Chapter Three: The Man in Red
Belaera's gaze was one of inscrutability, but it filled Navyri with a strange sensation. She held an immutable position, transfixed in Navyri's memory, and Belaera's presence was one that made the Naerikk feel insignificant. Still, though, Belaera did not strike her down, those it seemed to the Naerikk that she could do so. If the mask could smile, Navyri got the feeling that it would smile in that instance, like a mother smiling wistfully at her child misbehaving. Belaera's unnaturally long arms reached outward, and slowly from the void from which she appeared followed a pair of wings, seven feet in length each. The structure of the wings were thin and strange, as if the feathers themselves had withered and then petrified. The feathers were still present, except they were no longer the lustrous downy they once were.
"These are the Wings of Arithzma, taken from the Delroth many arcs ago. Arithzma the Defiant, the Resister, the Unmoved, they called him. Arithzma the Lonely, the Deserted, the Forlorn. He alone remained of the strange creatures that Delroth had brought into existence, and he alone wandered the wilderness in search of a cure for the blight instilled upon his brethren by the Plague Queen and The Interceder. Meddling in others affairs was their game, and it sent the poor Arithzma into exile as the last surviving True Avriel. He wandered through Idalos, lost and scared, like any child abandoned by his father. Lost and alone, crying out into the night for anything to come along and save him. Deserted, do you understand desertion? He was left alone, and with no one else, he turned to the Unknown."
Garizma shivered, already familiar himself with the story. The red pinpricks of Belaera's eyes need not steer from Navyri, as she was intimately linked with the Avriel. Garizma reflexively opened his wings, and Belaera commented.
"Yes, Garizma, but do you know true desertion? To truly be alone? You wandered here for one hundred arcs, but Arithzma's walk was longer."
The emotionless voice was suddenly quiet, and the sense of dread in Navyri turned to one of rage. She could still feel the Immortal's presence in her mind, though Curio's was growing stronger. The bird was awakening, and it was Navyri's turn to feel relief. Except she felt none, not through the blinding waterfall of fury that was coming through her link to Belaera.
"Three times Arithzma denied my offer of help. I, like some lusty barmaid, offered my services to him, and thrice he told me he was not interested. Were I to feel emotions as humans do, I would have been severely dejected. Three times did I allow him to go hungry, to face the scorn of those around him who knew not just what he was... Exiled from the cities, enslaved and beaten, spit upon... It wasn't until he lied on the deck of a ship, nearly dead from starvation and dehydration did he accept my help... I asked him what he would give me in return."
The rage subsided, and a feeling of fulfillment and elation spread through Navyri. Something strange was happening within Belaera's mind, and Navyri could feel the subtle nuances of the foreign presence in her mind. It was both strange and exciting at the same time.
"First, he offered me his allegiance. Then he offered me his services. The third time, he offered me to fetch me whatever I desired. Thrice, I refused him. I thought it only fitting. But the fourth thing he offered me... He offered me his identity. He offered me the uniqueness that made an Avriel an Avriel, and I could not help but accept his sacrifice. For it was a sacrifice, rest assured. He offered me his wings, the things that made his condition the least bit bearable. To feel the air of the open skies on his face was his true joy... And I accepted. I took them from him, and with it his ability to be truly free... Truly free from the restrictions of the terrestrial races. I took from him the identity of the Avriel, much the same that Lisirra and Syroa had taken from them their identities. At least they left the race with their wings..."
A sadistic pleasure at taking the Wings imparted to Navyri, who was strangely drawn to the feeling. The sadism was one thing, but the perverse feeling of power was the truly addictive, and Navyri wanted to feel more. She wanted the Man in Red to continue telling that part of the story.
"He threw himself from a cliff the next trial."
Garizma fell to the floor, weeping for the lost identity of his kind and the sacrifice that had led to Arithzma's death. It occurred to Navyri, finally, that Garizma was as much in this place against his own will as she was here of her own volition. She had chosen to remain, to fulfill Delroth's wish, but Garizma did not. And then it was time for Garizma's tale.
"It's a funny thing, being useful to someone. You craft yourself into their instrument and they throw you away when you've broken. Broken, broken, broken. They send you to do the impossible, and are incensed when you cannot complete the task. I am Garizma of Athart, the chosen instrument of Delroth the Greedy, the Vain One. He set me unto a task, and I was not able to complete it..." He trailed off, but only for a moment. "Delroth withdrew his favour from me, and instead left me here to rot, unable to escape. I cannot sleep, I cannot feed, I am in a cycle of stasis. The same. The same. The same. But nothing can stay that way forever, right? I have been waiting, yes, waiting, for the Greed to overtake my old master once more. I have remained in this cycle waiting for you. You. You. For you. You, you would be brave enough to open the door, to scratch the sigil that The Man in Red had drawn for itself to keep it imprisoned. Your Sacrifice has been accepted by the Man In Red, and with it, I am released from my servitude."
Garizma's eyes looked hopefully at Belaera, whose focused with still trained on the Naerikk. Belaera gave a slight nod, and excitement washed over Garizma's features. He fell to his knees in gratitude, repeatedly kissing at Belaera's feet.
"You have done well, Garizma. I am very grateful for your assistance. If you wish to return back to your city, triumphant in your return, I will allow you do so. The task is simple." A gleam of dull metal flashed from inside the red robe, and something clanged to the floor. A dull iron dagger lied there, eerily incandescent in the red glow.
"I need Wings to replace Arithzma's." The look of utter terror that clouded Garizma's face could have melted stone, but Belaera's demeanor did not change. A perverse sense of joy melded with Navyri's own senses, and she knew that it was in his sacrifice that Garizma would be set free. Was it truly freedom though?
"As for you, Naerikk. I will grant you the wings, but you must take them for yourself. Come and grab them."
