Memorias: Deep in the Arnaks

by Serabian, Charles

  Armun walked forward, and made odd shapes with his hand, pressing hard with four fingers into Valor’s left temple.

  “What, hey, what…“

  Slowly but surely, the deep red energy around his body left him as if it had never been.

  Armun walked towards Orrin, and applied the same method. Valor watched as his brother’s aura similarly disappeared within seconds. Without another word, and only another yawn, Armun left. “In the morning. Boys. Goodnight. Keep it down, please.”

  Valor took a deep breath, letting it out in a half grunt, half sigh. He kept a close eye on his hands until the energy completely disappeared.

  “Orrin…” he stared at his brother, who had already turned away, his massive body buried beneath the pillows and blankets. A cool chill wafted through the open window.

  Valor sat up, watching his brother until he was sure Orrin was back asleep. When he heard snoring, he turned over on his soft pillow, lying down once again.

  He dreamed of the silver city, the charred bodies, and the burning, boiling ocean. Orrin was there, close enough to fall off the precipice.

  Valor yelled for Orrin to turn around, over, and over, but he never did.

  Everything changed again. He was in the Gorabund, suddenly shorter. Valor looked at his hands, his feet, realizing that he was his younger self.

  A shadow came over him. He looked up, and saw Lobosa, staring down at him, then looking out to the distance. Valor looked too, but could see nothing.

  He felt Lobosa’s hand on his back, pulling him in close as they stared off into the blazing horizon.

  Valor woke, screaming.

  Chapter 43

  Lobosa woke slowly, ever so slowly, into pain.

  He did not know how many days had passed. He realized he was sitting on his throne, staring directly at his fellow feral soldiers.

  Ghosts, he thought. They must all be dead. My people.

  Or he had assumed them dead. But there they were, shrouded in a strange darkness. His eyes were blurry, and he could not read their faces.

  Then he looked up, and saw the master, a shade upon his door, vibrating in the darkness.

  “Master...”

  You are still weak. But soon, you will be strong. Stronger than any old mage. I have saved your men... and yourself. I have restored what was lost.

  Lobosa gripped his throne with both hands, and looked down.

  Then he realized.

  Both hands..?

  The fur on this new arm was darker, almost black. He dug in with his long nails, cracking the armrest with ease. There was new power in these limbs.

  He did the same thing with his toes, and heard the same familiar crunch.

  The master spoke again.

  Take your people north. Go back to the forests, from where you came. Spy on the Laranuans for me, but do not fight them.

  There was a short pause.

  I have given you great power.

  Lobosa could recognize a strange feeling within him, somewhat masked by the pain coursing through him, as if something had crushed his body, then stretched him back out again.

  The Warden clenched his jaw, struggling to focus his mind into words of thought, and said, we always survive.

  The room rumbled slightly.

  Your kind is resilient. If you achieve your aims, your people will be given their true glory.

  Lobosa craned his neck downwards in a small, painful bow. When he picked up his head, his master was gone, and his men were kneeling in service.

  Selex spoke again. The ivory maws are moving northeast. You will no longer have any hold on Kashrii. Once Redstone realizes this, he will move upon the Arnaks. Gather your people and leave.

  It took all of Lobosa’s concentration and energy to nod yes.

  Take care of your people. Lead them now. This is your time. The age of blood and fire is upon you. The Everburn rises.

  Lobosa scrunched up his eyes as invisible icy daggers suddenly stabbed into his chest. I am confused, master. I had a vision when you saved me. Is the Everburn among us now?

  The master spoke calmly. You were defeated, and now have risen. You, my son, are the Everburn. It is as your grandsire foretold. I see that now. Surely… so can you?

  Lobosa shook his head. The Everburn is a god, master. I saw him. I am no such thing.

  The room suddenly became cool, and the dots connected in Lobosa’s mind.

  Of course, he thought. Visions of sudden realization filled him, fueled him, forced his breath longer and more drawn out. The pit in his stomach had closed, and his mouth became wet. He said aloud, but quietly, “I am the Everburn.”

  Yes.

  Go.

  Lobosa nodded again to the darkness. “Master?”

  But the master was gone.

  I am born again, he thought. The Everburn is within me.

  With that, the air lightened, and his vision returned to him. There was no blur any longer. His men stood in front of him. They had turned to statues in his dedication.

  He looked to the limbs that were taken from him, and found them replaced. Lobosa twitched each finger and toe, ensuring that they worked. He looked at the scars where the battle mage had cut him. They were there, for sure - the lines were white and grey, as if sewn together by the shadows and the light.

  As his strength returned, he stared at his troops. It was all he could do for the moment, his throat too dry to obey commands.

  Finally, using what felt like strength necessary to move a boulder, he pointed towards a deer hide flask that sat in the far corner of his room. If he remembered correctly, it should still contain water.

  His finger dropped, but the soldier to his right grabbed it immediately, picking up on his meaning. The soldier, whose name Lobosa could not remember, lifted the flask to the Warden’s slackened jaw, allowing it to dribble in. Lobosa flicked it back down his throat with his tongue, only able to swallow about half of the water, the rest falling onto his cloak and armor. He could feel the cool water washing down his gullet, savoring every inch it travelled.

  After three sets of hand raising and water pouring, his throat felt wet enough to speak. “Tell me - what has happened.”

  A body moved towards him and saluted sharply before kneeling next to him. This feral smelled familiar to the Warden.

  “It’s Riffhel, commander. There was a woman on the outside, waiting to ambush us. She’s one of those northlanders. She manipulated the wastewater from the sewers and killed your men with it. She took out some of your best, and many more.”

  Lobosa motioned slowly for Riffhel to stand, glad that his most loyal servant had made it through the horrors just listed.

  “Continue.”

  “We’ve lost a lot of man power. A revolt began, and we were overrun by the nameless things. We had them under control at first, but then they found their way to the miner’s holes. The lower tunnels, The Golden Sands, even Knife’s Edge and Black Breath outposts. To our fortune, most of our guests had left before the destruction began. Had they seen the nameless things, they would have spread word to all of Harmenor… a few had stayed behind, though, and did see. We took care of them.”

  Riffhel paused. “Our fortifications all in shambles. Down here, the slaves - there are simply too many. Jerryl is leading them. They cancelled out one of the noman’s spells… we do not have the man power to control them. They are contained now to the lower levels, but they managed to get the advantage in terms of supplies and weapons.”

  Anger filled Lobosa with every word that Riffhel spoke. It gave him some strength.

  “The nameless things?”

  Riffhel spoke again. “Only recently did they leave, commander. We have killed many, but there is no way to get an accurate count. As we speak, they are scattering to the outside world... eating our mates... our cubs...” Lobosa heard Riffhel lose himself in emotion, as the words our cubs churned out with a flash of teeth. “The lower tunnels are most likely a lost cause.”

  With a burst of
speed that surprised him, Lobosa snatched the water flask from the guard next to him. The guard howled in pain, and knelt to the ground clenching the hand that held the flask with his good one.

  Riffhel spoke amidst the whimpering of the guard. “For some reason, and to our fortune, the nameless things have scattered. For now.”

  Lobosa knew it was the work of the master. He looked at the underside of the flask, and found the end bits of his soldier’s fingers still clenched into it.

  The Warden smiled.

  The other guards did nothing, only watched as he continued to howl in pain, blood leaking from his fingers. Lobosa drained the flask, ripping it to shreds with his teeth. He still needed to eat and drink, it seemed.

  With a satisfied growl, he continued to speak. “How many of us are left?”

  Riffhel cleared his throat. “Commander - I don’t know. No one knows. In terms of us all... I can’t say other than the men I see with my two eyes. Many have completely given in to the bloodlust… everything is ruined.”

  Lobosa stood, and a wave of black power trembled out across the room.

  His men shuffled back. They were right to fear him, he thought. His new power was clearly not in his control. He stretched and tensed his muscles, then looked back at his throne. He noted that Riffhel did not move, however.

  “Riffhel, who stands before me now?”

  Again, Riffhel spoke. “This is what’s left of your enforcers, commander. Many are dead. Killed by a surprise attack. There are two mages here as well. I am - unsure if you can see in front of you. ”

  Lobosa drooled. “I can see well enough. Thank you Riffhel… you, Riffhel, who spoke when others would not. You have my undying love.”

  Riffhel bowed low. “Yes, Warden Commander..”

  The Warden, he thought. No. I am the Everburn.

  Lobosa had always left the speeches to the flame seers. The less he spoke, the more imposing he seemed. “Where are the flame seers?” he asked.

  Riffhel responded quickly. “Safe, Warden. In a hidden cave.”

  “Good.” Lobosa took a deep breath. “When my sight returns, I will greet each of you by a new name. For you are the ones who came for me, your commander.”

  Lobosa tried to lift a hand, though it felt as if he were dragging a boulder. “My strength returns slowly. I am renewed. As we all shall be. Fire and blood is our way. There has been much blood. And much fire… and… we will have more.”

  Lobosa could see the some determination building in the eyes of his men.

  “It’s time we leave this place and become our true nature. Children will fear us again. Men will raise their swords to us in defense of them, and when we raise our claws, and look into their eyes, they will know who rules Harmenor. We will be known - known by a trail of blood and fire.”

  With what little strength he had left, he raised a fist high. His men dropped to all fours, bowing quickly, howls reverberating against the mounted masks, rattling them against the stone. Then he noticed a deep, red haze swirling around his body, slowly coming into his vision.

  He lifted his other hand, visible waves of dark red energy arcing away from his body, a new power for a new day. It bounced and flickered, the colors colliding violently.

  He looked at his men through clouded vision. They did not seem to see it.

  Lobosa looked his body over several times. His new power flickered again, stronger, crackling to life. It appeared like fire and blood, floating against his body.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw green fields, and trees so tall the sun blotted out their great heights. Only then did he remember Dallanee and all that it promised.

  He clenched his new hand and the aura crackled again.

  An aura of blood and fire… I am Everburn.

  Lobosa looked around the room, suddenly remembering.

  “Where are Orrin… and Valor?”

  To the gypsy,

  that remains,

  faces freedom,

  with a little fear

  I have no fear, I have only love...

  - Stevie

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank several people.

  Firstly yp mom and dad.

  To C.S. Lakin, my editor, for helping me take control of a mess.

  To Tom Edwards for an incredible cover design.

  To those of you that read and gave feedback.

  To Dano Marino, who spent hours on the phone with me, telling me to push.

  About the Author

  Charles M. Serabian is a first time author who sincerely hopes you enjoyed reading this first installment of Memorias. He writes primarily in hopes that others will love the world of Harmenor, which his brain has somehow crafted through years of terrible animé style drawings, awful maps, and countless drafts into something he hopes is atleast readable.

  In all seriousness, he is a writer, a practitioner of the martial arts, a music lover, and above all, that weirdo who will talk to you during long elevator rides, which everyone knows is just totally wrong, like, c’mon dude, the unwritten rule is that you just leave people alone in elevators, no conversation, it’s just creepy…

  Whether you love it or hate it, please leave a review!

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