“Justine Duvan shall avert that fate.”
“Justine Duvan cannot temper Lucretia’s twisted Light, how can she halt the Dark God when He transcends realms? The righteous knight is weaker than her father.”
It was too much to take. Justine thrust the God Stone into the satchel of her pocket, leaped into the large chamber, and screamed, “Draw your steel, Amos!”
The faint, flickering light illuminated the creatures as they turned. Gabriel frowned; he still wore his brown robes though his sandy hair was a dishevelled mess. The other, Amos, had long white hair that stretched down robes dark as teak. His face was pale, and his rheumy yellow eyes pinned Justine where she stood.
“I told you,” Amos rasped, “that steel will not avail you.”
The claymore shook violently in her hand, and the hilt scorched like a blacksmith’s forge fire. She dropped it, watching as it burnt to ashes. “You!”
“And the rest.” Amos held his hand out and Justine couldn’t move. She saw all her weapons removed from their scabbard, twisting in the air, before breaking apart.
“Cease this madness, Amos!” Gabriel shouted, but he did not move towards the creature in teak robes.
“Release me!” Justine screamed; she thrashed wildly, but her muscles would not move. “Do you have no honour?!” She knew this creature had none, but weaponless, it was the only choice availed to her.
“You see, Gabriel, she is not the Bringer of Dawn,” Amos said sternly, and as he did, a greater darkness seemed to suffuse from him, pooling like mist at the palm of his open hand. “She is afraid of it. The Bringer of Dawn shall wield the weapon given to her by Lucretia, but this wretch, this wretch shall never wield it.”
“Let me go, Amos!” Justine screamed again, not understanding any of it.
“If you do this, Amos …” Gabriel said weakly, his words trailing off.
Amos turned suddenly to Gabriel. Justine felt the bonds weaken slightly, and the God Stone’s light brimmed at the corner of her eye. One voice silenced the rest. By faith and by steel, your stalwart shield wards the Children of Dawn.
Justine did not know who or what that voice was.
She denied it.
“Your reluctance shall be your end.”
The pooling shadows surged from Amos’ hand, suffocating Justine; she felt it enter her mouth, eyes, nose, and ears. Pain threaded her whole body; she thought her flesh was torn apart and knit over and over. Darkness clouded her sight. She screamed, but the words were faint and distant.
All but one scream, and not from her.
“Betrayer!”
Justine saw a dull, dirty light. It filled her vision, illuminating a barren ground, black and twisted, with tall, jagged mountains encircling the plain. “Where am I?” she asked aloud, but no answer came.
She rose to her feet and walked steadily. The air felt dry and hot, the heat sweltering. The ground was hard without give, and a faint wind blew dust.
The plain stretched on endlessly, and the distant mountains large and looming, never seemed to draw nearer. Shaking her head wistfully, she could not recall such a place in the old kingdom or the new lands. Not even in rumours.
On and on the plain stretched.
Before long, her legs felt like lead; she pushed the discomfort out of her mind and trudged on, the dust rising with every step. She let her mind wander and realized there was no sound of bird or beasts. They must be hiding. I do not know what could stand this heat.
Falling to a knee, she unhooked the chain hauberk and leggings, letting them slide off to the ground. The leather beneath felt hot and heavy, but she dared not relinquish it.
Pushing on, she thrust her hand into the satchel at her waist, withdrawing the God Stone. The crystalline stone lay dull and dormant; the voices, even the soft, counselling voice said naught at all.
“At the very least you cannot taunt me,” she said, fingering the God Stone. She did not place it back in the satchel.
The barren plain broke in the distance; a blackened hill seemed to rise, flattening like a tall cliff. Justine saw growth upon it, but nearing it, it was no more than jagged cuts of rock. “If I cannot find any green I will starve,” she lamented, and her stomach rumbled in agreement.
The wind tapered off, and she heard a grating of rock against stone echoing in the distance. Justine reached for her steel, but cursed, realizing all that remained were empty scabbards.
“Amos, you—” she quieted herself as a tall, lanky figure stepped from behind the hilltop: its flesh blackened and mottled with bones sharp and jagged, sticking out like spikes. Its face was flattened, the corruption broken only by dark red eyes and a wide mouth with teeth like fangs. In its hand was a scythe tall as it stood, the steel blackened, pooling with shadows.
This creature stared at Justine, licking its lips with a long forked tongue.
“Amos!” she screamed, stumbling back and the fiend walked towards her, smiling wide. “Amos! Betrayer! My weapons!”
The fiend crossed half the distance to her.
How am I supposed to fight that?! she thought, crawling backwards with one hand upraised. I have no steel. I have no shield. I cannot.
The fiend stood above her, licking its dry lips, scythe held high above its head.
Amerie. Marcus. Tricia. Brennon. Demetri. I could not protect you. I faltered. Forgive me.
The scythe descended towards her, but the steel shattered near her hand: a bastard sword extended from her grasp, the steel gleaming and runic inscriptions glistened down the blade. The fiend screamed and lunged towards her, but she slashed at the foe, cutting it in half.
What is … her eyes drifted to the cross guard, discovering the God Stone was encrusted within it; the light stretched out to her hand, surging up her arm; she felt a purity through her being, just like …
When Gabriel gifted her the God Stone.
“Gabriel! Gabriel!” she shouted out madly, convinced that this was another game. “Gabriel, I am not your pawn.”
Child, you must not think so ill of him. He is not the daemon you make him out to be.
The voice resonated in her head, and it sounded so familiar. “Who are you?”
The children you ward call me the Mother.
“The goddess? No, no, I am through with tricks.”
Gaze upon my Light in your hand.
Justine did not want to obey, but the God Stone shone so brilliantly, its pull was irresistible. The sheen of the steel was blemished only by the black blood of the fiend.
She shook her head. “An illusion.”
Illusions do not rend the flesh, child. My Light in your hand is the justice you have long desired.
The point seemed silly to argue. “What is this place?”
‘Tis the realm of the Dark God. So close and near, yet so far away. Not long now, and others will know of your presence, and my influence. Cut it away. Pierce the Darkness with my Light. Shatter the bonds that bind you.
“Bonds?!” Justine exclaimed, not knowing what the goddess had meant, but her bondage at the hands of Amos resonated strongly. “Did Amos, did he?”
He is but a servant of the Dark God, as you are mine. The corruption has seeped through the vestige; he is irredeemable, twisted, a threat to so many. You must do what I cannot.
“What can you not do?”
Whispers echoed in Justine’s mind, indiscernible.
“Goddess?”
TO YOUR KNEES!
The words thundered in her skull, rising louder and louder; the Light seemed faint and distant, overwhelmed by torment and sorrow. She collapsed to her knees, holding fervently to the sword in her hand Struggling, she tried to raise her eyes, but an affliction kept her prone.
A FOOL LIKE ALL THE OTHERS!
“S-stop,” she muttered, the words weak and faint. “R-release me. Now.”
SERVE, WORM!
A blast sent her skidding back, fingers and sword alike cutting the broken ground. “I will not.”
Justine fe
lt a stillness, an absence of thought. Then an echo of steel against stone sounded distantly, every moment resounding louder in her ears. She could not raise her eyes from the barren ground, but felt the shadows lingering over her.
“Goddess,” she muttered, tightening her grip on the Light-forged sword. “Goddess, I need your strength.”
FAITH FALTERS!
The voice was deafening, but it did not wrack her as it did before. From the corner of her eye, she saw the God Stone surging, the Light immeasurable.
She raised her eyes.
Fiends clouded her sight: the jagged bones sticking out like spikes, the mottled flesh seething corruption, the scythes digging into the earth.
She stood and held the Light-forged sword aloft.
NO ONE DEFIES MY WILL!
The voice seemed to soften, echoing distantly.
Justine thrust the sword into a fiend in front of her; the monster wailed before thudding to the ground. The others screamed, swinging their scythes; she arced her blade to the left and right, shattering the darkened steel and then ripped their flesh open.
TEAR HER APART!
Fiends descended upon her from the skies; their leathern wings beating against the dry breeze, wielding twisted lances, tumbling towards her. Breathing deeply, she ducked their steel and cut the twisted weapons in half. Their malicious faces twisted in shock, and she cut at their heads, mid-sections, and arms. The fiends lay crumbled in a heap.
More fiends charged across the barren ground, crooked teeth showing, swinging madly; she parried, shattering the darkened steel and tore into their blackened flesh.
Black blood soaked the blade, but the Light never ceased within her: it pushed her forth and sent the fiends sprawling; the bodies piled around her.
“What are you?!”
A darkness fell and a tall man strode forth: his face was scarred and twisted with squirming lips; he was armoured with rotten and mottled flesh, covering all but his grotesque face. A tattered black cloak twisted in the wind. His sword was wickedly long: darkened steel with a thick mist, like a shadow, pooling along its edges.
In the back of her mind she knew who stood before her, but she did not want to accept it. The Dark God stared at her with eyes like death, and she answered, “Justine Duvan.”
“I said what, not who!” the Dark God replied, raising his sword upright.
This foe was unlike the fiends He sent before. Justine did not tremble, but she feared the Dark God; the Light still surged through her; the God Stone’s brilliance could not be dulled, though it seemed to be of little comfort. “I am the Mother’s chosen.”
“Lucretia’s little worm,” the Dark God said, his squirming lips arcing into a brief, sinister smile. “The old man stood before me many times, though not for long years. Tell me: has he now tired of the conflict? Will he snap up righteous knights to do his bidding?”
Who the old man was and what he did was beyond her. “I do not know what you speak of.”
“How little you do know,” the Dark God said, sneering. “Tell me, little worm, do you know the high servitor and his precarious Order?”
She remembered the name of High Servitor Jophiel, but the Order? Amos had mentioned it, but she did not know its meaning. The Dark God’s gaze was interminable and she shook her head in answer.
“You truly know naught of my gifts and my servants.”
Heedlessly, Justine charged at the Dark God; he parried her lazily and sent her skidding backward.
“You brave my realm, little worm, and think yourself a god slayer?” the Dark God said, laughing. “Light-blinded fool, that is all you ever were. All your father ever was.”
Her body tightening, she lunged at the Dark God; He side-stepped her and swung his darkened steel towards her, barely parrying the blow. The darkened steel bore down towards her: she felt his strength, immeasurable, the hate and death in his eyes growing.
Your minds must be sharper than your steel, and quicker than your feet. The training yard seemed so long ago, but the words echoed in her mind as if she just said it—and she knew what to do. She ducked and rolled, and the Dark God’s blade drove into the barren ground. Whilst He heaved the blade towards her, she thrust the Light-forged sword deep into His gut.
“Little worm!”
Black blood gushed around the sword; Justine felt the Light flee from her body like a torrent, coalescing along the edge of the blade—the illumination blinding.
“Darkness cannot be cloven!” the Dark God shouted. “Darkness…”
“…passes.”
The sweltering heat and dry air dissipated, replaced by cold and dark, but for a guttering flame; and Gabriel, skewered by her sword, pulled the blade deeper into him. “It passes. It will pass.”
“Gabriel?” She did not understand. “What? How?”
“He let you go,” Gabriel intoned sadly. “I fought him, but he is too strong.”
“What was he? What was that place?”
Gabriel smiled, faintly, but he smiled. “They call it the Dream. You resisted it with your own Animus Stone. My gift to you and your people. Amos, he, he forced it on you, though you are whole and hale. I was right.”
None of it made sense. “The Dream?”
“A realm of Darkness, bereft of Light. It enslaves the strong and slays the weak. You are the Bringer of Dawn.”
Justine wanted to cut Gabriel clean in half. “I am not your puppet.”
“No, you are not,” he replied, sadness overtaking him once again. “Yet if you wield that sword, you believed in Her, if but for a single moment. Now there stands a Light against the Darkness.”
Justine went to release her grip, wanting naught to do with it all, but Gabriel held her hand in place and said, “You must seek the high servitor. Find him. Find …”
Gabriel’s hand slipped off the sword, lifeless, and his eyes closed.
He was dead.
The light surged from the God Stone once more, the blade slowly dissipating, until the crystallized rock rested into her hand. Thrusting it into a satchel, she gazed longingly at Gabriel’s corpse.
“One more,” she said after a time.
Amongst Wolves
Early Light
30 July 14813
Justine shouldered her way through the market row amidst hundreds of voices.
Men and women dressed in browns and greys carried satchels and exchanged coins, need pressing some, whilst others regarded the goods thoughtfully. The merchant stalls were stunted and drab, overshadowed by tall grey buildings to either side. Momentarily, Justine looked towards the towering mountain to the west; its craggy peaks cast a looming shadow across them all.
She did not think her search would lead her here, in a land where she once saw so much death.
“Fish! Fresh fish from the oceans,” a tall man with a shaggy mess of brown hair said from a creaky stall to the right. The fish were arrayed on a bed of rocks, some large, but most were small and middling silver trouts. “Come see the great hauls of the fishers from the coast; from the nets to your bellies!”
Justine’s stomach rumbled, though on the journey east her plate was filled with little but fish. She pushed through the masses.
“Fabrics! Textiles! The drapes to make your guests envious!”
“Vegetables! Fresh off the cart. Apples, oranges, only the most savoury of fruits.”
“Spindles and toys. Gift the girls with dolls and the boys with puzzles!”
The voices echoed over and over, though none had the answers that Justine truly wanted. She had scoured the taverns the night before, but the patrons knew little of a cloaked man travelling across the barren land. Why would the market be any different?
“Steel! The finest swords you ever did see, here.”
Justine turned at the voice, hand upon her satchel. The God Stone did not stir. It was a weapon at need, but she felt naked without her own blade. The merchant arrayed short swords, sword breakers, and long swords upon the red felt, while claymores and g
rey swords stood erect. Reaching out, she ran her thumb against the edge of a long sword, drawing a slit of blood.
“Sharp, yes?” the merchant said not unkindly. He was swarthy and well muscled with a scar down his left cheek. “I must ask that you trust that they are worthy,” he said, smiling, whilst wiping the blood clean.
Justine sucked on her thumb to stop the bleeding. “You forged them yourself?”
“Ah, no, no no,” the merchant replied while stuffing the dirty cloth in his back pocket. “I had seen the fires of the forge long ago. A small village in the old kingdom of little consequence. No, I am simply a merchant now, with hopes of more.”
“I do require a blade,” Justine mused, looking over the long sword and the few sword breakers on display. They shone in the morning light, and the workmanship seemed solid. “I will need to grasp it and learn where it was forged.”
“Of course,” the merchant replied, bobbing his head. “For you, or for—”
“For me.” She would not let him say any more. “I have handled steel all my life.”
“Ah, are you—”
“Do you prefer to talk or sell, merchant?”
The merchant gently lifted the long sword, handing it to Justine hilt first. She grasped the fine leather hilt, flicking her wrist to and fro. It felt well balanced, though the cross guard was longer than she was used to.
“Does it meet your expectations?”
“It may, if you can tell me of its history.”
“The ore was mined from the mountain towering above us. Amongst the first that Lord Theodore had mined.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “From the lord’s armouries?”
“Yes, yes,” the merchant said, smiling broadly. “Few do earn the lord’s trust for selling steel that he forged for the city’s own guard. There is some respect that comes from it too, yes. Much a discerning swordsman—or woman, as it please you—offers much and more for such privilege.”
The Prelude to Darkness Page 15