Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1)
Page 1
Praise For Karen Hancock’s Novels:
The Light of Eidon
Karen Hancock has a gift for creating believable characters on harrowing spiritual quests. This adventure takes place in an imagined history that is sometimes eerie and foreign, sometimes startlingly familiar, but always thought-provoking. Plainly, this is the first book in a major new series.
-Kathy Tyers, author of the FIREBIRD Trilogy
Karen Hancock fits that small niche reserved for today’s finest novelists as she implants solid truth into words with which I can identify, words that fascinate and cut to the heart. The Light of Eidon is far more than a novel of fantasy or allegory-it is a word picture of the ancient struggle between Light and darkness.
-Hannah Alexander, author of Urgent Care and The Crystal Cavern
Arena
“Hancock’s intense debut is an excellent … contribution to the genre…. If this book is any indication, the future should be bright for this promising novelist.”
-Publisher’s Weekly
“Good contemporary Christian allegory is rare, but this first-time novelist delivers an engrossing, well-paced contribution to the genre…. The genuinely enthralling mix of adventure, romance, and vivid imagery fused with spirtual symbolism invites readers to lose themselves in Hancock’s imaginary world.”
-Christianity Today
“In evangelical fiction’s best science fiction of the year, Hancock works out a progression of faith by trial somewhat like Pilgrim’s Progress. But she departs from the conventions of allegory to draw her characters in depth, and the flora and fauna of her and alien landscape are carefully thought through.”
-Booklist Top Ten Christian Novels 2002
A classic in the making for the modern era …”
-Library Journal
Books by Karen Hancock
Arena
LEGENDS OF THE GUARDIAN-KING
The Light of Eidon
The Shadow Within
Shadow Over Kiriath
Return of the Guardian-King
KAREN HANCOCK graduated in 1975 from the University of Arizona with bachelor’s degrees in Biology and Wildlife Biology. Along with writing, she is a semi-professional watercolorist and has exhibited her work in a number of national juried shows. She, her husband, and their son, whom Karen homeschooled for eight years, reside in Arizona.
For discussion and further information, Karen invites you to visit her Web site at www.kmhancock.com.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every good gift comes from above.
I consider it an awesome gift that the Lord has seen fit to put this book into print, and I know that apart from Him, it never could have happened. Whatever talent, ability, time, energy, training, and insights I might have used to produce it have all come from Him. Part of that provision has been the many people He has used to help me along the way, both in the writing and in making a way for it to be published. Thank you …
First and foremost, to Robert B. Thieme Jr., under whose ministry I studied when this book was begun, and to Robert R. McLaughlin, under whose ministry I study now. Their faithful study and teaching of the Word of God have produced the lifeblood of my spiritual growth and enabled the function of my gift. Apart from the inculcation of the Word of God, I’d have given up long ago and would have little to say.
Second, to my husband, Stuart, who started the whole thing rolling with his suggestion that I write a book, who supported me all along the way, and who has given me the precious gift of time in which to write.
To my dear friends, Nancy Belt, Donna Henley, and Kelli Nolan, whose unswerving devotion to our Lord and His Word have been a refreshment and encouragement more times than I can count. I stand in awe to have been blessed with friends like you.
To Kathy Tyers, who has traveled this writing road with me from the beginning. Your gifts of encouragement, comradeship, and critical evaluation have been invaluable-to say nothing of the doors you have opened for me!
To Steve Laube, for courage, commitment, and vision. And to Karen Schurrer, for insightful editing and an unwaveringly gracious attitude. You have both been a joy to work with.
Thanks to all the folks at Bethany House: Carol, Steve, Dave, Brett, Teresa, Jeanne, Alison, Joel, and the many others who are part of the team. I am amazed by and deeply grateful for all the work you do.
Thanks to Brandilyn Collins, Karlene Price, and Randi Durham for your gracious efforts in getting the word out on Arena; and to all the others who have given away copies and urged their friends to read it. You are the best marketers in the world.
Special thanks to the many readers who send me letters or e-mails. Your kind words, prayers, and encouragement are priceless.
And, finally, to those who have helped me with this book along the way, both knowingly and unknowingly, from critiquing to encouragement to agenting to advising to providing example: Wanda June Alexander, Donna Joy Boxerman, Liz Danforth, Deanna Durbin, Suzanne Farris, Roberta Gellis, Robert Herder, Dean Koontz, Adele Leone, Jeanette Ratzlaff, Linda Smith, Mike Stackpole, Edward Willett. Thank you. It’s been a long road, and I have not forgotten your kindnesses.
And Eidon said to them,
“I will grant you my Light by the blood of my Son, and it will dwell in your hearts and give you Life.
Through my Light will you know me.
Through my Light will I shield and bless you.
Through my Light will you stand against the Shadow.
Reach out, therefore, and close your hand upon it, that you may be made alive, and My Power become yours.”
-From the Second Word of Revelation Scroll of Amicus
GUARDIANS
OF THE
HOLY FLAMES
PART OnE
C H A P T E R
1
“Why do we serve the Flames?”
“To ward the realm from Shadow.”
“Why must we guard our purity?”
“To keep the Flames strong and bright.”
They sat cross-legged on the barge cabin’s single, narrow bunk, facing each other-Novice and discipler-their voices alternating in a steady rhythm of question and answer that had gone unbroken for nearly an hour. Since the noon prayer service they had been reviewing the six codices of the First Guardian Station, codices Eldrin must know tomorrow for the final test of his novitiate. He had long since learned them so well he could answer without hesitation, but he didn’t mind the repetition. Right now it was just the sort of superficial mental occupation he needed to keep his thoughts off … other things.
“What is the source of the Shadow?” asked his discipler, one bony, inkstained finger pressed to the page of the open catechism in his lap.
“The arrogance of Moroq conceived it,” Eldrin replied. “The passions of the flesh sustain it.”
“Who is Moroq?”
“The dark son of Eidon and Lord Ruler of the rhu’ema. The Adversary. No man can stand against him, save One.”
`And that One is?”
“Sidon, Lord of Light, Creator of All, Defender of Man. Soon may he come, and swift be his judgment.”
The rhythm ended, and the silence that filled the void after it made Eldrin’s ears ring. He noticed the heat again, the sweat trickling down his chest beneath his wool tunic, the stifling mantle of his long, unbound hair weighing on his back. A fitful breeze danced through the high, open portal in the bulkhead, carrying the river’s dank odor and a disharmonious chorus of voices from the crowds on its bank. Thunder rumbled out of the distance.
Anxiety, held at bay by the long recitation, came oozing back. Soon they would be docking, dise
mbarking, and marching up to the temple to begin the long ritual that would end with his initiation as a Guardian of the Holy Flames. Or not, if things went badly.
His discipler, Brother Belmir, smiled at him over small, round spectacles. “Flawless, as usual. Shall we do another?”
“I defer to your judgment, Brother.” Eldrin uncrossed his legs and recrossed them in opposite order, wincing as feeling tingled back.
“We’ll do a random selection, then.” Belmir leafed through the catechism, yellowed pages just brushing the slender gray braid that dangled over his shoulder. He was a small, birdlike man, all bones and angles, with a deeply lined face and shrewd gray eyes behind the spectacles. He wore the four gold cords of his station at his left wrist and, at his throat, the ruby amulet all Guardians were granted upon acceptance into the Holy Brotherhood of the Mataio.
Tomorrow Eldrin should receive an amulet of his own.
It was a day he had anticipated for eight long years; now the closer it got, the more uneasy he became. What if he walked up to the lip of the great bronze brazier tomorrow and the Flames rejected him?
From the beginning people said he would fail. He came from a family of soldiers and kings, not peacemakers-purveyors of death and destruction, not healing. As heads of state, as commanders of armies, even with their own hands, his antecedents had spilled the blood of thousands. How dared he presume Eidon might overlook that?
“You can’t renounce your blood, boy,” Brother Cyril had rasped at him in the Watch library the night before they’d left for Springerlan. The words had cycled through his mind ever since, eroding his confidence. Was he unfit? Was it only the infamous Kalladorne will-and pride-that had brought him this far? Were his recent, unsettling dreams, and the growing uneasiness they birthed, Eidon’s way of warning him off? Or were they simply products of his own fear, a dread that he would fail even in this?
“Eldrin?”
Belmir had resumed the catechism and was waiting for an answer. Eldrin flushed. “I beg your pardon, Brother. Could you repeat the question?”
Belmir lifted a bushy brow, then softly closed the book and removed his glasses. “I think we’ll stop with the codices for now. Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”
The heat in Eldrin’s face mounted. Was I that obvious? He stared at his worn leather satchel lying on the floor by the bunk and groped for words.
“I’ve been … thinking about the Test,” he said finally.
`And?”
He made himself look at the older man. “Is it true that if I approach the Flames unworthily, I might-“
“Unworthily? Sweet fires aloft, Eldrin? Surely you don’t believe yourself unworthy?” His eyes narrowed. “Is this what Cyril said to you in the library the night before we left?”
“How did you know about Brother Cyril?”
Belmir shook his head, ignoring the question. “I’m surprised at you, Eldrin. Cyril’s been babbling that `tainted blood’ nonsense for years, and you’ve never given it a thought. Why now, all of a sudden?”
Because in forty-eight hours I’m going to prove once and for all which of us is right?
“He’s probably realized how far his prediction was off,” Belmir continued, “and hopes to scare you into quitting. I doubt he’ll admit he’s wrong even after you’ve embraced the Flames and received your Calling. He can be as stubborn as a rusty hinge.”
“He said my House is cursed,” Eldrin murmured. “That I’ll go mad if I attempt the Flames.”
Belmir frowned, and for a moment Eldrin expected another outburst on Cyril’s many shortcomings. Then the stern look softened and the older man shook his head. “There is no curse, Eldrin. It’s true there was antagonism between your family and the Mataio once, but that is decades past.” He snorted softly. “If Eidon wanted you out, do you think you’d still be here? Believe me, I didn’t make it easy for you. The injustice, the abuse, the unreasonable demands-you took it all. Never lost your temper, never refused an order, never gave up. You’ve amazed me, frankly. And I must say I’ve never had a Novice more prepared or more devoted to Eidon than you are. Don’t doubt yourself, son. Truth be told-“
A thunder of footfalls followed by the appearance of a first-year Novice in the doorway interrupted him. “Brother Belmir? Haverallans have come from the Keep, asking for you and Brother Eldrin.”
“Haverallans?” Belmir frowned at the boy, closing the book. “What could they want?”
When did we dock? Eldrin wondered. Had he been so engrossed in his problems he hadn’t noticed?
Belmir set the heavy catechism aside and got up to lift their woolen mantles from the hook by the door, tossing Eldrin’s into his lap. “Make sure you pull up the cowl. We’ll have to cross the open deck, and there’s sure to be a crowd.”
“Aye, there’s a crowd,” the boy assured them. “Even before we entered the city, people were lining up along the riverbanks. They’re on barges and rooftops and all the bridges. And the square is packed.”
“Wonderful,” Eldrin murmured, shrugging on the mantle as he followed Belmir into the passageway.
This was the last stop before trip’s end some two leagues yet downriver. Here, at Springerlan’s outer edge, they were to pick up the thirty-six attendants required for the coming Procession, four for each of the nine Initiates already on board.
All thirty-six were milling on deck as Eldrin and Belmir stepped into the bright afternoon sunlight and pressed toward the barge’s stern cabin. Risking a glance shoreward, Eldrin saw that their vessel was one of many moored along the walled, railed riverbank. A crane clanked and squealed as it lifted a half-ton hogshead from a neighboring barge to shore. Those who manned the machine were not working at full capacity, hampered as much by their own curiosity as by the crowd that jammed the square beyond them.
With a sigh, Eldrin ducked his head. The notion of traveling unnoticed hadn’t seemed unreasonable at first. Being two feet taller now and eight years older, and with his blond hair grown to his waist, he looked nothing like the boy he’d been. Nor the soldier-prince his family would’ve made him. After years of being out of the public eye, who was likely to recognize him?
Apparently anyone who’d ever laid eyes on his now deceased father, King Meren, or any of the other Kalladornes-which seemed to be everyone. In every city along the river a crowd had awaited him or had gathered soon after his arrival to gawk and whisper in his wake. Not simply idlers, but farmers, merchants, craftsmen, their wives and children-people with other things to do. Yet they turned out in ever increasing numbers the closer he got to Springerlan, as if they regarded him as someone important-when he hadn’t even been that as a prince.
The barge’s stern cabin, considerably larger than Eldrin’s sleeping cubicle, was cool and dimly lit. Four men awaited them, dark silhouettes against the pale light sneaking in around curtained windows.
Eldrin stopped just inside the door as Belmir crossed the room and bowed. “Glory to Eidon, and praise,” he murmured.
“May his Flames burn forever,” one of the strangers intoned. His voice was rich and musical, the kind of voice you took notice of.
They conferred quietly, and as Eldrin’s eyes adjusted he examined the newcomers with interest. One was tall and blond and garbed in the brown habit of a Novice initiate, though he was much older than the norm for that station; the other three wore the pale mantles and long, thick pigtails of full Guardians. Only by their rank cords could one discern their exalted status as members of the Order of St. Haverall, the most elite in all the Mataio.
The conversation ended. Sighing resignedly, Belmir turned to Eldrin. “I’m afraid you won’t be participating in the Procession,” he said.
Eldrin wondered if he had heard right.
“The High Father feels you’ll be safer entering the city anonymously,” his discipler added.
Safer? Safer from what?
Belmir gestured at the other men. “Brother Rhiad and his companions will escort you.”
But the High Father’s mandates carried the weight of a command from Eidon himself-so clearly, Eldrin had little choice.
He glanced unhappily at the one Belmir called Rhiad. A handsome man, his sharp features were softened by large brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. Silver-threaded black hair fell in a fat braid to his waist, and he wore more cords of rank than Eldrin could casually count. Seven or eight at least.
The Haverallan addressed him gravely. “Springerlan is in turmoil right now-warring factions, riots, worker uprisings. It’s been like this for weeks. The river sectors have always been the worst for that, as you must know, and the Procession cuts right through them. Granted, the king’s men are out in force today, but given the size of the crowds and the rumors concerning the political significance of your return … well, we thought it better to be discreet.”
Political significance of my return? What is going on?
Rhiad did not elaborate. Instead he held out a gray mantle similar to what he and his Guardian companions wore. As Eldrin shrugged off his own mantle and replaced it with the gray one, the holy man continued. “We’ll have to pass through the crowd to reach our coach. Make sure you keep your head down.” He paused to study Eldrin intently, then added, “If anything does go wrong, you must do precisely as I command. No questions, no hesitation. Can you do that?”
Eldrin nodded.
Rhiad pulled up his cowl, his face disappearing into its depths. His companions did likewise, and the three of them herded Eldrin back out to the bright afternoon. The fourth man-the too-old Novice-stayed behind.
As they stepped onto the gangplank Eldrin had his first clear look at the square. Somber-tunicked commoners stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the barge. Others hung out windows or clung to the warehouse roofs. He saw no women or children among them.