Title-- The Demon-God of Jubagh (part twelve)
Rating and Warnings-- G; no warnings.
Species and Characters-- Rai Gerring, defected black magician (human man); Brandon "Exile" Styhan, exiled paladin-warrior (human man); Lhafa Softstep, dishonored spirit warrior (baghan woman).
Previously-- Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven.



She was surprised that they lived, and for a moment, she thought that it was her own pulse that she felt in her palms. But, no, as she leaned closer, she saw that they breathed - shallowly, erratically, but they had wind in their lungs still. It puzzled her; she had been sure that, when the holy man fell, he was dead. Perhaps he had enchanted himself and the robed man to survive? Was such a powerful spell even possible?

She lifted a hand from the holy man's chest to rest her palm on his forehead. Startled, she nearly drew back - the white lines and angles painted on his face burned hotly, as though fevered, but his dark skin was nearly cold. Perhaps his magic was all that kept him alive, after all.

Her talisman throbbed against her chest, keeping time with her heart.

"Holy one?" she murmured, resting the hooved tips of her fingers against his shaven scalp. "It is not time to sleep yet." She saw his eyes move, though they didn't open. "Holy one. Awaken. The robed one has fallen. I fear he may die." His eyelids slowly peeled upwards, and dark eyes stared blankly at her. "Exile?" His lips twitched. "Exile. Rai has fallen."

"He... what?" His voice was gruff, raspy, and the quietest she'd ever heard it. He didn't move more than his lips to speak and his chest to breathe, his eyes glassy. She moved her head slightly, and his gaze didn't follow her.

"He is badly hurt." She looked to her right, then touched the black-haired man's forehead with her other palm. Without moving her hand from the holy man, she leaned over the robed man. It was slightly disconcerting to see him without his hood up; he had shaggy hair, stringier than the typical baghan mane. "Rai. Awaken." He didn't stir. "Rai. It is no time to sleep. Exile cannot move."

She pulled back, slowly. "He breathes, Exile, but he does not wake." Her eyes went to the holy man, who was struggling to stretch and curl his fingers on one hand. His muscles barely twitched.

"Softstep." His voice was no stronger than before. "Something is keeping us alive, but ... our bodies ... we should be dead."

"...how can I help you to live?" she asked, feeling a strange dread wash over her. If the outlanders died, then her world was doomed. The thought hadn't struck her when she first knelt by their bodies; then, the pain in her flank had been sufficient distraction. Now... now, she felt true fear, cold and stark.

A croaking hiss surprised her, and she glanced over to see the robed man working his jaw, trying to speak. "The... crystal," he finally managed to groan. "Place... it... w..." He shuddered. "With... other... magic."

"I know no other magic, Rai," she murmured, sweeping a few strands of hair out of his face. "I am not a holy man."

"Whatever's keeping us alive," the holy one grunted hoarsely, "is magical. And... not shadows, or Light." Abruptly, his eyes rolled back in his head, face falling lax again. His breathing waned.

"Holy one?" She moved her hand to hover over his lips - the air was too soft to sustain him. A quick glance at the robed man showed the same comatose state. Swiftly, she dug through the robed one's clothing until her nails clicked against the crystal that held the mind of the Rockhide holy man. It burned with an angry light, flickering and spitting sparks and shadows, sending faint pain stabbing into her palms as she cupped it in both hands.

"You may not kill them, holy one," she whispered to the crystal. "Show me where the other magic lies, so that I may save th--" A spark leapt, streaking like lightning from the crystal to her talisman-- and piercing through to her heart. She felt her body go rigid, then cold, and finally numb as she fell backwards, unable to close her eyes as the sky became painted with a watery rainbow of hues.

The talisman pulsed, quietly and regularly, against her skin.