by Casey Eanes
Slipping over the edge of the boat, Luken held out his hand toward her. She took it and let herself fall into the cold, clear, salty water. It immersed her quickly, her fiery red hair expanding in the water around her face. She gasped as he pulled her close to him. She could feel him kick the water as he swam for them both.
“Keep your head up!”
Luken led her to the shallows, and she slowly walked out to the shore with him. She collapsed there, her dark red hair curled up in long red strands, a tangled mess. She felt the solid, pebbly beach under her hand and looked up at him. He stood over her dripping, and he held out his hand.
“Come on. Let me show you where we hid those refugees. We might get a clue of where he is, if he’s not here, that is.”
Willyn grabbed his hand and felt a spark of energy jolt through her. She stared deeply into Luken’s eyes in awe of the day’s strange, unexpected events. This man...this man had done something to her. She had never, ever let her guard down in front of anyone but Hagan, but somehow Luken of Elum forced her to be vulnerable. He had clearly seen her weakness and the fact that she had a weakness within her both alarmed and relieved her. This Elumite is so strange, she thought to herself. As Luken released her hand she could feel a sensation seem to pull away from her, and she secretly longed to touch his hand again.
Her mind was lost in thought when her eyes registered something deep within the forest. She took a step forward and squinted her eyes. “Look!” Willyn exclaimed, bounding through the foliage.
She sprinted for the edge of the tree line and straight to what appeared to be the half-buried remains of a fire. She knelt and held her hand above the remnant. After a moment she reached her hand under the soil and down into the ashes.
“The fire is dead, but it hasn’t been out for more than a day. It might not be hot, but it is still warm. If this was his fire he did not leave it too long ago.”
Luken stepped over to the small fire and knelt down beside her, scanning the foliage around the abandoned camp site. His eyes grew wide as he fixed his gaze on something hidden from Willyn’s point of view.
“Willyn, I know this was his camp site.”
“How?”
He left her, allowing the brambles and foliage to envelope him. Willyn waited, hearing him crunch through the thick undergrowth. There was a pause in his movements. She could hear him coming back to her, quicker than she expected. He came out of the brush holding something, staring down at it. He seemed lost in his thoughts, as if the object hypnotized him. Before Willyn could see what he was carrying, Luken turned as if trying to spot a trail or any other sign of life in the brush.
Luken spoke, his voice dire. “I don’t know who else would have left this behind. And from the looks of the blood on this thing, I don’t imagine he could be in very good shape. If we do find him, he may just be laying dead in the brush somewhere.”
“What do you have? What do you have, Luken?
Luken turned back to Willyn and looked up at her. Silently, he held up a bloodied Lottian military jacket, and Willyn felt a rush of fear overtake her.
“Are there other people on this island, Luken?”
Luken continued to stare at the blood-soaked jacket. He whispered, looking back at her.
“Yes.”
CHAPTER TEN
A rusty, dented transport rambled down the lonesome, deserted highway known only by those who frequented it as Devil’s Stretch. The road was a loosely stitched patchwork of pavement that staggered through the abandoned Realm of Riht. Kull cursed as the transport shuddered violently over the gaping potholes and ripped asphalt. For speed’s sake, there was no more direct route to the Groganlands, but it was not without its cost. Most travelers were wise to avoid it, but time was not on their side.
The old truck had made many trips down the Stretch before and it showed. The glass of its windshield was spider-webbed with cracks, and what once had been dark green paint had long been ground down to a dull mixture of sun bleach and brown rust. Travel was not common in this part of Candor, but the Grogans were fond of Lottian lumber, and that was enough of a reason to keep Ewing’s smugglers on the Stretch. Ewing was not one to worry about embargos or trade pacts and he was a very rich man for it.
The truck carried two ancient tree trunks that hung out over the back of the open bed. An old canvas tarp filled with gashes was draped over the giant trees. It flapped in the vehicle’s wake like a banner, its condition matching the landscape surrounding them. Kull sat on the tailgate of the truck, looking out over the ruined road running beneath his feet. He shot a glance over his shoulder to see Wael sitting with his eyes shut, quiet and still in the back of the truck bed. Next to him was the monstrous Rot, who seemed content enough to chomp on an old bone.
Kull examined the passing landscape. His eyes grew wide at the charred hulls of buildings that lined the road. All of it reminded him of Cotswold in flames. He remembered his friends and neighbors that had died and the smoldering destruction created by the black phalanx of Grogan rooks. He could still hear the pounding thump, thump, thump of those dreaded engines, and he could still see them hovering over the horizon firing rockets onto his home.
This is what happened here, he thought to himself. The Grogans did the very same thing here. The sudden realization sat like a heavy brick in his stomach. He wondered how many other people had lost a father or a mother to the terrible Grogan hoards.
The landscape, besides the ruined, desolate buildings, was largely unremarkable. Flat desert plains expanded to the horizon and were all Kull could see for miles around. It was not long before painful boredom began to set in. He turned around to look at Wael again, hoping to pass the time with some conversation, but was greeted only with the same closed eyes and stoic face.
Aleph above, what is he doing? For miles they traveled, and Wael had not said a word. The monk sat silently in a private trance that Kull could not bring himself to interrupt.
As the sun began to set, Kull tried his best to entertain himself, and that was when he noticed the fault lines beginning to appear under the vehicle. Kull blinked in disbelief.
Are they glowing?
His question was answered when he saw a small, but clearly visible flame shot up out of one of the cracks in the ground, throwing up a small flash of popping red light. As the slow tide of evening crept in, the veins of fire became even more noticeable, dancing in the oncoming darkness. Each opening in the earth sent up streams of noxious smoke, with a smell that reminded Kull of rotten eggs. Sulfur, he remembered. Then it dawned on him. They were passing through the Fire Fields.
The ground soon glowed with a sinister aura, and the cracks and fissures grew with each mile they traversed. They smoked and hissed, throbbing under the thin, sandy skin of the desert. Kull could not help and look again at Wael, who, even now, remained deep in his trance.
The air took on a heavy quality, clinging around them like a toxic fog. Kull was overcome with a fit of coughing. He could feel himself struggling to breath, his chest growing tighter the further the truck traveled beyond Lotte’s border. To make matters worse, a chill swept over the travelers as the coldness of the desert night air began to press in around them.
Kull scooted himself up further into the truck and pressed his back against the edge of the transport bed. Night brought with it an amazing spectacle as the bright red fissures glowed and illuminated the walls of smoke rising from them. The fields made the sky look draped with red, burning curtains. There were no signs of life, just fire and burnt reminders of the death of those who once lived along the Stretch when it had been a much happier place. Kull shuddered to himself when he realized that they had been gone for hours, and he had yet to see another living creature. The noxious fumes caused tears to roll from his stinging eyes, and the further they drove, the more the air seemed to press down on them. Kull soon began to cough violently, gasping for breath. He held a handkerchief to his mouth and chose to break the silence he shared with the monk.
; “I have heard stories about this place since I was a boy. Is it really true what they say?”
Wael’s eyes flew open, and he responded without missing a beat, “What does who say?”
“That the ground is really on fire?” The obvious question sounded ridiculous as it left Kull’s mouth, and he shook his head at himself.
“You can see for yourself that it is.”
“Yes, I know. What I mean, is it true no one lives out here anymore? No one? Is it true that the Grogans somehow did this to the land? They say that morels are the only thing that can live out here.”
Wael nodded his head and spoke. “It is true. Riht was once the most powerful Realm in all of Candor. They controlled most of the continent’s oil supply and held all of Candor under their grip, cutting off trade to the other Realms when it was to their advantage. When Riht went to war with the Grogans, they did not realize that their own oil would be their ultimate downfall.”
Kull did not understand. “What do you mean?”
Wael continued, “You see, Kull, the Grogans are not to be trifled with. Their culture does not allow for failure, and they do not back down from a challenge. It is not their way to simply win wars. Their ultimate objective is to bring about the utter destruction of their enemies, regardless of the cost. In Riht’s case, the Grogans’ desire was to render justice on their nation and destroy the Realm as payment for all it had done in Candor. The Grogan surge was swift and devastating. They swept into Riht and began to burn all their settlements. The Rihtians fought back bravely. They pushed the Grogans back to the cusp of the borders. But then the Grogans did something remarkable.”
“What did they do?” Kull was entranced.
“They set fire to Riht’s precious oil fields. With one spark, the Grogans set all of Candor back centuries, regardless of the consequences. Nearly all of Candor’s oil still burns under this very ground. Even after all these long years, the fire still burns and we have the Grogans to thank for it. If it weren’t for the few offshore pumps near Elum’s coast, Candor would be in a dark age.”
Kull struggled to understand how the Grogans could justify taking such extreme measures. The obvious question escaped from his lips, “But why? Couldn’t they have just taken the oil for themselves? Wouldn’t that have been more strategic? I mean, with all their machines it seems like they would have wanted to have access to all of Riht’s oil.”
Wael looked back down to Rot and shrugged his shoulders. He gently smoothed the hair on the beast’s head, then reached into his small bag and fed the dog a piece of jerky. Rot nuzzled his head against Wael’s leg and closed his eyes, just as the bed of the truck catapulted into the air and bounced furiously over a new stretch of potholes. Rot glared at his master and huffed in protest.
“Fearful men do not think rationally, Kull. Riht has long been feared by the other Realms due to their involvement in the Dominion War. During the most recent conflict with Riht, the Grogans thought it best to take it upon themselves to ensure that the Rihtians would never again rise to the heights of power they had hundreds of years ago. That is why they set the oil fields on fire.”
Kull cut in. “Wait. So you’re saying that the Grogans set fire to the oil fields during the Rihtian War because of another war that was fought three hundred years ago?” Kull shook his head. “That seems a bit ridiculous to me.”
“It might seem ridiculous to you, Kull, but the Dominion War was the darkest period of Candor’s history. My Order was led by Lucius then, the first Mastermonk. From our annals it seems that the entire continent was engulfed in war, and it was feared that all the free people of Candor would die under Riht’s might.” Wael’s eyes grew distant, as if he could see a world beyond the burning horizon. “The Five were in full power then, and the Grogans, along with Lotte, Elum, and Preost, were nearly destroyed by their Dominion rule.”
Kull rolled all of this in his head, trying to make sense of it. “What did you mean when you said the Five were in power? What are you talking about?”
Wael nodded his head and for a brief second looked very grave, as if he had aged before Kull’s very eyes. He answered the question with a question of his own.
“Kull, what do you know of the Dominion War?”
Kull spoke, “I know that it’s mostly referred to as the Great War on the datalink files. It was the war that broke the Realms free from Rihtian control.”
“That term is not correct, I’m afraid.” Wael’s voice thudded like a heavy mallet. Kull stayed silent. “There has been a movement within the continent to rewrite Candor’s past, to remove facts that some would deem unacceptable to put in the annals of our history. The Five, the Dominion. All of these terms are words forsaken by the history written today, and with them we forsake the truth. Surely, your father told you about them, the Five?”
Kull shrugged. “He barely told me anything about his experience during the Rihtian war, much less the history of the Great War.” He smiled as he thought back. “Mom never liked talking about war or anything violent either.”
Wael nodded, but Kull read the displeasure that flared on the monk’s face. He spoke, his voice echoing through the darkening night, “The Five were the Serub warlords, the Rihtian Kings that created the Dominion, the empire that enslaved our ancestors.”
“The Dominion.” The word felt heavy as it left Kull’s mouth. Kull had heard of the term, but only in whispers in candlelight between his father and his subordinates, loose nuggets that fell from conversations he was not privy to growing up.
Wael continued, “The Dominion annexed the Realms and set their center of their power at Zenith, the capital of Riht. It lies in ruins now. The fact that five rulers could bind the people of Candor under one united regime is amazing. It is truly a feat in itself.” Wael’s eyes stared intently at Kull. “But now, Kull, it is time for me to hear what you know.”
The truck rumbled underneath them, and Kull shuddered at the growing chill in the air. “All I know is what I’ve read from the datalinks, Wael. The Great War, or as you put it the Dominion War, was a continental revolution that overthrew the Rihtian rule of Candor. It was initiated by the Grogans who came down from their mountain fortresses. They allied with Lotte, and then Elum. The Realm of Preost was then formed to serve as an arbiter to prevent any future conflicts in Candor.” Kull’s mouth felt dry as he spoke what he had read verbatim.
Wael spoke, “A fair, textbook answer.” Wael smiled, but his voice remained serious. “There is much more to tell. The Five Serubs were not just mere Rihts. They were the Exiled.”
“Exiled?” Kull had no idea what Wael meant.
Wael continued, “Yes. Exiled. They were the Divines who chose exile from Aether. To take their form, shape, and power in earthly vessels.” Wael rubbed his fingers together. “To take human shape and form. They worked wonders in Candor, and it led to our utter ruin. They bewitched our ancestors and brought realities into this world that should have never existed.”
Kull shook his head, confused. “Divines? Like Aleph?”
“Yes. For they are Aleph’s brothers and sisters who abandoned their stations, longing instead for earthly power and glory. Aleph was abandoned, but through his obedience to his charge, he alone inherited the throne of the Firmament, the Aether. His six siblings forsook their divine duties, and in rebellion made their homes in Candor.”
“Six? I thought you said there were five?” Kull’s head reeled trying to keep up with it all.
“Yes, Kull.” A wide smile grew on the monk’s face. “I’m glad to see you are paying attention. There is one who is unaccounted for in the Exile. He regretted his decision and sought the penance of Aleph, seeking to atone for his error, but that is a story for another time. The remaining Five, however, brought ruin on such a scale that it is a marvel Candor and the Realms still exist.”
“What did they do, Wael?” He could barely look into Wael’s piercing gaze in the low light of the burning fields. “All I ever heard growing up about these stories
were that they were mostly mythical. Many say the truth about the war and the Serubs is much less…cosmic.” His throat went dry as the words left his tongue.
Wael did not respond with anger, but with firmness, “The morels. Let’s consider them, Kull. They are a perfect example of a reality that should have never existed on Candor; a reality that the Five brought upon us. So you say that what you’ve read or heard about the Five is judged as mostly mythical?”
Kull nodded solemnly.
“Well, tell me. What have you been taught about the morels?”
Kull cleared his throat, trying to piece together Wael’s logic. “I’ve been taught that they are the humans who caught the Shambling Plague. Their brains died long ago, and yet their bodies still live. No one can explain why exactly this happens, though it has been thought that there is a virus that controls the plague. The virus controls these dead bodies only to spread the plague further.”
“It is a fine explanation from a scientific standpoint.” Kull had not expected Wael’s response to be affirmative. He listened with piqued interest as the monk continued.
“I doubt you would believe the real truth about them, however. The Exiled in their very natures can render realities that did not and should not exist on Candor. The morels are just one of their works. Tell me, how can the dead live, Kull? It was not always so that the dead could rise, but only after the Five came into power. And let me ask you something. Have you ever seen the dead rise?”
Kull tried his best to control his smirk, but Wael’s serious face checked him.
“Well, have you?”
“No.” Kull felt his hands twitch with nervous energy. “No, I haven’t.”
“Precisely. And as Aleph reigns, I pray you will never see it in your lifetime. That is because the Exiles have been bound. They no longer work their nightmares on this plane, though there are still remnants of their work left in Candor. Leftover ranks of the mindless morel armies that they once controlled.”