Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

“Where would they live? What would they eat? Who would take of them?” argued Vikar, his eyes teary. “I gave them a quick death, free of suffering. Same goes for the rest.” He took a deep breath, regaining some of his composure. “What I did was wrong, I know as much, and I paid for that. I underestimated the logistics, I did not inform myself. There were plans to supply Beria with food, still at a later date, about two weeks, if I had asked fewer people would die.”

  Efri was not given an opportunity to reply as their conversation was cut short. From a spark of light, a letter appeared before Vikar.

  Looking at Morael, he grabbed it and opened it. “I am summoned to the capital.” He handed it to Morael, who inspected not the letter but the seal.

  “Go,” the prince said. “Take the guards with you. I am in no need of them.”

  Vikar nodded and stood up. Yet before he left, he leaned down just beside Efri’s left ear. “We shall finish our discussion soon,” Vikar said. “I am sorry.” Then, with the utmost speed, he ran out the door.

  “Don’t ask,” said the prince. “He’ll tell you eventually.”

  Efri woke up wearing nothing but her underwear. Through her head coursed the many drinks, she and Morael shared the night before. Her stomach ached. Even then, like every other morning, she walked right to the window to bask in the sunlight. Stretching her arms, feeling stiffness in her back, she looked out, and only then the reality returned to her. The night before, she spent drinking with the crown prince of the Eternal Empire. She exhaled through her nose, amused.

  Morael’s sleeping position was particularly interesting as his long legs stretched far beyond the edge of the bed and the way he managed to wrestle with his blanket, so he ended up holding it as if he wished to choke it, made Efri chuckle. A'stri only hugged her pillow and occasionally cuddle up to it.

  While she waited for them to wake up, she put most of her clothes back on, as she refused to sleep in it, and with the beer and ale, her modesty left her as they went to sleep.

  Then Morael woke up, and A'stri was not far behind. Right away, full of energy, Morael announced, “Time to get moving. We shouldn’t stay here for long.”

  “It’s almost noon,” said Efri with a smirk. “We already stayed for long.”

  Morael’s eyes pierced her. He rushed to the window and looked. “Why did we not wake earlier?” he asked in a hopeless whisper.

  “No clock, no servants, and a lot of alcohol.” Joked Efri as she laughed, seeing Morael panic over such a mundane thing.

  “You did have a lot to drink Morael,” A'stri spoke up. “I was surprised.”

  He eyed her. “You don’t know me! What if I am a drunkard?”

  “I can tell a drunkard when I see one,” she said with a chuckle. “You are not one.”

  Morael didn’t reply, just laughed and shrugged. The moment was beyond surreal for Efri. Morael Vi Dera, the future emperor of the Eternal Empire of Sesteria, stood before her in his shorts joking about being a drunkard. If only Oren could see that.

  Suddenly a knock on the door grabbed everyone’s attention. Startled, A'stri jumped from her bed. “Your Majesty, may I enter?” the voice of the innkeeper came through.

  “Come on in,” Morael replied, gesturing to A'stri and Efri to hide behind him. He snapped his fingers, and the lock clicked, allowing the innkeeper to enter.

  He walked in, his clothes all covered in blood. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I must ask for your help.”

  “What has happened?” asked Morael, in his hands glowed crimson-gold light. “Speak quickly.”

  The innkeeper forced a smile and walked closer to them. “Come morning, when all were sleeping, a woman came in asking about you, Your Imperial Majesty. I refused to say but in the end I was not given a choice.”

  “Who’s blood is that?”

  With eyes full of tears, his knees shaking, the innkeeper replied. “My wife’s. She forced me, her magic I could not resist!” he cried out. “I beg you, please help.”

  “Look at me,” Morael commanded, and the man looked him straight in the eyes. Efri leaned forward to see, his eyes were dark purple. He touched his temple but quickly pushed him away. “This is wrong,” he murmured. “Whoever is down there wields impossible magic.”

  “Impossible magic?” Efri wondered to herself.

  “Innkeeper,” Morael said before stepping out the door. “What is her name?” Casually he pointed to Efri.

  The old man looked at him, his eyes full of tears. “How does that matter, Your Majesty?”

  “Answer the question.” Morael’s voice was stern, commanding. Not once since they met, Efri saw that side of him.

  With a growl, the innkeeper sat down onto the floor. “At least someone knows how to pay attention.” His voice changed and he started clapping. “This is gonna be so much fun, I’m gonna watch from the bleachers,” he said grinning ear to ear.

  “Is the innkeeper dead?”

  “Aye.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t let that animal live!”

  “Then it’s going to be quick.” Morael turned around. In a split second, his spear appeared beside him. With one movement of his hand, it buried its blade in the false innkeeper.

  Yet even with the golden weapon lodged into his skull, he opened his mouth, revealing several sets of teeth and a long spiked tongue.

  “You will lose!” it shouted in an echoing and crackling voice. “Your reign is over.”

  Morael grabbed his, or its, head and held it with both of his hands. “There is no magic that can withstand the light of the phoenix!” he shouted as the creature’s eyes burned with a crimson-gold glow.

  Finally, it fell to the ground, dead. Efri was about to sigh in relief, but the look on the prince’s face was of utter horror.

  Whispers and Liars

  With his feet back on the ground, Aelir looked to Arianna, grinning ear to ear. He let out a gust of air. Before she could reply and break the silence, the palace began to wake, and guards appeared beside them coming from a puff of crimson smoke.

  “Everything is alright,” Aelir sad, smiling. “Lady Arianna and I were examining new magic we have discovered in the library. I am sorry for alarming you.” The guard growled, and Aelir knew what it meant. His father was awake too.

  His suspicion proved correct when a flash of light flashed before them, and the emperor appeared, his eyes tired and glued to Aelir. “What was that?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “I lost control.” Aelir tried thinking of a lie; his father was not a proponent of trying untested spells. “That is all.”

  His father’s eyes looked straight into his; he knew. “Is that so?” he asked and grabbed Aelir’s hand, pulling it up. The golden runes were clear as day. “No words can express how dangerous what you did was. Not just for you but for the palace and the city as a whole!”

  “What did I do?” Aelir looked to his hands also. “Were you not the one who taught me that there is no magic our dynasty cannot control?”

  Alric sighed. “You know I meant tested magic, shown to you by the Book.” Just as he looked away, allowing his eyes to rest, Aelir saw fear hidden in there. It was no ordinary fright, whatever Aelir did was far more serious than his father let on.

  “Come with me,” he commanded and started walking towards the palace.

  “I am sorry,” Aelir whispered to Arinna. She smiled at him and gave him a nod.

  His father led him to the library, where his late-night adventure began. Through the main hall and then to their family’s wing. All the way, Aelir felt a strange aura in the air; his father was upset, upset, and afraid.

  In the library’s center, on a pedestal of gold, was the Book of Areon. Surrounded by four pillars reaching the high ceiling.

  They approached it. “Why are we here?” Aelir asked, but his father did not reply. He grabbed his hand, with greater force than Aelir was used to, and placed it on the cover of the book.

  The runes around his wrists lit up, creating two gold circles around his hands
. “What you have awoken is an ancient power, the likes of which were never wielded by anyone but Areon himself.”

  “Impossible.”

  “The book you read was written by a madwoman, an archon who gazed into the Book and saw things she was never meant to see, things hidden away from all eyes. From the pieces that remained in her shattered mind, she wrote that book.” He shook his head. “There is a reason I put a warning on the cover. You should have heeded it.”

  Aelir was not satisfied with his explanation. “I have read this book more times than anyone.” He looked at the thick golden tome. “You made sure of that. There is not a word about any of this.”

  “Sometimes, you really do not listen to me, Aelir. There are many secrets hidden away from those who are not worthy.” Alric replied and opened the book only a hundred or so pages from the end. “Look.”

  There, the pages that once were blank were now full of text. Aelir came closer and quickly skimmed through the page. It spoke of a long lost power, shining light of gold. Before he could finish, Alric closed it.

  “There was no warning,” whispered Aelir. “The book looked untouched, almost as if it were new.” Alric rolled his eyes, ready to argue and scold him yet again. “Look.” Aelir’s outstretched his hand and into it flew the book from all across the library.

  Just as he said, there was no warning, only the silver cover polished and brand new.

  He handed it to Alric, who had a few words for him. “I shall inspect further.” With the book he left/

  On the rise of the second day, Aelir was awoken not by the chirping of birds, nor the shining sun but the sound of panic as someone bashed on his chamber’s door. He jumped up and from outside, heard the familiar voice of Callir. “Master, please wake!” he said with utmost urgency.

  “Come in!” Aelir shouted back. Running around his chamber, he gazed out of the window to wholly awake for his eyes were still tired after the night before.

  His personal attendant stood there in front of him, looking down at the floor. While something was amiss, Callir was unable to hide the sincerely innocent smile Aelir liked him for. “Your Majesty, I apologize for such an interruption, but—.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Archon of Trisicia has returned.” Callir looked at the prince, his eyes full of fear and uncertainty. “His excellency was injured in battle.”

  Aelir looked at him, tilting his head. No. Surely that could not be right. Arguing with himself only brought reality quicker. When all doubts were gone, with the utmost haste, he jumped up. “Where?” he asked, taking off his nightgown.

  “The infirmary.”

  As he was about to run out of his chamber, he bumped into his father. “I see you were informed.” The old emperor said.

  Aelir nodded. “Who did it?” Alric shook his head and shrugged. “What will we do then? Nariel, do not forget, is an archon of the Empire. His power cannot come into question. If it does, people will begin to doubt even our strength.” He lowered his voice. “Nobody should possess the power to even touch him.”

  “Morael took care of the attacker.” Alric’s voice was strangely devoid of any emotion. It was so unlike him, even if at times harsh, his father was never cruel, never so indifferent.

  Hearing the name of his royal brother made Aelir’s heart skip a beat. “Where is he? Why is he not with Nariel?”

  “I summoned the other archons. They are to arrive come noon. Join us in the council chamber. Until then, heed my command and do not see Nariel. Stay in your, or walk the gardens, as you always do, and wait until they arrive.”

  Aelir didn’t understand. Was that man his father? “Father?” he questioned.

  “Save it,” Alric spat his words. “Not everything is about your dear feelings. Act like a man for once. Nariel was injured, he will be treated. Your whining is the last thing he needs right now!” With those words, his father left the chamber.

  The door close shut with a loud thump, leaving Aelir in his chamber with Callir. He glanced at his attendant. “Leave Calli,” he said. “I shan’t be needing your services today.”

  “Are you alright, sir?” The boy looked at him, concerned but still smiling. “I can remain if that is your wish.”

  Aelir shook his head. “Go. I shall do as my dear father commands and wait for the others.”

  Once Callir was gone, Aelir fell onto his bed. Were those truly the words of his father? He tried to twist the words, find meaning, but he was unable to. Whichever perspective it took, he couldn’t see it as anything but cruelty.

  With a sigh, he allowed his tears to flow. Perhaps Alric’s words were veracious; he was good for nothing, a child that cries and whines.

  With hours passing, Aelir’s tears ran dry. There was still time, he looked to the clock on his wall, almost two hours.

  He buttoned his cloak and fixed his hair. Thinking of Nariel made him smile, feel better. The archon and he became friends so long ago, never would either of them dare to betray the other. Often he thought of him as a brother for his true brother, Morael, was so unlike him. An adventurous fool, he called him. While Nariel shared his fondness of flowers and greenery, Morael was more concerned with magic and the world.

  Now even his father, the one who held the two brothers together, changed. Aelir was worried about him.

  So for not a minute longer, he would wait to hear the truth. Whatever his father’s commands were, he was going to see Nariel.

  The infirmary was proper ten minutes of walking away, but Aelir had a trick up his sleeve. For once, the time spent in the library paid off.

  To himself, he whispered three words in the song-like language of old sesteria, it was a simple spell but so very useful, his entire body disappeared in a sharp flash of light.

  Then, not even a second later, he appeared in the hall leading to the infirmary. He walked to the door. There were no guards, the entire hallway was empty. Yet before he could open the door, from within he heard a loud shout. It was the voice of his father.

  It crackled and echoed, “My patience is gone, Nariel. Tell me the truth or suffer the consequences.”

  “Your Majesty, I have told you all there is to say. I do not know who the attacker was, nor do I know who Morael is traveling with,” Nariel argued in low, pain-filled voice.

  First, a silence. Nobody said a word. Not Nariel, not Alric. Then a scream so terrible it made Aelir’s knees weak pierced the silence. What he heard next made him sick, his head spin, and tears work their way back to his eyes.

  “Please stop! I am not lying Your Majesty!” It was Nariel, screaming, begging for mercy. “Kill me if you do not trust me! Just kill me, drive a sword through my sword if you doubt my eternal, unquestioned loyalty!”

  The screaming stopped. “You know I cannot do that,” Alric’s smooth voice replied. “There are still things I wish to ask you, Archon of Tristicia.” He laughed. “Besides, my son is fond of you. We wouldn’t want little Aelir to be sad, would we? He has shed so many tears already.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Do not speak to him,” Alric commanded. “He has done something astonishingly ignorant. If he speaks to you, cite his actions as the reason why you refuse to engage him. Understood?”

  Battling his emotions, Aelir wished to be somewhere else, to escape the voices, the terrible screams. On the other hand, he wanted to blast the door open and strangle his father.

  Suddenly the runes on his wrists lit up, and light surrounded him. It was calming, like a warm blanket. With a smile, it sent him away.

  Sun. Birds singing. Aelir appeared in the garden, right beside the small lake where he and Nariel planned to spend a day together. He had hoped to repeat it, to fulfill his promise, while Nariel heals, but after what he heard, he knew it would be so.

  Inspecting his wrists, he found the runes lightless. Any other day he would be ecstatic to study this unknown power further, but in that moment, he accepted its help.

  The garden was empty. The wind caressed
the green lush trees, bushes and forced the cooler air towards him. He smiled, closed his eyes, and let it run through his ashen hair, touching his cheeks. “What should I do?” he whispered to himself.

  With enough time before noon Aelir set out on a calm, slow stroll through the gardens. He smelled the blooming flowers and watered them with a mere thought.

  Passing under a tree, he grabbed a beautiful red apple. It was his favorite, Archon’s Chosen; they called it, sour and sweet.

  It seemed like no time had passed at all when he finished his short stroll. To his surprise, he walked just to where he wanted to be. Near an old bench overlooking the lake.

  Often he and Morael came there. It was where, in each other’s arms, they mourned the loss of their mother. Since then, it became sacred to them, a place where they could forget about the world and just be themselves.

  It was the first time Aelir sat there, looking at the calm lake, without Morael beside him. Yet only a moment later, a voice of a merrier mind reached his ear. Across the pond, two children, nets in hand, were chasing after a blue butterfly.

  He watched them with a smile. So many happy memories he shared with Morael there. Even if they were different, strange, complete opposites of each other, Morael was his brother, and he loved him no less.

  Yet again, he wished to cry, but this time his tears were not an evil but a reminder of the love that surrounded him.

  Aelir wished noon would never come, but it did and quicker than he realized. If only he could spend days sitting in that garden, watching children play, but it was not meant to be.

  With sun high up on the sky, he returned back to the palace.

  On his way, he paid little mind to the statues, the painting, and everything else. All that was on his mind was a hope for an explanation, hope that he will understand what his father did and why he did it.

  With reluctance, he took the golden phoenix-shaped handle and pushed, and the door open. Little love his brother, and he had for the massive chamber. The cold walls, the stone table, and the constant smell of war and death. Not ever either of them came there willingly.