"So, when the last and dreadful hour,

This crumbling pageant shall devour,

The trumpet shall be heard high,

The dead shall live, the living die,

And music shall untune the sky!"

- John Dryden, "A Song for St. Cecilia's Day"

*****

Soundtrack of the chapter: Unforgiven by Two Steps From Hell ( Do play it!)

Media: The Iambicum Trimetrium

*****

Chapter Thirty-One: Unforgiven

Eli was on his feet the next second, running toward the shrieks. Pure terror swept through the Hall like a hurricane, washing everyone out. Raphine fell backward on his throne, shivering. Eli couldn't go back to check on his grandfather even if it tore at his very heartstrings to see him go into shock. If what he suspected was true, everyone in the Hall was in grave danger.

The Hall was supposed to be dusted with blood flower incense and water. Amueh had promised it would forever keep out the evil thrall of Mandrakes as long as it was replenished every year. A single dose was enough. Jasper was in charge of it, and Eli had witnessed him cleansing the entire Hall.

Jasper...oh no.

He never thought there would be a traitor among the Oracles, and one on the side of the Walkers. Naïve, he had been too naïve. He trusted Jasper with his life, and he had not let him down. But this tribulation shook him to his very core, shattering everything that had built up trust into nothing but rubble and dust.

What did Jasper want? That wasn't the only question clashing inside Eli's head. More flooded in, crashing around, so much that Eli stopped and pressed his forehead against the cold wall, hoping that the chill would ease off the buzzing pain. What wasn't a question, but how.

Death shall reap the person who started it all. He didn't like the sound of it. Whatever Jasper was attempting to do, it sounded like outright murder.

Another scream ensued. His blood ran cold. There must be more than one Mandrake lurking in the Hall. One Mandrake was deadly enough...two and a high possibility of more was enough to make him retch. Eli knew he was immune to the Mandrakes for time being, having consumed a vial of blood flowers brewed concoction for his leg. But for the others, it was only a matter of time before they were all wiped out from fear.

*****

Jasper Silverbird was already far away from the Hall of Spirits when the Mandrakes struck. He had hidden the Mandrakes in spots which the Oracles would never guess, and would never suspect. Too many nights he had spent in the Hall, exploring every room, every hook and cranny for loopholes. It was all for this night.

All these years, he stayed in the Darkling Woods, busting his mind trying to come up with plans to enter the Hall of Spirits. It wasn't easy, at all. Nobody in their right mind would admit a rogue Physician, even if he was very adept with his job.

When Raphine Sanguinis offered him a high regarded place in the Hall of Spirits, it was like giving a sleepy man a pillow, a key to unlock the Hall's very defenses served to him on a golden platter. Raphine Sanguinis... the name made him want to spit, spit it onto the ground where his horse would trample on. It was an abomination, his name the epitome of evil. It filled his being with loathe and disgust. Hate was too subtle a word to express his detestation against that man.

He slapped the reins of his horse, urging it into a greater speed. He must reach the Hall of Shadows before night fall. Tonight was an auspicious night, where the moon shall vanish into shadows, consumed by the shadows of the earth--the best time for revenge.

As he tore through the forest, his mind flitted back to Cadence Gates, a girl whom he had never expected to meet in his schemes. He had planned to attack sooner, in fact, a whole solid three months ahead if not for her. Cady made a glimmer of hope blossom in his heart, a hope that Raphine Sanguinis and his blasted grandson actually still had a sliver of compassion within them. She was the last Walker, someone who might heal the old rift between the two Halls.

He felt guilty, having used Cady to get what he wanted most within the Hall--the trust of Raphine and his people. He was the one who planted the first Mandrake. He knew Cady would come to him, begging him to save the Hall. Her too tender heart was what made her easy to exploit, to manipulate. He had expected it all. He killed all the Healers and Physicians within the Hall, so that his rise to Head Physician would be smooth. Healing Eli was another bonus, earning him more respect in the eyes of the man he had vowed to kill.

But deep inside his heart, he felt sad. He loved Cady, he really did. He knew after tonight, whatever he did would never earn Cady's forgiveness. But she's a Walker, too. She would understand, a small voice whispered in his head. Jasper sighed and turned to look at the moon. After tonight, he would lose the love and trust of the only person in the world who loved him most, but for the price of something much greater-the fall of the Hall of Spirits.

Raphine had his chance. I've already gave him too many.

The wind whipped his hair, kissing him with its brutal coldness. It felt like the pain in his heart, being torn between love and revenge. Part of him wanted to ride back to the Hall of whip Cady off with him, to tell her his real plans so that they may reign together. But Cady, torn between two loyalties, would never agree.

Jasper closed his eyes, shaking the little weakness from his heart. He must be strong, especially now. Throwing a glance behind him, he felt disappointment swell. At this rate, he would never reach the Hall of Shadows in time. Taking in a deep breath, he released all the barriers he had built in the past few months.

Shadows roared to greet him. He cried in joy. He missed the kiss the shadows, the cool slither around his arms and legs, the freedom in his heart. The velvety darkness climbed over him, pulling both him and the horse into the blackness, tugging them with inhuman energy to the Hall of Shadows.

For too long he had disguised as an Oracle, he could finally let everything go and embrace his real identity.

All his life, he thought he was the last Walker, the last of his kind doomed to walk Esvanira as an outcast. Hot tears stung his cheeks. When he was still a child of five, his father took him to the Hall of Spirits to meet his dying grandmother, sparing him the fate of his people when the Oracles attacked. The Oracles had chosen an auspicious date, targeting the Hall when its citizens came back from all parts of Esvanira to celebrate the birthday of their High Priestess. His father then took him hiding, trying to conceal him from the Starlets in the Oracle towns. Propaganda had surged through the towns like a raging fire, burning whatever humanity was left in the hearts of the Oracles.

For many nights, Jasper huddled in the shadows, seeking solace from the very thing that made him detested by the world. His father would slip into the towns, acting like a normal Oracle, lying through his teeth about his wife and child.

He remembered asking his dad. "Papa, why are we running?"

His father would then wrap his arms around him, brushing the coarse stubble of his chin against his cheek. "Away from the bad people. But don't worry, papa will keep you safe." At that time, he didn't know that the bad people were Oracles, or why they detested Walkers so much. He kept on asking his father about mom.

"Papa, where's momma?"

Tears would then glisten in his father's eyes. He didn't dare ask why, because his father would ruffle him on the head and say, in a better place.

It was when the Oracles started coming through the towns that brought both father and son fleeing for their lives. Jasper had been too young to understand. His father was an Oracle, yet he was struck down like an animal by the Oracles. He had screamed himself hoarse when the Celestial Blade emerged from his father's chest, stained with blood.

"Jasper, hemias!" his father had choked. Jasper fled, dissolving into the shadows so that the Oracles wouldn't find him. Run, his father's last word was imbued with magic, spoken in the Old Tongue. It filled him with the strength to run from his dying father, and desperation brought him to another Celestial Town where he hid in the gutter, stealing food from the shops whenever no one was looking. For a five year old child, he was forced to think like an adult, and fight for survival.

He hated being weak, he hated being tossed around by people like he was a piece of rag, filthy and soiled. Being weak only made him vulnerable, exposed to the millions of demons prowling the streets.

A rogue gang of Starlets took him in. Jasper still remembered them clearly, especially the gang master--a large Warrior corded with tough muscle, tattooed from head to toe. Every inch of him screamed intimidation, even when Jasper took a wild guess he was about sixteen or seventeen. He had lied, telling them that his parents abandoned him due to poverty, his town raided by Detriments from the East. The leader had slapped him across the face, with such intensity he was sent flying to the dirty street wall where he banged his head hard. Gritting his teeth, he drew to his feet and charged head first at the master. That was how he earned his membership--by bringing on a fight to the gang master.

Seven years passed, Jasper grew with the street rats, robbing and cheating the rich and greedy, sharing his catch with the gang which he now called his family. Tiny and scrawny, he easily became the ghost of the gang, picking pockets and locks at ease, slipping in and out of the shadows so no one could ever sense him. He learned how to talk his way out of trouble, to swindle even the smartest traders, and to kill someone with a small knife the size of his pinky.

It was when his Affinity started growing, when his gang members started to suspect. Untrained and without support, his powers lashed out of control. The gang which he regarded as family turned on him.

"Walker scum!" they had howled. "You lied to us the whole time!"

He had fled with the notion to end his own life. There was no place in the world for a Walker anymore. He was the last of his kind, and an utter failure. With nothing on him but a few Moons jingling in his pockets and a small dagger, Jasper set out to the wilds, venturing away from the Oracle territory for the first time in his life.

Somehow, on that fateful day, hungry and exhausted, he tumbled into the den of the deadliest Decanates known to Starlets--Nerisha of the Poisoned Plains, slayer of Starlets and defender of her kind. At the thought of Nerisha, Jasper howled, a cry of pain and loss.

He missed his Consort, so much he had cried himself to sleep at nights, even now when he was twenty-one. The pain of being ripped from his Consort still gave him nightmares. The Oracles had brought down that huge gleaming knife, severing the bond between him and Nerisha in a split second. Jasper had returned a few years later, slaughtering and torturing the Oracles who had killed his Consort. The feel of eyeballs and fingers thudding to the ground sent wild satisfaction coursing through his veins. That was his first dose of vengeance, and he loved it. He wanted more. He wanted every single Oracle in Esvanira to feel the pain they had brought upon his family and his Consort.

Jasper was not the only one who had suffered from the shredded Consort-Ascendant bond. He was certain the blood of Decanates painted the air during the last night of the Great War, enough feathers falling from the skies to fill a chamber. The shrieks of both fallen Ascendants and Consorts must have been deafening.

It was then he turned his main target to the Hall of Spirits. He had only one last object linking him to Nerisha--the pendant hanging from his neck, forged from her very blood, giving him in strength he needed to push on.

When Cady stumbled into his life, it raised hope and happiness within him. He swore that he would guide her with the best of his ability, so that she would live up to her legacy. But the thought of Zoroth, Cady's Consort, brought pangs of sorrow back to his heart.

Nerisha had nurtured him the best a Decanate could. She was an Ancient, a powerful beast whose wisdom knew no bounds. He thought he would become her dinner when she sniffed him from head to toe, then rubbed him down with her paws. He still remembered the intelligent glint in her amethyst-purple eyes, those golden slits gleaming in amusement. She told him the secrets of the earth, the myth of the Five Relics, she taught him to converse in the Old Tongue, as well as the rich history of Esvanira. Time was their best companion, and after a year, they bonded.

However, even the strongest of Decanates would fall at an army of bloodthirsty Walker hunters. Among them was Master Calaeno. At that time, he was yet the High Priest of the Hall of Elements but a bounty hunter, swift for his age and far too cunning for a Starlet. They had a whiff of news from his former gang, and traveled far and wide to hunt him down. He escaped, at the price of Nerisha's life.

They would all pay in blood and tears. Every single last one of them.

Shadow travelling left him tired, but the sight of his homeland brought vast waves of energy rolling back toward him. He tied up his horse which was foaming by the mouth to a tree and started climbing up a dune. It was hard without much support, and the trees kept on whacking him in the face with their prickly branches. He swore, wrapping shadows around his face where the branches wouldn't touch.

The dirt entered his fingers, leaving black crescents at the tips. The moon was a thin line right above him. Gritting his teeth, Jasper gave himself one last push, propelling him onto the top of the dune. He would not be weak again. The Jasper from the merry Walker towns was no more. He had killed him at the arch of the bridge back in the Oracle towns when the street rats recruited him.

Silver light poured out from the moon like coins cascading from a chest. It spilled all over the ancient battle ground, against the burnt structures and the mighty Hall of Shadows. It reflected over the bones of the dead, the shields and the swords of the fallen. Far over the lands, the silvery-black flag of the Hall of Shadows was still visible, untarnished by the wear of time and weather.

He clambered to his feet, taking in the scent of the dead and faint ashes. He could still remember the Hall of Shadows in all its glory, towering above the towns and intimating the birds which squawked and vanished into the bright afternoon sun. Reaching into his robes, his fingers closed around the cold, smooth handle of a bell-the bell which he spent half of his life searching for, all in the name of vengeance.

The Iambicum Trimetrium broke into the moonlight, slivers of it danced across the polished surface, gleaming with a lust for power and action. In a silent whisper, it told Jasper the secrets of its past wielders, the powers harnessed by Yana to bring the first Hall of Games to its knees, powers that no one could ever imagine.

He raised the bell high and shook it.

The deep mourn of the bell swept through the ruins, shaking leaves from trees and ravens screeching, dispersing into the air from the ominous peals. A large tide of energy swelled and roared forward, rippling out in every direction. Like a stone falling into still waters, the momentum it built up was stupefying.

It died down. Silence ensued. Jasper waited, running his eyes over the ruins.

The first skeletal hand burst out from the earth, clawing at the air. Deep, guttural moans filled the vicinity as the first of the undead dug its way out from the dirt, shaking grass and mounds of earth from its body. It swung its head around, slowly, fixating its glowing green eyes--eyes of the Underlands fire on Jasper. A second hand burst forth, followed by a third and a fourth. Soon, the land was full of waking skeletons. The bones of Decanates reanimated as well, vestigial wings poking the air and massive claws digging trenches in the soft soil. Ghostly horses pulled themselves free from carts and armor, neighing softly.

Excitement thudded in Jasper's chest as he took in the scene--the scene of his undead army coming to life. Here in this moment, be it the skeleton of a Walker or an Oracle, be it sixteen years or older, they were all his soldiers-a mindless army with a thirst for blood which would not be satisfied until Jasper's foes were dead.

Severed arms reattached themselves back to old joints, fingers closed around forgotten swords and shields. Old flags raised and pierced the skies which opened up and spat lightning. Jasper laughed. Yana, he must be watching him, guiding him forward. He approved.

An army assembled before him, an army which kept on growing. The undead from over the side of the mountains heard his call and came marching toward him. Armor clinked against each other and the sweet sound of swords being sheathed and unsheathed was music to his ears. Enormous chariots were repaired. Giant trebuchets were roused, until the ancient machinery stood in a straight foreboding line behind the massive army.

Jasper couldn't count the number of undead warriors before him. It was too many.

Well, he thought. The more the merrier.

When the movement ceased, the entire army turned their baleful eyes on Jasper, waiting for instructions.

He jabbed a finger at the mountains where the moon met the tips. "You see that? That place is where you all will march to. Kill everyone on sight, spare nobody: no man, no women and no child. Kill them all."

The chorus which rose made tears stream from his eyes. Just like the eager chants of his army, Jasper felt adrenaline course through him. Finally, all his suffering and his pain, it had paid off. Since his Consort's death, he had scoured Esvanira, traveled to Da'raan and back, searching for clues which would lead him to the Iambicum Trimetrum. He had killed everyone he asked, so that they would not be able to breathe a word to the next.

The Oracles had made him a cheater, a thief, a liar, a murderer, and a conqueror.

Jasper slid down the slope and launched himself onto the nearest ghost-horse. He channeled a good portion of his Celestial Energy into the creature. Its bulk increased at once, its smoky flesh solidifying and silver flames spewed from its eyes and nose. It tossed its flaming mane and screamed.

The horse shot forward, leading the marching army toward its destination.

The wind never tasted so sweet. Jasper closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of dirt and ashes. There would soon be enough blood to paint the Hall of Spirits red. Soon, Victory would be his.

*****

A/N

Jasper's sad backstory has finally come to light. Apparently he had lied his way through everything yet he managed to keep some bits of truth to it. Now that a powerful Walker has the bell, it's only a matter of time before he reaches the Hall of Spirits.

Would Cady join him? Would she embrace her real legacy and turn her back against the Hall of Spirits? Nobody knows as of now. ;)

Mushroom soup,

Stef