The Longest Day

The sun clung desperately to the horizon, almost as if it knew it may never rise again. Arlana stared forward as she walked on unsteady feet. The Book of Vigils weighed heavy in her hands but not as heavy as the guilt she carried on her shoulders.

Dressed in a flowing white robe, she walked in the center of a crimson wave. Hooded figures went before and behind her, leading her down the cobblestone path through the small town.

The Circle of Captivity lay ahead in a clearing—ornate stones adorned with forgotten and forbidden runes that formed the bars of an abyssal prison. For generations, the Ostitarius bloodline ensured that the Circle’s magic remained resolute, but some wished to see the unfathomable thing inside it set free.

The cadence of marching feet came to a stop. Arlana felt the cold metal of Dahlia’s dagger press into her neck. It wasn’t the first time she had felt its embrace. How many times had they beaten her? Tortured her? She had lost count.

She had lost hope.

“Servants of Anhelathu, I give you the Ostitarius!” Dahlia shouted.

Cheers erupted from the crowd of people who had gathered around the town’s center.

“Tonight, on this holy solstice, when the veil between realms is thin, we right the wrongs of our ancestors! May the Mother of the Stars smile upon us all!”

Dahlia leaned in close until Arlana felt her breath graze her ear. “Tonight, your bloodline ends, Ostitarius.”

Arlana's eyes scanned the crowd. Among their wicked gazes, she saw a pair of kind eyes staring back at her. Peter was here, he had kept his promise. Dahlia stepped into view, smiling through crooked teeth.

“As the sun sets on the longest day, we will shatter this cage beneath our feet and usher in the longest night!” Dahlia said, cackling with delight.

Arlana opened the Book of Vigils and looked down onto its wrinkled pages. Strange calligraphy graced the pages.

To anyone else, it was indecipherable. Under the gaze of an Ostitarius, however, the ancient ink danced across the page until it became a language familiar to the reader.

Dahlia’s fingers curled around Arlana’s throat and forced her gaze up from the book. She looked into that woman’s eyes, seeing nothing but insanity staring back at her.

“I’ve studied your old magic. I will know if you try to seal the prison, Ostiarius. Try anything, and I will drag this knife from your neck to your navel, spilling your guts upon this holy ground. Do we have an understanding?”

Arlana nodded. She had to play along for now.

***

Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest as he locked eyes with his beloved. He had done unspeakable things to earn the trust of Anhelathu’s worshippers, but in that moment, he cast aside all regret. That brief glimpse was all he needed to steel his resolve.

Dahlia, the self-proclaimed leader of the cult, threw her hands into the air.

“I must have volunteers to help perform the ritual. Come forth!”

Peter shoved through the people around him and broke free into the center of the town. He waved his hands and shouted.

“Please, choose me!” he cried.

Dahlia smiled at him, clearly drawn to his resolve, though she mistakenly took it for blind faith.

“Of course, my child, you may join,” she said.

Peter’s mind was racing as he laid his hands on one of the stones. The runes on its surface all lit up with an ethereal blue light.

“Repeat after me,” Dahlia said, “ratanna erebach alnalia, morick danthel.”

Halfway through the incantation, a bright flash cut the spell short. Peter looked to the direction of the light and saw one of the cultists stumble backward, frantically clutching at his neck. Peter saw blood leaking through the cultist’s fingers.

“A Warden hides among us! Find them, now!” Dahlia shrieked.

Peter didn’t know what a Warden was, but he was glad for the distraction. The cultists all broke from their organized groups and flooded the Circle of Captivity. Peter charged toward the center. Arlana stood frozen with her eyes wide. Beside her, a man dressed in a white tunic held one of his hands over Dahlia’s mouth as he drove her dagger deeper into her chest.

He looked up briefly at Peter. His golden eyes flashed as he dropped Dahlia’s lifeless corpse to the ground. With his work finished, he turned to Arlana, still clutching Dahlia’s dagger.

“Stay away from her!” Peter shouted, throwing himself into the imposing figure.

He managed to knock the man off his balance as other cultists swarmed him. Peter took Arlana’s hand and pulled her behind him.

“It’s okay my love, I will take you far from here,” Peter said.

Peter took advantage of the chaos to lead Arlana far from that town she once called home. He had made her a promise, and he intended to keep it. They ran toward the horizon in silence until they reached the edge of a cliff that overlooked the ocean.

Peter stopped, struggling to catch his breath as he looked out onto the red and orange hues of the sunset. They danced and leapt across the waves with a freedom he had never known.

He turned to Arlana, and his heart filled with joy as he saw a smile crawl across her face. He wrapped his arm around her and softly kissed the top of her head.

“Just as I promised,” he whispered.

“It’s beautiful.”

Her voice was distant and strained.

“What’s wrong, my love?”

He looked down at her. Her smile wavered for a moment. A trickle of blood emerged from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin. He wrapped her arms around her waist as her legs gave out, slowly lowering her onto the grassy field below.

He felt the tears come without warning. His heart was racing as fast as his mind.

“What is this? Arlana, tell me, what has happened?”

Her distant eyes wandered over to him as her hand reached up and touched his cheek. He felt her warm touch for only a moment before her hand fell limp beside her.

“Arlana? Arlana, say something!” Peter screamed.

He shook her shoulders as if to wake her from a nightmare. He couldn’t accept that she was gone, not after everything they had been through. When he spotted the wet blood staining the left side of her ceremonial gown, everything became real.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Peter looked up, his vision blurred by the tears in his eyes. Standing over him was the man from the town, the one who had killed Dahlia.

“You did this?” he asked.

“I had no choice.”

Rage and hopelessness waged a war in Peter’s heart. He wanted nothing more than to strangle the life from the stranger, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Arlana’s side.

“This world is but one of many like it, all stretched out across countless dimensions. The names, the places, they are all similar, yet different. I am tasked with protecting these worlds at any cost.”

Peter stood and glared at the man, searching his golden eyes for any hint of a lie or deception.

“I do not care about other realms beyond my own. You claim your cause is to save these worlds, and yet, you have ended my own,” Peter said, pointing to Arlana’s lifeless body.

“I am aware that my voice falls on deaf ears, but I swear to you, I wouldn’t have done this if there was any other way.”

Peter saw the cultists marching toward them from the edge of town, carrying weapons and torches above their heads.

“Come with me, I can save you,” the man said.

“Leave me. I am already dead.”

The man turned and lifted his palm toward the open air. He pressed his other hand to his chest.

“Tell Durwood it’s done. The last Ostitarius of 17133 has fallen. The prison remains shut.”

The air shimmered in response. Peter saw a strange realm beyond it, as if staring through a window. His mind was unable to comprehend the imagery before the man stepped through and disappeared.

He knelt back down and laid Arlana’s head into his lap as the cries of the cultists grew closer. If what the man said was true, perhaps there was another dimension, another life, another world where they were together.

He’d like to think so, but it wasn’t this one.