you, but having had no evidence to prove your hopes, the Being said. Until now. There was a tingle on Jaigran’s spine, and he slowly turned to see, hanging above the door, a golden corsha rapier, waiting to be picked up. Jaigran slowly walked toward it, and then moved his wings—surprised that the cuts on the wings had already healed, as he picked up the rapier with his other hand, now carrying three golden corsha weapons.
He slowly turned and came back to stood before the Being. “Now what?”
See how soon your wounds have healed. Jaigran looked down to see with astonishment, a mere scar across his stomach, the skin red and inflamed—but rejoined and connected again—the cut gone. Jaigran looked up in frightened wonder.
You must collect the four other weapons. A weapon was given to each race. You now have the humans’ spear, the elves’ rapier, and the orcs’ gloves, which have let you control the elements like I have. You will take the others and bring them unto the place that I have made to free me.
“Why should I trust you?”
I offer you power. I offer you life eternal, even as I have. I will continue to open my plan so that you will see how you will be Emperor of the universe. I will walk beside you in my body that I have formed of air. You must use your three golden corsha weapons to free my illusion.
“Free your illusion?”
My illusion that I have made is bound to this chamber. With your golden corsha weapons, you can free it to walk beside you. IT has no power of its own—fear not—but it is my spirit, with which I can walk beside you and instruct you. You can decide whether or not you fully trust me later. Join me Jaigran. I will give you the world. The being held out his hand toward Jaigran. And Jaigran took it.
Question of the Day:What is this Being?
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