The Forsaken Hero
Chapter 420: Entangled Memories

Chapter 420: Entangled Memories

Luke’s anger was dark and heavy, a miasma as thick as any curse. It smothered my soul until the only thing I could feel was his hand in mine, though whether it was the touch of his physical body outside the soulspace or the manifestation of his soul, I didn’t know. It didn’t really matter, either; it was the only thing I could cling to as our souls and memories entertained.

Glimpses of battles, faces, and conversations flashed through the darkness, seen through the eyes of the Apostle of Curses. It was one dark, horrible scene after another. Blood-soaked streets, demons slaughtering each other over the smallest child’s soul, and lots of fire and death.

From the snapshots, it quickly became apparent the demon armies were nothing like the men and women I knew and fought beside. They were cold and ruthless, caring for nothing but a chance to absorb souls and grow in status and power. Evolved demons killed scions at the merest offense, and even those powerful enough to develop a sense of consciousness and intelligence were little more than animals. It was only those above fourth-level that could be reasoned with at all, but even then rarely.

I saw the other apostles, as well. Evla and Gayron appeared the most, but other unknown faces danced in the shadows of the past. Some of Luke’s feelings associated with those memories came through, impressing upon me deeply. There was wariness, distrust, and even a touch of fear. The scenes had no respect for linear time, but throughout it all, there was only one single time all ten apostles were together.

That memory was particularly dark and blurry, with strong underlying currents of unease. There was a brief flash of a silhouette of a dark-robed figure seemingly made of darkness itself, with glowing red eyes that seemed to float in his smothering cowl. The scene was gone as quickly as it came, leaving me wondering. Was this the one who had called the apostles and given them their mission?

As fate drew out more of his memories, winding them around my soul like black ribbons, I caught a glimpse of a shining golden thread twining through the darkness. I got a sense of sadness from them, some so deep and intense it resonated with the anguish I carried hidden in my heart, the lingering remnants of the pain I’d suffered throughout my life. The threads bound Luke as tightly as his memories did me, clinging to him and impressing in him the truth they carried.

Time in the soulspace was nothing more than an idle whim. The onslaught of Luke’s memories seemed to last forever, yet ended in an instant. Luke was strong and fiercely resisted the amplifying influence of the soulspace, gradually regaining his composure.

As his soul and mana began to calm, his anger was replaced by a profound sense of sorrow. The storm of visions slowed as Luke’s hand tightened around mine, thinning the shards of memories assaulting my mind.

"How?" I heard him whisper through the haze in a broken voice. "How can you smile?"

How could I smile? I couldn’t after being dragged through the mire and darkness of Luke’s past. My heart ached for him, for the peace he hadn’t yet found. It had taken me the entire sequence of his life and the trials he came through to realize he hadn’t truly lost control of his emotions. He had simply stopped hiding them and allowed them to run wild with the power of fate.

A single dark ribbon remained after the others had dissipated, curling tantalizingly close to my cheek. It emitted a horrifying sense of finality, the origin of the storm I’d seen but for a moment. He didn’t seem aware of it, or perhaps he couldn’t see it. He appeared equally unaware of the gold ribbons that I could now see extended from my soul that wrapped around him like mist on a cool night.

I could have ended it. Luke had restrained himself enough that I had control over the Oracle of Eternity once more, but I didn’t. Instead, trembling slightly, I raised a hand and brushed the dark wisp of memory.

The stars of fate blossomed around us, drawing him and myself into a more substantial vision than the fragments before. Again, I knew it was the past, just as I’d known the heroes in the banquet were depictions of the future.

As the scene materialized, I stiffened, a violent shudder tracing my soul. Luke’s hand tightened, his soul growing dark, as dim, blood-stained walls and shadows welcomed us into the past.

The Dusk Chambers. The secret inquisition rooms buried beneath the Divine Throne. I’d spent days locked in there, tortured to my wit’s end. I’d lost everything I’d ever tried to hide, divulged every secret, and had my spirit all but ripped from my heart. Occasionally, even I awoke sobbing to the searing pain of the inquisitor’s blade on my body and was only comforted by Fable or Korra’s embrace.

"Xiviyah?" Luke’s voice startled me. It was the first time he’d spoken since our ordeal began, scraping like the edge of a blade across my soul.

"I’m here," I answered in a small voice.

He was silent for a moment, looking around the room. "End it. Please. Send me back."

Perhaps this was a foolish idea. Why in the world had I grabbed that memory? I knew better than most that some pain should be kept hidden. Not all secrets were meant to come to light.

But before I could respond, the vision cleared enough for me to make out the details of the room, and all thoughts of ending the vision fled my mind.

There were no windows or lights, save for a small glowing crystal embedded in the ceiling. A pair of manacles hung from the ceiling on thick chains. The metallic rings glistened with blood, a steady drip landing on the heads of two small figures huddled beneath them.

The first was a boy no older than ten, bearing the characteristic horns of the demonkin. His clothes were little more than rags, hanging loose on an emaciated body. He clutched the form of a girl a little younger to his chest, weeping with stifled sobs. The girl was a human, but strangely enough, she had a demonkin tail, and...no, she was a demonkin. Two ragged holes in her scalp poured blood down her face in an endless stream. Her hands lay on the floor–cut free from her wrists. Her glassy eyes stared into nothing, her body devoid of even the tiny flicker of light.

"Please, come back to me," the boy cried, burying his head in her blood-soaked hair. "Don’t leave me alone!"

I shuddered at the horror playing out before me, and I turned away, unable to watch further. Had I body, I might have vomited on the spot. The scene was just that morbid and disturbing. That could have been me. Should have been me, if I hadn’t been of more use to the church alive then dead. As horrific as this girl’s torture had been, at least she had gotten to escape.

The entire vision distorted as a tremendous presence erupted next to me, stifling my soul. Luke stared at the scene with complete rancor, every fiber of his soul body vibrating with unrestrained power. His aura bled into the stars of fate, and the light rippled around us like the disturbed surface of a pond. When the wrinkles smoothed, some time passed, and a figure stood above the children.

"Why did you do it?" the boy asked, looking up with eyes red from crying.

The figure, a white-robed inquisitor, snorted. "She refused to testify of her sins. We removed the tokens of her rebellion and the hands that wrought such great works of darkness. It was a shame she perished so easily. There was much sin we had yet to purge from her body."

"She was seven!" the boy screamed, staggering to his feet. "We did nothing wrong! You bastards attacked us out of nowhere and–"

The inquisitor’s soul flared, sending power lancing through his muscles. In a flash, he drew a long, slender knife and slashed it across the boy’s face, drawing out a vicious arc of blood. While the child screamed and bent over, clutching at his face, the inquisitor delivered a hard kick to his stomach, sending him spinning across the room.

The boy landed in a heap of flailing limbs and screams, blood leaking from the cut that crossed His face. It ran from his brow across the right of his face, cutting across his eye to his jaw. Blood seeped from the cut into his eye, dying the whites red.

"Silence, filthblood," the inquisitor growled. "You’re next, or have you forgotten?"

The vision wavered as Luke’s memory blurred, fading, and indistinct. Darkness crept in, and all at once, the vision broke into countless ribbons of light. A heavy silence fell over the soul space as the last remnants faded, and we plunged back into darkness.

"It’s alright, Luke, it’s over," I whispered, as much to comfort myself as him.

As the sorrow and anger retreated into Luke’s soul, restrained by his powerful will, I was startled to find my soul shivering against his, my arms around him in an embrace. I tried to pull away, both ashamed and more than a little disoriented by our shared experience, but his arms rested on my back, trapping me close.

We remained there until both of our souls stopped trembling, slowly sorting out the shared experience. After an eternity, he spoke in an unsteady voice.

"Xiviyah...what the hell was that?"

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