Hoping that he was not making a fatal mistake, Mendeln reached out a hand.
The female nephalem immediately bowed her head so that the top of it hovered directly before his fingers.
Acting on a hunch, Mendeln let the fingertips graze the lush, black hair. Immediately, he felt a force surge through him and a voice—a distinctly feminine voice—said to him, I was Helgrotha…
He pulled the fingers back. The nephalem raised her head, the silver orbs again staring into his own.
Curiously, although he had only heard the name—her name—Mendeln discovered that he now knew much, much more about her. He could imagine her as she had once been, from her birth to her death. Once, she had been nearly as powerful as Rathma and had watched over those creatures who lived during night as opposed to the day. She had been kind, but also firm in her protection of those for whom she had cared.
He stood there, wondering what next to do. The dead waited with him, forever patient, even if he was not.
“And what am I to do with you?” Mendeln demanded. “Will you march against Lilith for me? Will you? Will even one of you do this?”
The woman raised her left hand to him. The action startled Mendeln, who took another step back. But the specter did not attack. Instead, in her hand materialized a long, narrow object. A bone.
She offered it to him.
Having no idea what he should do with the grisly gift but certain that it would be folly to refuse it, Mendeln gingerly gripped the piece of bone.
“Thank you?” he blurted.
But even as the last word slipped from his lips…what had once been a nephalem called Helgrotha faded like a dying wisp of smoke suddenly caught in a breeze. Mendeln looked around and saw the rest of the ghostly legion vanish in like manner.
No sooner had they faded away, than the ruins, the visions of demons and angels—the entire wasteland—followed suit.
A moment later, Mendeln did the same, suddenly reappearing in the dark emptiness with which he was starting to become too familiar.
Say the word again. Say it, son of Diomedes…
“Pyragos?” Mendeln instantly felt a coolness in his hands, an almost refreshing coolness. He glanced down and saw the bone shimmer. It took all his will not to drop the fragment.
It is the first word of summoning and this the item that will better bind you to the powers involved in such an act. The nephalem’s bone twisted, reshaped. It grew slightly shorter and much slimmer. One end narrowed to a point, then flattened. The edges grew sharp.
The shimmering dulled but did not completely fade. Mendeln stared at what he held.
A dagger…an ivory dagger such as he had seen Rathma wielding.
They have accepted you who hears them —the children of angels and demons slain so foully —accepted that you will keep Sanctuary from becoming either the fury of the Burning Hells or the oppressive order and worship of the High Heavens. They who were the first birthed in Sanctuary and are, because of that, still more of it than either Lilith or Inarius can understand, forever open the link between the phase of afterdeath and that of living…
“‘Afterdeath’?” Mendeln repeated, but the glittering stars did not further explain that term and Mendeln finally understood that he should define it as best he could on his own.
Take up the dagger in one hand, Trag’Oul then commanded. When Uldyssian’s brother had done so, the celestial leviathan added, Turn it point down to your palm.
Mendeln did not like where this was going, yet he still obeyed. “Great Trag’Oul—”
Prick your palm, son of Diomedes…
“But—”
It must be done…
He had come this far, Mendeln thought. Besides, all the dragon asked of him was a slight jab, nothing more. What harm could come of that?
What harm, indeed…
Mouth grimly set, Mendeln did as instructed. He pulled the point away almost as soon as it touched, so swiftly, in fact, that at first he wondered whether he had actually punctured the skin.
But a tiny red dot did form, so miniscule that Mendeln expected Trag’Oul to command him to try again. The dagger still hovered an inch or two above the palm…
Then, to his shock, a thin stream of blood rose from his hand to the blade’s tip. Only magic could explain this defiance of nature. The tiny stream covered the point…then continued to flow up, covering more and more of the narrow end of the blade and heading slowly but inexorably toward the hilt.
Mendeln could only imagine how much blood it would take to reach that point and started to pull his hand away.
Leave it…
Mendeln wanted to disobey, but did not. It was not that Trag’Oul had just cast some spell over him, merely that he yet trusted in the dragon that no harm would come to him.
But when did I start to trust him? Before he could answer that question, the first drops touched the handle.
The blood already flowing continued its journey, but no more rose from Mendeln’s palm. In fact, when he sought the small wound, he could find nothing.
Watch…
His gaze returned to the dagger, where the blade was now colored crimson. Yet, the crimson grew more faded with each passing moment, until finally it disappeared.
The dagger is bound to you and you are bound to the dagger. Through it, you are bound to them and through them, the Balance.
“What is this Balance ?” Mendeln called to the stars. “You speak of it and I think of it, but I have never known what it truly means!”
The stars moved, briefly erasing any semblance to a beast. When they returned to their proper positions, Trag’Oul replied, The Balance is the even distribution of Light and Dark. Its essence is most significant to Sanctuary, but it goes beyond, to all of creation. A world where Dark rules would burn itself up. A world where Light commands would eventually stagnate. If either gained enough control of Sanctuary so that the other could not match it again, then that would be the end of all things…
There was sense to what the leviathan said, or at least Mendeln saw it that way. Yet…“But should we not ever strive for good over evil?”
Light and Dark are not necessarily good and evil, son of Diomedes. Yes, good must outshine evil, but if the knowledge of evil is erased utterly, even good may turn on itself…
“Even still, I would never side with any demon!” Such a notion seemed incredulous.
What almost appeared mirth touched Trag’Oul’s “voice.” “Never” is a word rarely attained in fact. And would you ever join the cause of an angel…such as Inarius…who would keep Humanity bent low in prayer to him?
The dragon had him there. From all he had learned, Inarius’s notion of what was right meant absolute obedience to him.
Mendeln shook his head. “I cannot believe that we must suffer two such forces without any hope…”
Did I say there was not? The High Heavens and the Burning Hells create their own notions of their absolute might. The dragon paused, then added, They will someday find that they are far from the ultimate masters of all things created…
Uldyssian’s brother seized upon the other’s words. “Are you saying that there is something more, something greater?” He recalled something that he had wondered about earlier. “The spirits of the firstborn; they have not moved on, but where do all others go? Where do the souls of my people go?”
To their rightful place…to beyond the reach of both the High Heavens and the Burning Hells and this universe of tragedy they have wrought…
“What does that mean? How do you know all you say?”
We know because we know…