Tear of Light

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Tear of Light Page 5

by Michael Edward Tenner


  “Brothers and sisters,” suddenly shouted Alec. The chatter came to a sudden end. “Please take your seats.” In what could be described only as organized chaos, the hundred or so rebels rushed to sit whenever. Next to Efri sat Tarell, who greeted her with the same smile as before.

  When all were seated, and silence ruled the hall, Alec continued, “Today is a day that will be remembered for millennia. For it is the day when justice caught up with Vikar Ka Ner, the Imperial Archon of the city of Istra and the Butcher of Beria.” The room cheered and Alec enjoyed every moment. “With no further ado, bring in the prisoner!” he shouted even louder, and the door opened.

  In came the four soldiers she met before. Vikar was in shackles, his eyes were covered by a blindfold. They lead him right before Alec, who was then joined by two other men, both far older than he. As Vikar was thrown on the ground, the hall cheered, laughed and cussed.

  “Please, all be quiet,” Alec shouted with a raised hand. “Today, we honor our most sacred tradition - the tradition of justice!” Vikar smirked hearing the words but nobody noticed for their eyes were glued to Alec. “To uphold the wishes of our forefathers, this tribunal must be presided over by an officer of high standing. With the loss of Meryn and Layela, this burden falls to me and I graciously accept.” People cheered yet again. “In council, I am joined by Norin and Carell, both former men of law.” He paused and looked at Vikar who gazed not upon him but to the ground with a pleased, amused smirk. Alec shook his head. “The trial is commenced,” he announced.

  After the long process of upholding every formality, every tradition Alec finally spoke to Vikar directly. “Vikar Ka Ner, you stand accused of an attempted genocide again the people of Beria the capital of then Berian Kingdom. What is your plea?” Alec asked, loud and proud.

  The red-haired man chuckled. “What you say is true,” he replied. His voice made all feel uneasy. “Yet what I did, I did for a reason.”

  “You have admitted to the crime!” shouted Alec, his hand shaking. “We may move to judgment right away!” he proclaimed.

  The room cheered and some even shouted demands of the Archon’s head. Efri knew this was not the tradition. She looked around and found Oren standing in a corner, smiling and cheering.

  Resolute in her actions, she stood up; no longer she will tolerate such an insult to their traditions. Alec’s eyes laid upon her in an instant, and the room went silent. “Something to say?” he asked displeased.

  “I wish to hear what he has to say. Is it no against the purpose of this tribunal not to hear out the accused?” Her voice jumped up and down as she spoke; at times, she was shouting, and at times it was so silent the back of the hall could barely hear.

  “Very well.” He gestured to Vikar, allowing him to speak.

  “Your precious city was starving. The rich that ruled you had all the food for themselves. I saw children, not even ten years old, weigh less than the armor of my soldiers. And in the city it was even worse, the poorest ate the horses, the rats and then also their own dead. Still, most starved, and many died as a result. Their bodies rot in the streets.

  “We rid the city of the leeches, the unneeded, those missed by no one. You should hail me a hero for what I did!” He started to laugh. “What I did I did for Beria, for the good of your people. Look now, the city is happy and on a way to prosperity. You’d rather see it crumble to dust than admit we are not the evil of the world, the boogyman you claim us to be.”

  Everyone was silent as the echoes of Vikar’s voice faded. Then all erupted in a fit of utter rage. Some threw their shoes at him, some drew their swords. Even the calm Tarell shouted curses and grabbed the hilt of her sword.

  In the corner of her eye, she noticed Oren running to the center, his blade drawn.

  Alec smiled as the chaos continued, but even his fun came to an end as the man beside him shouted, “Order!” and beat the table with his fist.

  The hall went silent, but the anger did not leave. “This is no trial,” Vikar spat his words.

  “Silence!” Alec shouted. “This has gone far enough.” He turned to Efri. “I hope you are satisfied,” he said in a tone so bitter she sat back down without a response. “Now let us move to the verdi—.” Laughter. Almost maniacal laughter echoed through the hall. All looked at Vikar, but nobody dared to speak.

  The Archon lifted up his hands, showing the rune-covered shackles. Before Efri saw any more of them, the light of crimson and gold enveloped the iron, and like snow, on a warm spring morning, it melted.

  “Impossible!” yelled Alec. “Those runes nullify all magic.”

  With a smirk Vikar replied, “Not his magic.”

  Before panic ensued, the massive door flew open. In poured dozens of imperial soldiers. They rushed the rebels and bound them with magic.

  But one remained standing right at the entrance, his armor light but in colors different than the others. He made a step forth, and it sounded as if it broke the stones beneath it. As he walked, the ground shook, and more cracks appeared beneath his feet. He looked like no ordinary soldier, his hair was ashen gray, and his eyes shined with crimson-gold.

  Light's Blessing

  Sesteria seemed so peaceful from the towers of the palace. Yet Aelir now knew it was untrue. For days he sat in solitude, watching over the city, wishing for a change. His father scolded him, Nariel left for the city for Etrinum, and he was left alone, as usual. An unfamiliar feeling, one of hatred towards himself, took over him, for he knew Dari’s death was his fault. Not just that, either. The suffering of all the common people; he and his family had a significant role to play in it.

  If only he had stayed within the palace grounds, Dari would still be alive, and Aelir’s mind would be clear and unburdened.

  Touching the scar that decorated his palm, feeling the sealed broken skin, was the grimmest reminder. Again and again, he offered Dari’s mother his own blood. Even with it gushing from his hand, she refused and cursed his name. He shed far too many tears since then, but it did not help as it did many times before. It was a different kind of pain and guilt, one he could not drown in his tears.

  While ordinarily, he would wander through the gardens, but now they only brought memories of Nariel. He hoped one day his friend would forgive him. The day they had planned was ruined, and no one but Aelir was at fault. Again he felt like crying as the horror of reality clawed on his heart. No, he wouldn’t cry. Enough tears were shed for his mistakes.

  Then a loud knock on the massive wooden door interrupted his solitude. He did not respond; servants wouldn’t enter without permission.

  To his surprise, the door opened. In came no servant but his father, Emperor Alric. He was a man with broad shoulders and a muscular build. With no power other than his own, he could wield weapons with ease and wear the strongest and stoutest of armor. Aelir looked nothing like him, it was his older brother Morael who did. Since he was but a child, he was always reminded of that, that he would never be as powerful as them.

  His father was a great ruler with gravitas and a wielder of great power. Morael, the firstborn son of Alric, wielded power said to be even greater. Then there was he a man of short stature and the second in line for the crown. Not just in power but in everything but intelligence, he was inferior to his older brother.

  He stood up, doing his best to look him in the eyes. “Father,” he said in a sorrowful whisper.

  “Sit,” his father commanded in a crackling old voice and gestured towards Aelir’s chair. “It has been three days. For how long do you plan to pity yourself?”

  His father’s bluntness was like daggers stabbing into Aelir’s body. “What else am I to do?” Aelir retorted, withholding tears. “The boy’s dead. His family will soon die too. Do you wish to tell me it was not my fault? That I have no right to feel this way? Or did you come to scold me like a child yet again?”

  “It was your fault,” Alric replied honestly. “But neither your tears nor your pity will remedy that. It won’t bring the boy
back to life, nor it will shower the commoners with gold.” He came closer to his son, and their eyes met. “Only a few possess the power and the strength to correct their wrongs. You are a prince of the Empire if anyone holds the power to do something; it is you. It’s not about whether you can, Aelir; it’s about whether you shall.”

  His father’s words meant much to him, and the warmth of his smile overpowered the sadness and hate. Aelir nodded with only a single tear running down his cheek. Maybe for the first time, Alric smiled with his eyes turning teary also. He wiped the drop from his son’s face.

  As they looked in each other’s eyes, Aelir made a promise to himself - to face the consequences of his actions. No longer would he sit locked in the palace towering over the city. The suffering of his people, even if he would never sit on the imperial throne, his loyalty belonged to the populace. Even if he was an inconsequential son of a great man, a brother to a golden prince, he would see the world changed for the better.

  With his goal clear, Aelir, he set out of the palace mere hours later, but this time not alone. He was accompanied by three knights of the crown guard, the most elite force in all of the Empire second only the archons and the imperial family.

  Just their presence made others step back and avert their gazes in fear. The armor of the crown guard was unlike any other, blood-red with a golden phoenix on their chest plate. Over their eyes, they wore a crimson blindfold, for they gave their sight to the emperor as a symbol of loyalty.

  As they rode through the city, he did not sneak around like before but walked proudly, displaying his tailored clothing made from the finest silk, his head held high.

  Upon entering the fringes of the city, a small crowd gathered around them. People of all ages, their clothes dirty and weary, often even damaged with many holes showing the lack of undergarments beneath.

  It brought him sorrow to see people live in such conditions, yet behind all the whispers and shouts, he heard laughter. Unlike the laughter, he knew it resonated and sang with a beautiful calming tune. It was no lie, a laugh of genuine joy. So strange it was to hear it in such a foul place. How could happiness even exist there?

  Before they reached their destination, the house of Dari’s family, the crowd halved as many ran from the gazes of Aelir’s guards. The streets were cleared for them, not one person dared to walk across. He wondered whether they were afraid or being respectful.

  Passing beside a school, the shouts and laughter of children studying there reached their ears. That was the source of the merry laughter Aelir heard before. It made him chuckle as he recalled his time in the royal academy, even though his student years were not at all as joyous.

  The stone road soon became dirt, and dirt became mud as it began to rain. They reached Dari’s home, the crowd that followed all but gone. “Shall we do something about the rest of them?” asked one of the guards. His voice was deep, and just like the others, he towered above the small prince.

  “No.” Aelir turned to the half a dozen people that remained. “Theirs is the right to be here, just like ours.” The knight didn’t reply, and so Aelir turned back towards the run-down house. It was small, one-story tall, surrounded by a makeshift wooden fence that barely held together. The windows were crooked, and the chimney on the roof was crumbling.

  After a deep breath, Aelir opened the little wooden fence gate and walked in.

  He knocked on the front door, and a sense of worry grabbed his heart, but swiftly, he forced it away, for he made a promise, one he intended to keep.

  Only a short while passed, and the woman he saw only days ago stood before him. “Good afternoon,” he said and courteously bowed as the woman watched him with sunken red eyes.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her voice filled with pain and sorrow.

  The question took Aelir by surprise, was it no clear who he was? Did she not remember him? “Does it matter?” he replied.

  “No. Dari’s dead because of you.” Not even tears fell from her eyes, only with disgust and hatred she stared at him. “Why are you here?”

  Aelir stood up, he was about the same height as her. “I came to beg for forgiveness and fulfill the promise I gave to Dari.”

  “What promise?”

  “I told him I can cure his siblings. Ardian flu is a terrible illness. The thief used him to lure people in. There is no but one cure, you know that.”

  She choked up, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I do. But what kind of a mother would I be not to try? I told Dari to bring you there, you daft moron!”

  “I know,” Aelir retorted, “the moment you whispered to him, I understood something was awry. I do not blame either of you; I blame myself.”

  “Good.”

  “Now allow me to help your children. They do not need to follow Dari’s fate. If not for him and his kindness, I would not be here and not in a thousand years, you’d get your hands on the cure.”

  The woman laughed. From greasy head fell a couple of loose hairs. One beautiful, they were turning gray. “Are you an archon? Not heard of you before. Or are you some kind of a forgotten cousin of theirs?”

  “I am not an archon, nor am I related to one.”

  “Who the fuck are you, you stunted child?” she shouted her question.

  Aelir’s guards moved closer, hearing her insults, but Aelir accepted them with a sudden smile coming to him. Behind the woman came three children, old about as Dari was. They were sick, thin beyond belief, the clothes they wore too big for their starved bodies.

  He swallowed the air in his mouth and, without realizing, turned his gaze towards the ground. “My name is Aelir Vi Dera,” he continued, “I am the second imperial prince. It’s the blood in my veins that can cure them. Please, even if you do not forgive me, allow me to at least try to repent for my sins.”

  Deafening silence was his answer. He looked back to the woman and the children only to see her mouth wide open, the children staring at him like he were a figment of their imagination. “Vi Dera?” she asked stuttering. Aelir nodded, and the woman fell to her knees. “Your Majesty, please forgive me,” she shouted. “I did not know.” The children followed and knelt on the hard cold floorboards.

  “No,” he replied, confused. “Please, get up.” He offered her his hand, but she refused and stood up on her own.

  “If I had known it was you, I would not have been so unkind,” she continued speaking, mumbling her words. “Please forgive me for all I’ve done.”

  With a shake of his ashen head, Aelir replied, “I came to ask for your forgiveness, not to demand your apology.” He smiled at the children behind her. “My name changes naught about what has happened.”

  Hearing his words, the woman regained her composure, but her gaze never changed. “Of course I forgive you, Your Majesty. You are most kind.”

  Too well he knew just why she said as much as she did. “I will cure your children. This can be yours,” he said, pulling a purse of coins from his tunic, “if you stop lying. Do you truly forgive me?”

  Even with the sight of more money than their imagination could conjure, the woman continued her lie, claiming to have forgiven him. Whatever words she spoke, the look in her eyes never lied.

  With his magic and the blood of his ancient line, he healed her children and left just a few coins to get them through the coming months.

  Aelir’s face held a sorrowful frown as he walked back to the palace, but he knew that forgiveness was something he could not force. So he hoped that one day she and her children will find it in their hearts.

  After a modest dinner, Aelir retreated to the library. The dim light of the oil lanterns was just right for an evening of reading. It also was when the library was empty, at least during most nights.

  The library sprawled three floors, and almost half was a section just for Aelir and his family. It was where the legendary Book of Areon was kept, besides many other writings not deemed appropriate for just anyone to see.

  Yet the so-called imperial wing was disliked
by Aelir. Whenever he went there, he felt abandoned, separate from the rest. It was also far away from his chambers, and while grandiose, it lacked the coziness of the small study areas.

  As usual, he walked in, wearing nothing but his nightwear and with a cup of hot chocolate in his left hand. Yet that night, the library was not empty as he noticed right upon entering. A woman he did not recognize sat by the large window. He paid her little mind, and she appeared not to have seen him.

  Straight away, he went to his usual spot in the farthest corner where the eldest of books were stored. He read them all many years ago, but the books’ smell was the most calming, mixed with the pleasant aroma of his drink; it made all the worries of the day disappear.

  Before sitting down, he walked to his family’s section and took one of the books from there, for they were by far more interesting. The Unknown Magics by Archon Zarla Ar Mer. It was an ancient tome written over a thousand years ago.

  With care, he placed it next to his cup and opened it. The first few pages, just as he expected, bore no interesting information but soon came to the table of contents. Just the sight made him happy, and so he began reading while sipping on his hot chocolate.

  Even a well-read scholar would see the book as a challenging read, but for Aelir, it was a page-turner. Archon Zarla’s descriptions of potential and unknown magics were thrilling yet impractical or outright impossible. What she referred to as spirit magic, which could recall the power of a dead man’s soul, grabbed most of Aelir’s attention but only from a theoretical standpoint. Well, he knew not to meddle with the dead.

  Past half of the book, the clock struck midnight, and Aelir reached a section on what the archon called personal magic, unique to one person, unable to be used by others. The part was damaged, but the runes were scribbled in with perfect handwriting, just waiting for someone to read them out loud.

 

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