Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  Unable to resist the temptation, Aelir ran a finger around his wrists etching the runes into his skin, and then, in the tongue of ancient Sesteria, he read them out loud.

  Saying just the first word, the runes on his wrists began to burn, but he continued reciting the spell. Never before he had any use for scribing runes, but for an unknown incantation, he must have been cautious.

  By the last word, the pain was becoming unbearable, yet just as he finished, the pain went away.

  Nothing happened. Aelir waited a few minutes and still nothing, so he shrugged, concluding the spell does not work.

  Looking back at the book, he felt warm, and at the tips of his fingers sparked lightning of pure gold. Each second it grew in power, and like the wildest of animals captured in a small cage, it raged. Then it calmed down and then disappeared as suddenly as it came to be.

  While at first, Aelir sensed nothing strange, a sudden feeling of power rushed over him like a morning gale of wind.

  Just to try, he attempted to conjure a small bolt of lightning, his element of choice when it came to combat, and he did so with a mere thought and a complete lack of concentration.

  It appeared in his hand, yet calm and ready to strike. While usually, a bolt would fight with him, demanding to be released, the golden spark in his hand obeyed. The ease with which he could control it was unnatural even for him.

  “Excuse me?” he suddenly heard a female whisper.

  Startled by it, the flash disappeared from his hand, and he almost fell and spilled his hot chocolate.

  He turned around and looked upon a young woman with a face softer than a pillow, a smile that could warm one’s heart and ruffed golden hair.

  “I am sorry I forgot you were here. Usually, the library is empty.”

  The woman laughed. “That is all right, I noticed the sparks of magic, and it intrigued me far too much. Can you tell me what it was?”

  Aelir explained, in layman’s terms, what he just did. However, he was careful not to reveal too much, nobody could know how powerful or dangerous the spell really was.

  Upon hearing of it, the woman’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Why do we not go outside to the training grounds and test it?” she suggested with a rascally smile.

  “Forgive me, I must have missed your name,” Aelir asked, avoiding the question.

  “Arianna Di Reo,” she introduced herself with a courteous bow. He recognized her name instantly, she was the daughter of Nael Di Reo, the Archon of Sesteria. The news of her arrival must have missed her.

  “It is an honor to meet you. I’m Aelir.” Hearing his name Arianna was taken aback, but as expected of royalty, she hid her surprise. “Also as it happens, I agree; we should go test it out,” Aelir said, matching her smile.

  After a swift change of clothes, Arianna and Aelir went outside. To his surprise, she wore a quite simple leather jacket over her nightgown. He began to regret actually putting on clothes instead of doing the same.

  The moon’s light was so great it drowned most of the stars. It lit their way and made the night even more beautiful.

  They made it all the way to the small training area in the west wing of the palace complex. It was not at all large compared to the training facilities of the army, or even the royal guards.

  He looked around and considered the best place to strike with his new unknown power, but besides the open training field, he found no suitable area.

  The more he thought about it, the more worried he became. As he began to consider walking away, Arianna stepped beside him. “Don’t worry, it’s all going to be alright.”

  He turned to her. “You should take a few steps back,” he said, not knowing how to reply.

  “Are you underestimating me?”

  “I would not dare,” he promptly replied, flustered.

  With an audible chuckle, she said, “I am joking.” She stepped back, and Aelir let out a sigh of relief. “Still, I’d win.”

  Seeing her in the corner of his eye, watching with excitement, he was unsure what to think of her. Whatever his opinion of her was or would end up being, he could not concern himself with it.

  He took a deep breath. In his mind, he pieced together a thought, a command in ancient Sesterian. It was imperative he left nothing to chance and described his wish to the most minute detail. When he was ready, he relaxed his mind and released the spell.

  The ground shook, and then beams of gold light stretched across the starry night. Then one pillar of light struck down from the skies above and hit Aelir. Consumed by it, blinded, he fought and tried to run away, but he couldn’t. Arianna’s scream was the last sound he heard before all his senses were saturated with the pure blinding light. The ground cracked as the beam poured its power over him.

  Whatever the power was, whatever great thing he summoned, he understood its message. He was unworthy. This was not his power but the power of his blood, his family. With a bowed head, he accepted its judgment, even if it meant his death.

  The light lifted him from the ground and pushed him up with great power, and the runes he etched into his wrists reappeared and burned yet again, but not with fire but with the light itself, becoming a part of Aelir’s own body.

  Like shackles, they locked around his hands, and then, suddenly, the power of the light felt almost minuscule. In his eyes, he felt it burning in pure gold.

  With ease, he stretched his arms and shattered the wall of light. It exploded, washing over the palace.

  Left in his eyes was a shimmering golden light and in his veins coursed power beyond his wildest dreams. “Do you think it woke them up?” he asked with a cheeky smile.

  People of Beria

  “Get out of the bed!” a squeaking disgusting voice echoed through Narra’s bedroom. With a sigh, she crawled out of the uncomfortable bed.

  With heavy eyelids, still half asleep, she walked around her small, dirty, unfurnished room. Like any other day, the view from the window was unsightly just as the reflection she saw.

  She took off her nightgown and put on the clothes lying on a chair thrown in the corner. Ordinary and dirty even by Berian standards, and they were starting to smell.

  Ready for one more pointlessly lived day, she headed out of her room. Shouting of her father, Ceril, quickly told her of his mood and the day she was about to have. She never understood just why fate saw it fit to force her to live with him, a man she hated.

  After running down the creaking wooden stairs, she saw his balding head and sizable behind. He was putting vials up on the store shelves. In them were various potions and oils. Terrible things no one had any use for even within the lands of the Empire; people of Beria even less so.

  She thought the store was disgusting, just like the building and the city.

  Day after day, she yearned to return to Istra, but well, she knew it would never come to be. Even the thought made her chuckle. After all, Beria was her father’s way of escaping justice. At times she wished he was some kind of a murderer running from a just death, but no, Ceril was a fraudster who stole from all he knew. All he ran from was a fine and, at most, a few years in prison.

  “Why do you bother?” she asked him, slightly amused. “No, Berian is going to buy this shit.”

  Not looking back at her, he replied, “They are stupid rabid dogs, wave a bone in front of them, and they will bite.”

  “Just like dogs, they are afraid of magic. We’ve had three customers in four weeks. Made exactly no money from that as two of them, you gave three vials for free.”

  He turned to her with a few vials still in his hands. “We have to build a reputation. A nice old man and his beautiful kind daughter will go a long way to success even here. In a year, we’ll be living in a mansion.”

  “Or in the sewers in the rats.”

  “Aren’t you so smart? Damn know-it-all!” he retorted. “Now, why don’t you do something to help. Go out and entice the simpletons to come here and buy something. Tell them we can make the nights they spend i
n whores’ arms even more pleasurable.”

  Plenty she had to say, such as that prostitution is still outlawed, but in the end, she cared little far too little.

  Knowing no Berian will speak to her, and even if they’d never step a foot into the store, she hurried towards the front door. Her stomach growled, and the floorboards creaked as she grabbed the handlebar.

  “Don’t return before sunset. I want you to be bringing in customers all day,” Ceril said before she could leave. He placed the last vial on a shelf and walked to her. “I told you this before,” he spoke in a whisper, “you must let them see, men enjoy a good view.” His dirty rough hands were touching her collar. “Like this,” he said and forcibly tore her shirt, creating a cleavage so deep it left very little to one’s imagination.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted at him and quickly covered her chest. “Walking around naked won’t bring in any customers!”

  He smirked. “Oh please, you were never afraid to show your chest in Istra.”

  “May have passed over your thick head, but this isn’t Istra.”

  They argued, Narra demanded to go and change, but Ceril blocked her way. Furious, she ran out the door, holding her shirt closed.

  Right after leaving, she was headed to the Crawling Guardsman, a tavern at the opposite side of the square. To her luck, it was not at all busy. With the sun barely risen, merchants were still getting ready, preparing their stalls.

  On her way there, a voice called out to her. She sighed and clutched her chest even stronger, hiding what it revealed.

  Miserable, she approached the merchant that was shouting at her. “I thought you were deaf,” he cried, his mouth full of old cheese. As she got closer, a foul stench reached her nose. Only a look at the man and she knew what its source was. His shirt, stained and dirty, as his whole being and the little stall he had set up.

  “What do you want?” she asked him, her empty stomach spinning.

  Eyeing her chest, without a single look to her eyes, he replied, “I want to know what an imp is doing here. Not seen ya here before.”

  “My father and I bought that store. We sell potions and magical oils.” She told him the truth, plainly, knowing almost for sure the man would scoff at even the idea and let her be.

  “Interesting,” the man replied. “I may buy some.” She was shocked, but if at least one customer came in, Ceril would surely be happy. “That is if there is anything in it for me. You see, my legs are tired, and even a small reward for coming would do a lot.” He winked at her. “Why don’t you put your hands away.”

  Seeing the grease in his hair and sweat running down his forehead and adding to the already stained clothes, her stomach turned upside down; only barely she kept herself from vomiting.

  The disgusting man seemed not to have noticed as he continued speaking, telling her of other merchants he could bring in to buy from them. Of course, it all would come for a cost.

  “No. Not ever,” she spat her words. “I’m no harlot for you to call upon.” Cursing, she walked away, ignoring his further pleas.

  Hearing Irpen, the Crawling Guardsman’s innkeeper, call out to her just as she walked through the door, brought the slightest smile to her face. The inn was old and dirty, the walls decorated with nothing but stains, the furniture so bad a chair or two broke almost every day, but the next night they would be back and fixed, ready to be broken by the drunk patrons of the tavern yet again.

  She headed to the table, of which she was the sole patron. It was far in a dark corner where she was often not seen and left alone even by the more inquisitive men. There the chairs were the best of the inn as they didn’t make sounds of a dying animal the moment someone sat on them.

  Finally, sitting in peace, she let out a relaxed sigh. Ceril was not welcome there, for he caused a scene the night they arrived by getting drunk and spewing what the Berians called imperial lies, which were all true, but to Narra, it mattered not at all, and she was one of only two people there.

  “What can I get ya?” Irpen shouted, marching towards her. “Something for breakfast?” For a man with a build befitting a warrior, his was voice was calm and soft. With her stomach empty, she asked for a piece of bread, cheese, and a cup of water to wash it down. From the pocket of her trousers, she pulled a few coppers and gave them to the large man.

  He looked at them with sadness in his eyes. “I’ll be right back,” he said and walked away to prepare Narra’s food.

  As much as she enjoyed Crawling Guardsman, it often brought out memories of Istra. She missed school and her friends that she had to leave behind. In Beria, every day, she saw stupid ruffians with no sense of dignity or order. Even the poorest of the Empire behaved like royals compared to them. Irpen was a pleasant exception. For a Berian, he was gentle and even well-spoken.

  He returned soon and placed a platter with cheese, bread, and even a few pieces of meat on her table. Before she could protest, seeing as she ordered a meal far more modest, the door opened.

  In came a young man of smaller stature. “I’ll be right with you,” Irpen shouted. The man looked to them, and right away, his eyes gazed from the old innkeeper to Narra.

  Irpen walked off, and with a grinning smile, the man walked to her. She collected herself awaiting mockery.

  “Hello,” he said, standing beside her table. “I apologize for interrupting.”

  “Hey,” she replied, bewildered. “What do you want?”

  He smiled, not at all concerned by her attitude. “I wish to ask if it were all right to join you.” His voice was like honey, sweet, and pleasant to listen to.

  “Why?” She eyed him suspiciously

  “I only wish not to drink alone. While I mean no disrespect, the old fella over there would have trouble telling me apart from a mule.”

  Narra chuckled. “Please, sit.” Not once since they moved in, she heard a genuine attempt at a joke, especially not one that would make her laugh.

  “Thank you. I must ask,” Arick smiled at her, “I have not seen someone with hair just like yours ever before. Where are you from?”

  Narra laughed sure he was joking, but the sincere look he gave told her it was not so. “It’s quite ordinary,” she replied, barely holding back more of her laughter. “I’m from Istra. There the color is quite prevalent.”

  The man smiled. “It’s like liquid gold. Except far more beautiful. So are your are eyes, so purely green like the world’s most precious emerald. Truly the Empire’s gems are beautiful.”

  Unfamiliar with compliments, warmth gathered in her blushing cheeks, and she just stared at his chiseled cheekbones.

  “Thank you,” she whispered after the long silence. Their eyes met, and they both smiled. Only then she realized not once Arick looked to her revealed chest. Still, she covered it with her hands and prepared for his questions, but no came.

  “I have forgotten my manners,” he said, still smiling “I’m Arick. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

  It was a strange name, she thought, but so was Beria. She introduced herself too, and after hearing a few more compliments, Narra forced a change of topic.

  Enjoying Arick’s company, she stayed in the tavern for long. Sometime later, Irpen brought them a bottle of ale, one far too expensive for Narra to afford. She protested, but the old man would hear not a word.

  The bottle of ale was quickly empty, and the inn was bursting with their laughter. The two hit a note, and the conversation flew like a bird carried by the wind. Narra’s cheeks were red from the ale and Arick’s endless barrage of compliments.

  With noon passing and the inn filling with people, Narra began to feel less and less comfortable, and no amount of alcohol could remedy that.

  Irpen noticed her chest and offered help, but in the end, all he found were bandages. Grateful, she used one of his back rooms, one reserved for special parties he said, to wrap them around herself. It was weirdly comfortable.

  With afternoon coming, the occasional rage-filled gazes were beco
ming more and more common.

  Arick noticed quickly and was the first to suggest they depart. No longer hiding her smile, she agreed, and together they went outside. He suggested they go to a different inn, one near his home. With her senses dulled by the ale, Narra agreed. “This way,” he said, leading her into an alley right behind Crawling Guardsman. “It’s a shortcut,” he explained as he dragged her there.

  On their way, they stumbled over rocks and dead rats, but Arick paid it no mind. He held Narra’s hand with the widest of smiles. From the back, she could see just how well his hair was cut. Little he revealed about himself while they spoke in the tavern, but she knew Arick was not poor. Even his clothes, while seemingly cheap and dirty, were of fine silk, one she wore to school in Istra.

  Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. Narra ran into him, causing them both to fall down into a puddle of dirty water. “What happened?” she asked, laughing at their misfortune. As usual, her happiness was short-lived. Above them towered three men, each at least six and a half feet tall.

  The one in the front looked like a raw pile of muscle and fat. “What do we have here,” the man said, his voice abrasive and deep. “A rat found its way out of the sewers.”

  Arick climbed back up to his feet. “Leave us alone,” he said unafraid, “we are merely passing through.”

  The man laughed, and his two goons joined in. “What has led an Alifrei to my kingdom?”

  Arick’s face turned sour with anger, but he kept silent, and so the man turned to her. “Do you know who this man is?” he asked her. Shaking her head, she climbed up back to her feet, still feeling the effects of the expensive ale. “Arick Alifrei, his family sold us out to the imps.”

  “That is not true!” he screamed at him. “The war was lost, my father had no other choice but to open the gates.”

  “Open the gates and allow Vikar to butcher half the city. Did I get that wrong?” Again the man laughed and then turned to face Narra and made a few steps closer. From up close, he inspected her, even his looks taken by the tear in her shirt. He seemed disappointed to see her bandaged up. “Where are you from little one?” he asked in an echoing whisper.