Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  “I understand.” He wished to know just what was about to happen and what the master spoke of before, but he had no chance. The door closed, and a tall man walked onto the stage.

  The entire hall went quiet. “Welcome!” the man on stage shouted. “It has been half a year since our last meeting. I am happy to announce that we meet here in an even stronger number than last year as only four have reported ill.” The man paused, and less than a second later, taking Ri’on by surprise, the hall erupted in applause and cheer.

  “Thank you!” the man continued. “Now to run over our schedule for today. Of course, as usual, the semi-annual auction will take place only an hour from now. Before that, however, we must deal with something of great concern and little fun.” The man’s voice dropped low. “One of the great lord scrappers is accused of aiding the escape of one of their scraps.”

  Silence took over the hall. Each slaver looked to the other with suspicion. “I please lord Lirem and his personal scrap to join me up here, and quickly!”

  Just then, the master stood up. Was it them? Ri’on looked at him in utter disbelief. “Come on,” he whispered and grabbed his hand.

  Together they walked up onto the stage, the light shined on them both and burned their eyes. Mere seven months ago, he lived under the eternal light, and now he was accustomed to the darkness he almost forgot how it feels.

  The announcer approached him and gently touched his cheek. “Do not worry, lad, it will all be over soon,” he whispered. “I may ask you some questions, and if I do, all you ought to do is answer truthfully.”

  “Get your hands off him!” the master shouted. “He still is my property.”

  The man, with a gleeful smile, stepped away from Ri’on and walked to his master. “Lord Lirem, it is so nice to see you after such a long time,” he said mockingly. “You are here, in front of your peers, to face the consequences for what you have attempted to do.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Do you then plead guilty?” the man asked with just a hint of laughter. He turned to the crowd. “Lord Lirem has, according to our sources, helped half-a-dozen scraps escape from this continent. They all died at sea for there is no escape from the Land of the Light, of course, but still, his actions were those of a freedom fighter!”

  The slavers began to scream and shout insults, not one, however fat, stayed sitting on the massive soft cushion. All asked for the master’s head.

  But he only laughed at them. “I did as much!” he shouted. “Those six Li’Ari have made it safely to the shores of the greatest Empire of eternity. As told by our ancestors the land beyond the Crimson Sea is real!” He spat on the ground. “Over there, they now live happily and hidden from those who would wish harm to come upon them. They live in under the banner of Vi Dera.”

  “Silence!” shouted the announcer, unsheathing his blade. “Not one more word!”

  The master looked to Ri’on. “Forgive me, boy!” he shouted. “Run and live free for Sesteria still stands, and its towers rise up into the azure sky. Its people prosper and live—.”

  The announced drove a blade through his neck. “Liar,” he muttered and looked all around.

  Not one scrap stood still. Many grabbed anything they could get their hands on and attacked their owners.

  “Kill the scraps!” the announcer shouted. “Guards!” Then he turned his attention to Ri’on and walked right to him, his sharp and bloodied dagger still in hand. “All you have heard is a lie.” He sighed. “No, that won’t work. Look, it’s not personal.” He readied for a strike.

  Unable to process all that has just happened, Ri’on looked to the master’s body, lying there in a puddle of blood. This was his plan all along. The touching, the revealing, was it all a lie, a trick? Could he accept his fate and run, save the people of Li’Ari, if his legacy were to be forever built on the life of a slaver?

  It was a question he had no time to answer just then. From the gem in the back of his tunic, even the fabric itself, he summoned as much magical power as he could. The blade still touched his neck but shattered it did, leaving a light bruise.

  His eyes sang an azure song, one not heard in that city for hundreds of years. The power of his people, of the Li’Ari, was his.

  Touched by Flame

  With a flash of green light, they appeared in a forest just beside the old road. Both of them were short of breath, exhausted beyond belief.

  “What happened?” Alec asked, still gasping for breath.

  Oren shrugged. “The green gem.” It was still in his hand, glowing with verdant light. “Don’t know how I did it.”

  “No matter. It is good we got away! The imps wouldn’t be kind to us, you saw what they were doing, taking people in chains.” Alec spoke with such hatred in his voice, even greater than before.

  Oren ignored it. “We’re not far,” he said, looking around. “The caravan must be very close.”

  Alec growled. “The caravan stopped by imperial soldiers? We might want to avoid it.”

  “If we head to Beria, we go through them.” Alec only nodded. “Look, it doesn’t matter where we’re going, we ought to leave this place.” Oren tried to urge him.

  Yet Alec looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s ‘we’ now, is it? What if I don’t want to accompany you?”

  “I don’t care,” Oren spat his reply. “I saved your life.”

  “We are headed to Beria, do not worry,” Alec said with a pleasant smirk. “There is another outpost just near here. With their help, we can travel far quicker.”

  “Is it wise to go there? One outpost was just attacked.” Oren did not consider himself an extraordinarily smart man but heading to a rebel hideout after one was just attacked by a powerful mage no less, seemed as an ill-thought-out decision.

  Alec scuffed, “Do you think we did not account for our base being attacked? The others are well hidden. Besides, they came for Vikar, and I doubt they want to concern themselves with anything but him.”

  Carefully and in silence, they traversed through the forest, west of the road. Alec led the way, cussing whenever he brushed by a branch that stung him. Oren found it to be a source of strange entertainment.

  For a leader of a rebellion, he gave off strange vibes, not those of a true commander or leader. He wondered whether it was he who organized the rebels or if he merely inherited command. The thought of asking him did not pass his mind, Alec was precisely the type of a man who would have taken it as a great insult. So Oren enjoyed him being tortured by his inability to avoid thorns of the greenery, a welcome moment of levity.

  As they passed an unusually thick tree, Alec stopped. “Let’s see.” With his hands shaking he went to inspect it. Then came a sigh of relief. “Come and look,” he shouted.

  Oren walked from the other side. On the trunk of the tree was a symbol of an eye. “What does that mean?” he asked, puzzled.

  With an arrogant smirk, Alec explained, “Our line of defense. If the eye were crossed, then the base was attacked. There are many trees like this all around the perimeter.”

  “If they were attacked, then how could they run to all the trees with the eye and mark it? What if they were captured or killed before they got here?”

  Alec sighed. “Magic. We are not unafraid to use the powers of the enemy. If a single eye is marked, then all will be marked also.” With a smirk not leaving his aged face, he looked to Oren. “You may have been small when Beria fell, but do you truly not recall the prowess of your country’s military? Spare me the doubts! We are not just rebels, we are soldiers—.” Alec’s monologue was interrupted by screaming.

  Then at least two dozen or so of men came running from beyond the trees, throwing away anything on them besides their armor and weapons. Seeing Alec, a few stopped while the rest cussed at him and continue running.

  “Commander!” said one of the rebels that stopped. “We are under attack. You must retreat to the tunnels.”

  Alec swallowed the air in his mouth, and hi
s hands began to shake yet again. “The base is lost,” he said. “Attacked by a powerful imperial mage.”

  “What are we to do then?”

  Before Alec could reply, a spark came flying down from the bright blue sky. Alec, Oren, and the couple of soldiers that grouped beside them all looked at it dance on the air.

  It then erupted in a blazing fire, and from it stepped out a man looking not many years older than Oren. The flames washed over him like a mother caressing her most beloved son. Beneath his feet, the ground was left scorched as the fire slowly faded, and only the man remained.

  With a gaze that would make women swoon, he eyed them all. “Who might you be?” His voice was almost a whisper, calm yet chaotic, just like the flames. “Rebels, I take it.”

  “Nobody,” Alec replied. “That is compared to the archon of Tristicia.”

  The young man smiled. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Oh please, you know it is. We all heard the stories, of the young child wielding the Everflame. Many of my men were burned to a crisp when after your attacks.” He stared right into his eyes. “How old were you back then, lord Nariel?”

  He came closer to them, Oren stepped back, but Alec didn’t even flinch. “That’s good, old man. It would be folly for you to forget. Still, you seemed to not remember vividly enough.” He turned to the soldiers, shaking beside them. “Rebels must be punished, so let’s relive some fond old memories, shall we?” A cinder sparked in his eyes. “You will be last,” he whispered to Alec.

  He approached one of the rebel soldiers. “Please, sir! I beg you, we had no part in this. Forced into it, we were!”

  “Is this is all you can do? Lie and deceive, deceive, and lie? Show me the truth, and I will, in turn, will show you kindness.”

  The soldier broke down in tears. “I have a daughter. Her name is Iffela. Just a fortnight ago, she celebrated her eighth birthday.” His knees gave out, and he fell to the ground. “Since Beria fell, I’ve been here, going back once a month at most, usually just to bring money, so my wife and she don’t starve.”

  “Is that so?” asked Nariel. The soldier’s story seemed to have little effect on the archon. “Would it be fair to say that you care for your family deeply?” The rebel nodded. “Let us engage in an exercise of theoretical situations. If your family lived happily in a large house, well-fed every day, their coffers full of money, would you be satisfied?”

  “Yes, of course, I would be! That has been my goal for the past ten years.”

  Nariel smirked. “Hear this offer, then, I will give them all of that and more. They will live in wealth, with full stomachs, wherever they so choose. But not with you, for your life will be the price of their happiness.”

  The soldier looked at him, his tears stopped. “You want to know if I’d allow you to kill me for that promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not ever!” the soldiers shouted. “Think me selfish, but I want to see my girl grow up.”

  In response, Nariel began to laugh. “You are a good father,” he said, smiling, “honesty is imperative for your child. Go to your family. You’re free.”

  “Thank you.” Happy, the soldier ran away, as quickly as he could, still looking behind his back, surely wondering whether it was all a trick.

  It wasn’t, Nariel let him go, and with a smile, he looked to the other rebel soldiers. “You go too, you can thank your friend for saving your lives.”

  With no words, they jumped to their feet and ran away as quickly as they could.

  Nariel then turned to Alec and Oren. “What to do with you?”

  “You let them go.”

  “I did, but you are not like them, commander.”

  With a chuckle, Alec shrugged. “I truly never thought an archon would call me a commander, even as a jest.”

  Nariel was about to answer, but then in a burst of fire, he disappeared, fear in his eyes.

  Oren and Alec looked at each other. “What happened?” Oren finally broke the silence.

  “Gods know, and they won’t tell,” Alec snarkily replied. “We should go.”

  “Where?”

  “Beria. I have friends there, and I can assure you the imps do not know of them.” He turned to face north. “The caravan is now our only hope. If they aren’t surrounded by imps, we can ask for help.”

  Oren did not object, even though the idea of seeing Nika and Rin again made his blood boil, his mind was troubled with something else.

  After traversing through the forest, avoiding the old road, they peaked out from behind the trees to see Nika’s camp; everyone was packing and getting ready to continue. Oren and Alec were in luck, and so, with haste, they ran into the tall grass of the field.

  They reached it in time, the warm afternoon sun still above their heads. Oren could not at all imagine the fit of rage Nika went through having to leave so late.

  Just as they walked to one of the carriages, they were approached by Nika’s remaining guards. “Who are you?” one asked.

  “My name is Alec. Your leader knows who I am.” The guards looked at him, assessed him from head to toe. One of them growled something and went to fetch Nika while the other stayed and watched them.

  “I don’t care what he said!” Nika’s high-pitched shouting suddenly echoed through the air. He looked over, back at the guard and threw his arms in the air. “Fine! By the Gods!” Hiding by the carriage, Oren watched the stunted bald man run towards them, holding what a piece of stale bread.

  When he finally came before them, he had to push the guard away as he blocked his view, his eyes went to Alec right away. “Is this true?” he asked.

  “It is,” Alec replied, smiling. “Far too long since I last saw you, my friend.”

  “I thought you dead.” Nika looked at him again, from head to toe and from toe to head. He shook his head in disbelief. “I must be dreaming.”

  Alec chuckled. “You are not. As much as I would love to talk further, my companion and I are pursued by the imperials. I must beg your help, two horses.”

  “Of course,” Nika replied. “Anything for you.” He turned to the guards. “Bring them the horses.” Yet as his gaze turned it landed right upon Oren. He froze and looked at him with hate. “Oren?” he said, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

  “He joined me,” Alec tried to explain. “A brave young man he is, stood before an archon.”

  Nika didn’t like Alec’s explanation, and with a frown, he said, “Explain what happened or go on foot.”

  “Nika, have some sense, is your hate for such a young boy really this great?”

  “It is no business of yours, commander. This brave young man as you put it stole something of great value.”

  Alec gave Nika a look, and just as he was about to retort, argue even further Oren found the answer before him. “I know that I stole that trinket!” he said. “I took it to anger you. After I was captured, I gate it to Alec, who stashed it somewhere in their hideout.”

  “He speaks the truth!” Alec announced loudly. “Vikar Ka Ner is our prisoner, and the gem rests in my chambers.”

  Nika shook his head. “Boy, you killed my men,” he said to Oren, “and you, commander, just said you’re being pursued by imperials!”

  Alec rolled his eyes. “The plan is set afoot. With the information we gained from the archon, we have all we need.”

  “Where is Efri?” Nika asked Oren and chuckled. “If all you said were true, this one wouldn’t be here, not without the girl.”

  While Alec and Nika continue arguing, Oren’s mind returned to thoughts about Efri. Ever since they appeared in the forests he could only think of her. He hated himself for abandoning her. Why did that gem transport him and Alec, and not Efri? He wished to return it to Nika but couldn’t bring himself to do so.

  He hoped the Imperials wouldn’t harm her, she stood behind Vikar after all. The thought made him sick, how could she have done that? Still, she was always smarter than he and just, as usual, he couldn’t be upset wi
th her. So many questions flew through his mind, so much uncertainty. He began to consider going back, risking his own freedom and life.

  A sound of swords being drawn broke him out of his thoughts. People were ready for a fight. Nika, Alec with his guards and even some members of the caravan, who overheard the loud debate.

  They had no time for that. “What are you doing?” Oren shouted and pleaded, “Let’s go on foot. We don’t need horses to get there.”

  “You’re going nowhere,” Nika retorted. “Neither of you.” Even though he spoke to Oren, his eyes were locked to Alec.

  Oren drew his sword. “I’m warning you, Nika.” His hand shook and so did the blade. “You lied about Efri, sent her to be sold as a slave! Don’t force my hand.”

  “Put the sword down son, you’ll hurt yourself.” He chuckled saying it. “You lived with Efri for years, and you didn’t stab her.” The joke earned a few chuckles but not one from Oren. He so despised people asking, insinuating that he and Efri were anything more than friends. He thought of her as his older sister, as family.

  “Don’t you dare even say her name.”

  Nika stepped towards him, Oren’s blade inches away from his neck. “Listen to me well, you little brat. Threaten me again, and I will find your precious Efri, and you can bet I’ll give her what you didn’t; I bet she really wanted, though. Then I will kill her, slowly. Because I’m nice, I’ll let you watch.” He smiled. “What do you think, Alec, how many imps are giving it to her right now?”

  Holding back tears, Oren clutched the hilt of the sword even stronger and thrust it just a few inches forward. The blade pierced Nika’s neck. “I warned you!” he shouted as he pulled it out. Blood spurted out, and some even reached Oren’s face.

  The moment afterward was serene, silent as if everything around him died, not just the bald man with a temper and a high voice. Gradually the severity of taking a life came to him. Nika would never breathe, never scold anyone again, but also he would never laugh, never say goodbye to his friends. Over and over Oren asked himself whether it was right, whether he deserved it.