Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  Oren never trained, nobody taught him how to fight properly. Almost two minutes, he withstood Norick’s attacks, but even he succumbed to a trained warrior’s power.

  He fell to his knees, with his sword still in hand. Riki shouted, screamed at the top of her lungs, but little she did but stand there frozen in place.

  The end came quicker than Oren expected it to, and so he allowed himself to let go of worry, to loosen the barriers of his mind. A tear ran down his left cheek and soon more followed.

  “Crying over a lost fight? Pathetic, even for a child,” said Norick mocking him.

  Yet those tears were not for Oren, but for Efri, who he wished to see at least one last time. It was then when the voice returned speaking in a different tone, not one of command but one of sympathy. Norick readied his sword and struck against Oren, intending to deal a mortal blow.

  Through Oren then coursed a power he knew nothing of, the power of the verdant gem. The voice sang to him pleasantly as if to say, “My power is yours.”

  In a reflex, Oren caught the blade into his own hand. It hurt and cut his skin, but it would go no further. Norick let go of the hilt, and the sword fell into the mud.

  Without much strength, Oren stopped up and smiled. A spark of verdant burned in his eyes and from his hand, with no more than a simple wave, came a blast of what looked not like flame nor water but something in between, a liquid verdant fire. The men burned and screamed, begging for mercy, but soon they became ash.

  Justice of Old

  After a long and confusing journey through the forest, the ground beneath Efri’s feet changed. Her and Tarell’s chat, which was mostly about things of no importance, came to an end as she instructed Efri to keep quiet.

  The ground was no a solid rock, and Efri was sure that they entered a cave of some sort. Even the air changed, and the pleasant smell of the forest was gone, replaced by a stench more fitting of a swamp.

  It must have been at least twenty minutes, thought Efri, when they finally stopped. A knock on metal and then the sound of a door opening. “Over there,” said a deep male voice.

  “Just this way,” Tarell whispered and lead Efri to her left. She stepped forward and below her feet was no longer stone but wooden planks. “Here we are.” Carefully Tarell took off Efri’s blindfold.

  The light was dim, coming from a candle placed on an old wooden table. Efri took a deep breath and looked around, and her suspicion was confirmed. The walls were not of brick but of unprocessed stone. They were below the ground.

  “Wait here, someone will come soon,” said Tarell and closed the door behind her.

  Efri’s legs hurt, and so even the old wooden chair looked heavenly. While slowly breathing to calm herself, she sat down and waited.

  From outside the door, she heard people shouting, running, and armor clanking. She heard stories of rebels hiding in those forests, at least when she was younger. For the past year or so, people barely mentioned them. Even if most never thought they were real, just a story.

  She had not to wait for long as the door flew open mere moments later. In walked an older man with black hair in decorated leather armor, a sword at his waist. Behind him stood Tarell, giving Efri a friendly wave.

  The man walked in, quietly looking at her and took a seat opposite. “Where are you from?” he asked, his voice deeper than the crackling of thunder. He looked at her, awaiting a response, without showing a hint of emotion.

  “Beria,” she replied.

  The man eyed her with just a hint of a smile. “Is The Guardsman still open? Last I heard Vorrick closed down,” he asked, testing her.

  “Still open, and Irpen is still the owner. So is his wife Aila and their kids.”

  The man burst out laughing. “Hope he’s doing well!” he shouted, his scarred face decorated with the widest of smiles. “We’ve not heard from them for months.”

  “The imperial garrison added two more regiments, so people are a bit warier,” she explained but did not laugh, not even the smallest smile appeared.

  He stopped laughing. “The two men, Maki and Iri, do you have any idea what their goal was?” Efri shook her head. “Very well. Now, as to you, would you be so kind as to tell us your name? I am Alec, son of Rall and Mella.”

  Efri has heard those names before. Rall was a legendary Berian commander and general. Back long before she was born and Mella was the queen’s cousin. Alec’s parents were legends.

  “I’m Efri,” she introduced herself. “Daughter of Merryn and--.”

  “Layela,” Alec interrupted her. There was no hiding her surprise, hearing her mother’s name. She and her father left when the war began, both were soldiers. Even those years later, their words haunted her. A scared child left alone told by her own parents telling her they will not come back, that they will not live to see her again.

  Then, with an arrogant smile, Alec continued speaking. “Your parents are some of our best fighters.”

  His words echoed in the small room as Efri looked at him, her body shaking. “My parents are here? Alive?”

  “Not here,” he said with dismay in his voice. “Three weeks ago, they were sent on a reconnaissance mission north of the forest. Their regiment was ambushed, and they were taken prisoner.”

  “Prisoner?” Efri whispered to herself. “How are they alive?” she asked and bluntly added, “I was in Beria, alone. Why did they never come back?” All along, she thought hearing what he said would make her happy, but it made her angry instead. How could they have done this to her?

  Alec shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them, girl,” he said nonchalantly. “If it brings you any solace, their sacrifice has bought us something of immense value.”

  “What? Did you kill a couple of merchants passing through here? Got some magical trinkets? Tell me. What was so valuable they abandoned their only child?” she snapped at him.

  He smiled and proudly said, “We have captured Vikar Ka Ner. Beria’s butcher is in chains awaiting our justice!”

  A shiver ran down her back, making her head spin. “How?” she asked befuddled. “He’s an imperial archon. Those men defeat entire armies with a flick of their fingers.”

  “We used their own weapons.” A smirk rose on his face. “Magic!” he exclaimed. “Magic that locks away the powers of others. For as long as he’s here, he is powerless.”

  “They will come for him, you know that. Let him go and scatter,” she said turning Alec’s smile into a poisoned frowned. “I saw him back those years ago. He will not let you live through this.”

  “Tomorrow he will be given a trial. We will practice the justice of our king. Do not dare to suggest we let him go! Your own parents paid dearly to get him here.”

  Efri shook her head. “I take it you shall be the judge, tasked with showing justice to him?”

  “No, we all shall be,” he said. “In the absence of the gods’ chosen, Beria’s people are to decide his fate. That is what was written in our laws. You must stay here until after the trial regardless, may as well join us and exercise your right to have a voice.”

  She said no more. The man they captured was a criminal, she was sure of that, but there was no justice to be had. Beria was no more, its laws were void.

  Displeased Alec left Efri alone for the rest of the night, giving her permission to walk around a small part of their hideout. She was strictly forbidden to attempt to leave.

  With the little strength she had left, there was no way she could make it all the way back to the camp, even if she were permitted to leave. So instead, she allowed herself to rest.

  Tarell led her to a different room, allowing her to see at least a fraction of the complicated set of tunnels that made their base. On the way, they chatted about Alec, Tarell spoke of him highly, and so Efri did not mention her own feelings about the forthcoming trial.

  The room was small, the walls seemed moist, and the flooring was old and dirty. Exhausted Efri bid Tarell a good night and fully clothed lay down on a bed hidden in the d
arkest corner. Surely even the dirty floor was more comfortable than it. All that she’s learned was a heavy burden on her mind, and it was only in the land of dreams where she found an escape.

  Awoken and with some of her energy renewed, she looked around the room once again. It was real. All of it. She lay on a terribly uncomfortable bed deep underground in the hideout of Berian rebels while a trial for Vikar Ka Ner was about to take place. Also, her parents were alive and captured by the imperial military.

  She began laughing and couldn’t stop. How could all of it be real? Yet before she could even think of an answer, the door opened.

  “Morning,” said Tarell standing in the doorframe. “Well you look nasty.”

  “Have you heard of knocking before?” Efri asked snarkily and fixed her hair. “Also looks who’s speaking.”

  Tarell shrugged with a lighthearted chuckle. “Got a surprise for ya,” she said. “Some stray cats found their way all the way here. Almost had to put them down, but then they convinced me. Adorable little kitties.”

  “Cats?” she questioned, and Tarell enjoyed her confusion greatly, her smile growing wider and wider. Behind her, someone whispered a few words, and Tarell moved out of the way.

  Behind her was the most unlikely person. “Oren!” she shouted, ran to him. “What in the gods’ name are you doing here?” She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered to him feeling her eyes fill with tears. “I was worried.”

  “That’s my line,” he whispered back, tightening their embrace. “You were the one who got lost.”

  It lasted long for neither knew really paid attention to time; it froze as they held each other, their hearts closer than ever.

  They made a promise then, among the stone walls, a promise they did not need to say out loud - never again, they would separate.

  Once their embrace was over, and silence ensued, Oren gazed not upon her but to the wooden floor below his feet.

  “What is the matter?” Efri asked, her eyes still teary. She knew Oren for long, but even rarely, she could decipher what was going on in his head.

  He looked at her with a troubled smile. “Is he here?”

  Far too well, she knew of whom he spoke. With a sigh, she nodded. Not ever before, she saw the look that overtook his otherwise kind face. One of hatred. Sheer hatred. Oren took hold of his sword’s hilt and held it with all his strength. His eyes looking through Efri.

  “The trial shall begin shortly,” Tarell said with a smile. “If all goes well, you will be allowed to leave after the sentence is carried out.”

  Oren laughed, but it was not the laugh of Oren, the innocent orphan boy Efri grew up with, it was a laugh of a man with thoughts darker than the night’s sky.

  When his laughing outburst came to an end, Tarell broke the silence immediately. “It’s about an hour or so before we begin,” she said, “the others are feasting in the great hall. Come, let us not waste time here.” Oren turned to her, ready to go, but Efri did not move.

  “Coming?” he asked. “I am so excited.”

  She shook her head. “Go ahead, I’ll join you soon. I just woke up a few minutes ago. Will be right there.”

  “Suit yourself. See you there.”

  After Efri was sure they were far enough, she silently walked out but took a different turn, one leading opposite of the great hall.

  The walls and ground changed from stone to brick and wood. Torches became more frequent, and even some decorations were scattered around, hanged on the walls, or quite literally thrown into a corner with no regard for their value.

  Only old tapestries that were most likely stolen from small holdfasts, depicting the creation of Beria, were correctly hanged and clean. It was funny in a way to see the stories that all in Beria now knew untrue displayed in their entire glory.

  Knights in shining armor fighting against the terrible imp invasion. Their swords covered with the blood of the magic-wielding people, their convictions, and belief in the forgotten gods protecting them against the foul powers of Sesteria.

  Was this all the rebellion stood for? Lies, stories told to children? After what happened, after Vikar Ka Ner butchered half of the city, she hated him and all things and people from the empire, but not for long she kept that hate within. She learned it was not the people, nor the things that were to blame. Possibly not even Vikar himself.

  That was what she needed to confirm. One more turn later, she came into a hallway with four guards standing beside a large metal door.

  Two with spears, two with swords, weapons at the ready, looking in every direction. She found where her answer laid.

  “Who goes there?” shouted one of the guards, his hands trembling.

  She greeted them all with a smile and came closer.

  The soldiers were afraid, shaking like little children. “What do you want here?” asked one of them, seemingly holding back tears.

  “He’s there, isn’t he?” she asked. The soldier nodded. “I shan’t have the chance during or after the trial,” Efri said, “may I speak with him? Just for a short moment.”

  The guards looked at each other. The armor they wore must have been at least a size too big for them, the way they hold the weapons was not how a soldier would. They were conscripts, children when the war began. She pitied them.

  “See, I was there, in Beria,” she said quietly. “It would mean so much to me if I could speak to him.”

  “Truly?” the soldier asked. “Have you seen what he did? The day the war ended.”

  Efri nodded. “I did. I saw his men slitting throats of children, of women with babies in their bellies. It was a horror I never wished to live through again but now I have to. If I am to vote during the tribunal, I must speak with him. Please, give me a chance. All my life, I have lived under the shadow of what he did.”

  “Very well then, but only a short while.” The door creaked as the guard pushed it open. “In,” he commanded her, his voice skipping like that of a child.

  She walked in, he right behind her. The room was dark, almost too dark to see, with only a single torch on the wall. On the far end wall, she saw a man in chains. A sound of metal then filled the room as Vikar moved and looked right at her, his eyes giving out a dim blood-red glow.

  All of a sudden, a feeling of dread, of a load too heavy to carry being strapped to her back, took over.

  The butcher, Vikar Ka Ner, was in front of her. An Archon of the Eternal Empire put in chains by people of Beria, her people. Not once have they done anything like it.

  “I see, I have a visitor,” he said in a calm, calculated voice. “Came to say your final goodbyes, Efiria?” A cold wind ran over her back. “Where is Oren? I was so looking forward to seeing him again.” Even through the darkness, she could feel his smile, the terrible evil grin.

  Taking in the humid air, letting it course through her and out again, she made a few steps towards him. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know many things,” he said slyly. “But you did not come here to listen to my wisdom. Why are you here?”

  Efri scuffed. “I want to know. Why?” Her hands were shaking, her heart was beating fast, and in her eyes, she felt a tear.

  “I had to,” the Archon replied. “A city so near the coast of a peninsula no less,” he sighed, and his eyes met the floor, “is difficult to supply. Even on a typical day, it’s a logistical nightmare. Beria had no ports, no shipyards and all the food and resources were consumed by the rich, by the privileged. “The king and his court ate more in a day than the rest of you.

  We took the city, your army was decimated. Yet so were the farms, but not by our hand. The final directive of the last Berian king was to leave us a land turned to ash. We had a choice to let you starve or weed out the unneeded. So we did, the orphans, the rich, the royalty, the criminals, the beggars, all of them were a leech on your society.”

  A tone in his voice, hidden deep down, was that of sorrow. Yet no words could quell the fire that awoke within her. The mo
re she tried to hide, to fight it, the stronger it burned. “Was it you who gave that command?” she asked.

  “Yes. No one but me.”

  Then came silence. His red eyes looked at her, so unnatural, so evil. With her own, she pierced him through and through.

  Dirt flew from his hair as he shook his head. “Your prosperous life of transcribing letters was built on a foundation of the people I killed that day. Now you will kill me after that mockery of a trial, and you will absolve yourself of all guilt. Whatever was it that you were hoping to hear is not the truth.”

  Vikar’s words echoed in her head, and even the sounds of over a hundred people in the great hall were not enough to silence them. She looked over, at their faces. Was the decorated, food-filled room fit for a trial? No, of course, it was not. No longer it was about Vikar’s crimes, it was about the rebellion.

  It brought sorrow to her heart to see so many of her countrymen dedicate their lives to pointless hate. All driven by hatred most have forgotten about. Vikar was right. These people were evidence enough with their faces stuffed with expensive foods, the old tapestries on the walls, even the shiny armor they wore. Revenge was not their goal, it was to bring a return of the old order.

  The table with three chairs right opposite of the massive entrance door, where the three tribunes are to sit, was polished and painted with gold. Everything from it and the chairs to the decorations on the wall told her enough.

  The trial was to begin shortly, and Efri couldn’t wait. While the others rejoiced and sang praise to Beria and to Alec and her parents even, she refused to join them and stayed sitting near the center on a cushiony wooden bench.

  From the far end of the room Oren approached her and sat down, closer than he usually would. “Hello,” he said merrily. In his breath, she smelled the old Berian ale. Her stomach turned upside down. “I can’t wait to see his throat slit,” he told her, loudly. “All said they are voting guilty.”

  “What a fair trial,” Efri snapped at him. “Why not rejoin them and make this trial more of a mockery.” Oren laughed and rolled his eyes, but did not say a word. Seeing she will not join him and celebrate, he walked away, not even looking at her.