Darkness Falling: Soldiers and Slaves

by R. R. Willica

  Great civilizations were born, and prosperity once again flourished. Unfortunately, the temptation of power took hold in the hearts of the Akar and the Tethselan. Viewing themselves superior to those weak in the use of energy, they began to war for supremacy. Watching the turmoil with pleasure, Glavik once more attempted to gain control.

  Two more souls were claimed by Syerset to restore the Balance.

  The Tethselan, deformed and twisted by their own magic, fled into isolation. The Akar remained, foolishly believing they were capable of avoiding further corruption. There was no end to the reach of the Darkness.

  Wishing to build an Empire, but bound by the restraints of Syerset, the Akar began to act as advisers to a group of Ekar who called themselves the Named Clans. Influencing the powerful men of the tribal people, the Akar hid among Ekaran society to achieve their goals.

  * * *

  Wini paused in her tale, glancing at her enthralled listeners. “The Dreave, a people born from the union of Akar and Ekar, wished to have the continent for themselves. The Ekar were just beginning to unite as a single people. They were in need of assistance because the Dreave were far stronger in energy use than the Ekar.

  “Ta'Delan Tei Morset, the last of the Ta dynasty, was killed on the field of battle. The ensuing battles were akin to genocide rather than war. Ny Effilan was a daughter of a powerful general. It was she who led the people away from the chaos, but I was the one who guided her here.”

  There was a long silence. Winifred gave her companions time to process everything they had been told. Their world had been bereft of myths, legends, and even much of history. Although she had simplified it as best she could, she wouldn’t be surprised if they found it impossible to believe.

  “Are you immortal?” Mikal asked at last.

  Wini smiled. “No, we are just far longer lived than the Ekar. I was born during the reign of Sa Taren Sei'Toret, son of Sa Toret who first united the Named.”

  “Wait,” Alta said shaking her head. “This year is 1048. Didn't the calendar start counting when Sa Toret was crowned King?”

  “That's right,” Wini felt very old. “One hundred years of our life is similar to ten years of your life. We grow and age very slowly. It is the gift granted us by Syerset's will. I was a young woman when Na Efflian fled the armies of the Dreave.”

  “What happened to the Dreave?” Gegen asked.

  The boy lay flat on his stomach, head propped on his hands.

  “The Dreave are now the Enforcers, or what is left of them. It was my cousin Petor and my brother who eventually lead the Ekar north once more and overthrew the unnamed, shackling them into slavery. It was the beginning of the Empire we know today.”

  Wini's eyes turned toward the stain glass window inlaid above the door to the Consular. Her youth had taught her the painful lessons of why the Akar were not meant to meddle in the affairs of the Ekar.

  “If this is the city of the Akar, then where is everyone?” Mikal looked around as if he half expected more people to appear through the walls.

  Wini swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. “They are all dead, murdered by my cousin, Petor Garinsith, and my brother Fredrick, in their desire for power. Only the three of us remain.”

  “We came here so that you could stop your cousin,” Alta stated flatly.

  “Nothing can stop Petor except for death, I know that now, but that is not the reason. The signs of Glavik's imminent return to the world have been mounting. Petor has sought to create an imbalance since our youth in order to draw Syerset out and claim its power as his own.

  “This city was built to protect against the darkness. From here I am better equipped to protect the innocent. Anyone seeking the Light can find sanctuary here.”

  Mikal and Alta exchanged a glance, not fully understanding but inspired by the sentiment.

  “Do you think more people will come?” Alta looked toward the door expectantly.

  “I hope so,” Wini said sadly, but did not allow herself to be overcome by her worries. “We've rested enough. Let's move to the apartments. It will be more comfortable there.”

  * * *

  Impyra emerged from a warm bath and dressed in new clothes; a heavy gray woolen sweater which appeared to be knitted by hand and the jeans were lined with soft flannel. She was also given pair of new boots. All of the clothing was donated, they learned. The people of Renenoors were resourceful and not as loyal to the Empire as the Ekarans were lead to believe. Slaves who were able to escape their masters often fled to Renenook in search of freedom in the Far Lands, and Virikoor’s house was one stop along the way.

  In the main room, Virikoor and Brosen were hunched over the table. An old yellowing map was spread before them. Impyra sat across from them, her eyes tracing the lines and looping, elegant script of Renenoors writing.

  “This road 'ere,” Virikoor pointed to a solid red line. “Don't go that way.” He jabbed at the paper to enforce the importance of his advice. “It's th'most direct route, but it's full o'check points.”

  Brosen nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “This here,” Virikoor indicated a dashed red line instead. “It's longer, but mostly through forest an' not a lot o'people go that way. It's safer. Quiet.”

  “What's this?” Impyra indicated a strange doodle that looked like a tree.

  “That's probably not there anymore,” Virikoor sighed. “Empire cut it down.”

  Impyra looked at it, feeling a strange connection to the tiny icon without knowing why. “What was it?”

  “A tree, important to Renenook; Viynoofen, it was called.” Soorina said from over her shoulder. “My gran spoke of it when I was young.”

  “We'll go right passed it.” Impyra said to Brosen.

  “If it's there, we'll stop,” he said, understanding without being told.

  “This road'll take you high up in th'mountains. Here,” he pointed to the very edge of the paper, “is Doonrok's Fall. Th'road goes past, see? There's a bridge o're the river here. On th’other side is where you'll find th'road to the Far Lands. But be careful, the road’s a loop, see?” he traced the line farther north before it turned back toward the east and the sea.

  “If we miss the turn we'll be heading back into the Empire,” Brosen repeated to show he understood.

  “Right,” Virikoor smiled, placing his hands on his hips.

  “The river might be frozen over. Is Doonrok's Fall easy to see?” Impyra asked, wishing it was on the map.

  “Oh yes,” Soorina nodded. “It's a giant waterfall.”

  “Now, I'll show you th'vehicle.”

  Virikoor lead them out the door. Next to the house was a small garage. He opened it to reveal a motorcycle, but it was not what either of them was expecting. The front wheel had been replaced with large ski, and the back wheel was more like a series of gears held together in a tread.

  “Wow,” Brosen's face lit up as he admired the strange machine. “But, there's no way we can take your motorcycle.”

  “It's not ours,” Soorina said solemnly. “It's used to take people over the border, and left with our contact on th'other side.”

  “You mean it's donated?” Impyra asked, shocked.

  Virikoor nodded, “Aye, jus' like th’clothes an’ other supplies.” He reached up and pulled the garage door shut. “Back inside, we don't want th'authorities catchin' sight o'ya.”

  Back inside, they sat around the table to steaming mugs of tea.

  “The sun'll be settin' soon,” Soorina said quietly. “You two should get some sleep. We'll wake ya at midnight t'be off.” She nodded down the hallway. “Th'back room on th'left's got two beds, but if ya prefer to share we don't frown on it.”

  Impyra blushed, shocked at the insinuation. “We, uhm,” she stumbled over the words.

  “It's not like that,” Brosen said, coming to her rescue.

  “Oh,” Soorina blinked, surprised. “I'm sorry, I just assumed.”

  Virikoor cleared his thro
at and his wife took it as a signal to take a long drought from her mug.

  “I am pretty tired,” Impyra said draining the last of her tea. “I didn't sleep well last night.”

  “Me either,” Brosen agreed. “Thanks,” he put his mug on the table.

  “Good night,” Soorina smiled awkwardly.

  Brosen followed her down the hallway. The room was small and the beds were nearly touching despite each one being pushed against an opposing wall. Impyra took the bed beneath a small window with the blinds tightly drawn. Laying in the dark she listened to Brosen wriggling in the blankets to get comfortable.

  Traces of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds. This little house in the snow would be a good home. She hoped someday to have something similar for herself and wondered if Brosen had similar dreams. What would he do once they were free?

  Rolling on her side, she could see the outline of his shadow on the far wall. He was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Why do you think Soorina thought we'd share a bed?”

  He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, he spoke in a cautious tone.

  “It's just how people think. You see a man and woman traveling together; you just think they're a couple. We did that as Enforcers all the time.”

  “It's weird to assume things like that,” Impyra whispered.

  “Two kids on the ship asked me about it, too,” he said.

  “What?” Impyra laughed quietly at the idea.

  “Yeah, they asked if you were my wife.” Brosen shifted again, rolling to face her.

  She knew she wasn't ready for that type of situation. Xander had done terrible things to her for years. Brosen, however; was different. It was hard to imagine that a few days ago they hadn't known each other. She knew that he would never hurt her and that he would do anything to keep her safe, even if she didn't need his help. Beyond any doubt, she knew she could trust him. That was difficult to wrap her mind around.

  In the dark, the blue glow of his eyes was a comfort. Impyra smiled. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to fall asleep.

  * * *

  “Ouch!”

  Gleyth tried not to move as the seamstress pulled back on the pin.

  “I'm sorry, your highness,” she apologized, her voice shaking. “It's late and my eyes are tired.”

  “You should get some rest,” Gleyth suggested hopefully. “I can wear the dress from my celebration.”

  “Absolutely not,” Thella frowned from her seat on the bed, shaking her head slowly. “The wedding is less than twelve hours away. Your dress needs to be completed, and thankfully I’d had it started two seasons ago.”

  Gleyth knew it was hopeless. Everything must be as close to perfect as possible to make up for her attempt at social change. Within the Tower rumors spread quickly from one floor to the next. Some of them held truth, such as her attempt to usurp Xander. Others were farfetched, such as trying to leap from her window, mimicking the escaped slave girl.

  The most prominent truth, however; was her wish to break the marital contract. This was a disgraceful affront to Fei Arentey and the Fa. She didn't care, but her family must make amends as swiftly as possible.

  “Turn, please, your highness,” the seamstress said, twirling her finger in the air.

  Gleyth sullenly obeyed. From her new angle she was able to see herself in her mirror. The gown was beautiful; embodying everything a princess should represent. Silver fabric glittered softly in the lamplight of her room. The bodice was intricately beaded with tiny diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds; signifying in color the joining of two houses. A long train hemmed with lace trailed out behind her.

  All that was missing was a joyful bride happily embracing her destiny.

  Beyond her reflection she could also see the city in the mirror. Many of the buildings were dark. Heavy snows pulled power-lines down during the day. Gleyth knew it was unlikely anyone would be sent out to fix them. Perhaps it was better that she was being taken away from Rau'Tesche-Awn. Soon it would be nothing more than vacant ruins surrounding Empire Tower.

  “Mother,” Gleyth said quietly. “I'm tired. Isn't the dress good enough?”

  Thella stood, making a slow circuit around her daughter. The seamstress stood aside, sleepy eyes drooping as she waited for the verdict.

  “Very well,” Thella said.

  Grateful, the seamstress began unfastening the buttons at the back of the gown.

  “Tomorrow,” the Queen said firmly, “you will rise and bathe yourself. A light breakfast will be brought to you, and you will eat. You'll need your strength.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Gleyth sighed.

  “Once you've finished eating the ritual dressing shall begin. A full honor guard will escort you to the ceremony.” Thella bit her bottom lip. “They will be armed,” she added as an afterthought.

  Gleyth frowned.

  “Now, go to sleep. Good night.” Thella planted a single kiss on Gleyth's cheek.

  The seamstress dipped into a fast curtsey before following the Queen into the corridor. Behind them the door was closed and locked by the guard outside.

  Waiting to ensure they were gone, Gleyth scurried to pull a nightgown out from beneath her bed. It was the one she'd been wearing the night before. Holding it close to her face she caught the faint scent of Kevie on the fabric. She'd hidden it to prevent the slaves from carrying it away to be laundered, and after the day's events she was glad.

  Sliding it on over her head, Gleyth walked to her window to stare out at the dying city.

  In a few hours it would be midnight, her time as High Princess was coming to an end. She was surprised to discover a great sorrow growing within her heart. Yesterday she merely wished to do more for the world. Today she realized how little she meant to those who called themselves her family. The loneliness of her life was not imagined. She never understood exactly how alone she really was.

  * * *

  “Wake up,” Brosen whispered, shaking her shoulder gently.

  Impyra opened her eyes, stretching. “What time is it?”

  “Just after midnight,” he said. “It's time to go.”

  She sat up slowly, yawning. There was a nervous energy to the air.

  “Did something happen?” she asked.

  “No. Why?”

  Reaching out she could sense nothing different in the small house.

  “I was just worried,” she said after a moment.

  It must be Brosen's energy, she decided. He normally was a force of calm, even in tense situations. The tingle of anxiety that filled the room was unusual but understandable.

  He handed her the backpack. It was heavier than ever before, stuffed full of food and her old clothes. They walked quietly out into the main room, not wanting to wake the children. Warm coats, scarves, hats, and goggles were sitting on the table. Virikoor was standing in the darkness, staring out the window.

  “It's all clear,” he said.

  They began bundling up.

  “The goggles will keep your eyes warm and free of snow,” he explained. “Put the gloves on first before the coat. It will protect you from snow blowing up the sleeve.”

  Impyra tied the hood firmly under her chin before winding the scarf tightly around her mouth. The coat fit much better than the one given to her on The Water Skipper. Besides keeping them warm, the gear would also serve as a good disguise. Once their host was content that they would not freeze, the lead them out to the garage.

  Brosen took his place at the front of the motorcycle with Impyra behind him. Another pack had been secured to the back. It was a much larger machine than Brosen’s old bike had been.

  “As long as th'snow's not too deep and soft, you'll be able to move. Go off road if ya need, but top speed is not very fast. Goin’ slow will help keep ya warm, but it’s bad if ya have to run.” Virikoor said.

  “We'll do our best to stay out of sight,” Brosen assured him.

  “Th'road starts jus' up in those trees.”
He pointed to the west.

  “Thanks for everything,” Impyra said. “I hope Gilly makes it back soon.”

  Virikoor smiled. “He's a tough one,” he said. “Go now.”

  Brosen started the motorcycle and they pulled away from the house. Impyra waved one last time over her shoulder. This time she hoped her departure would not bring hardship upon those she left behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Coffee in hand, Dreger Lei'Orthra unlocked his laboratory to begin another day of work. His team was currently in the middle of cataloging all of the new microbes he found within the cell tissue of his infected test subjects. It was tedious, thankless work but he enjoyed it immensely. His assistants were less enthusiastic. Over the past few days, three assistants called in sick complaining of plague-like symptoms.

  Dreger found it absurd.

  Great precautions were taken to ensure the safety of his team. They all wore the proper protective gear and were inoculated with the most current vaccines. Dreger knew the truth, his young assistants were not interested in data analysis. Better to call in sick than spend another day staring through a microscope. Many young scientists were dazzled by the excitement of making life changing discoveries or inventing revolutionary devices. The truly passionate were always found out during the long hours of data entry.

  Swinging the laboratory door open, Dreger was hit immediately with the putrid stench of decay. He coughed, nearly dropping his coffee. He used his free hand to shield his nose, turning the light on with his elbow. A dark shadow darted across his field of vision. Cold fear lodged itself in the pit of his stomach.

  “Hello?” he called out, attempting to sound unafraid and failing.

  The door had been locked. He was sure of it. Just now he'd used his key. There was only one other possible solution; one of the slaves had escaped during the night.

  “Stay where you are,” he warned, his voice shaking. “Go back into your accommodations on your own and I will overlook this little incident.”