In the droning hum of the wild night, hours before the golden berth of the waking sun, above the aching, parched and weary bodies of the four sleeping outcasts, the Skyfather appeared. To see him was to dream of him; he was more apparition than body. The Wind awoke to the Skyfather’s faint, orange glow, amid the darkness and the warm blanket of his low, rumbling words. I have heard your voices. Now, rise.
The four members of the alliance of the Wind slowly rose to their feet and focused their dried and itching eyes on the miracle that appeared before them. The energy of the Skyfather danced about in the darkness, briefly illuminating shapes and lines of the material world. He waxed and waned like the tides of an ocean. No member of the Wind would keep the same memory of this moment. The vision was as personal as it was communal, and each member of the Wind found their own peace within the Skyfather’s presence.
This is your world in which to mold, said the Skyfather. But I can no longer sit idly by while you face insurmountable odds. I bring to you gifts. Use them well.
The Skyfather presented each member of the Wind with a different gift that they might use to fight the Great Tyrant. The alliance was instructed to keep their gifts safe, until a time came when the world could unite against the Tyrant.
To Strongback, the bear of Gray Mountain, the Skyfather gave the Everflame. It flickered gently as it appeared in front of Strongback. He reached out and touched it cautiously. Its warmth surrounded his paw, but he was unharmed by the flame. It twinkled in the reflection of his deep, brown eyes and it filled Strongback with purpose and hope. The bear’s heart swelled and his body felt light and freshly alive.
Take the Everflame, Strongback. It is but a glimmer of my spirit. Let it light the darkest nights ahead.
To Andor the eagle, companion to Aella, Spirit of the Plains, the Skyfather gave the Eversense. The Skyfather touched the large eagle lightly upon his brow and his sharp eyes became bright. Andor bristled his brilliant feathers as if a chill had run his length. His mind became aware of things it never had before and his gaze stretched far beyond its previous horizon.
Take the Eversense, Andor. It is but a small fragment of my mind. It will allow you to see beyond the material world, to dangers that lie ahead.
To Ulinawi, the great turtle of the deep, the Skyfather gave the Evermight. Ulinawi could feel his blood pulsing through his body. His weariness was gone and he could feel a great strength in his muscles as he flexed his legs against the temple floor.
Take the Evermight, Ulinawi. It is but an echo of my vast strength. Use it to shield this world from its most malicious foes.
The Skyfather’s last gift was given to the only human member of the alliance, a man by the name of Esteban Floyd. To Esteban, the Skyfather gave his most precious gift, the Everlife. Euphoria descended upon Esteban as the apparition of the Skyfather moved through him. He felt like laughing, and tears fell freely from his eyes. Esteban looked down at his hands, and watched his skin as it sparkled, ever so slightly, before returning to its normal state.
Take the Everlife, Esteban. It is but a page in the tome of my history. As long as you are its possessor, you shall live beyond the measure of time.
The four members of the Wind regarded their gifts with more reverence than their own lives. They knelt and thanked the Skyfather from the depths of their souls, unable to believe what had happened to them.
Use these gifts wisely, said the Skyfather. I must leave you now, but know this …
As the light of the Skyfather disappeared from the dingy temple ruin, and the world, once again, became cold and silent, his voice left the Wind with a prophecy:
In the world’s most desperate hour of need
Earthly elements shall be set free
And evil tyrants should beware
The coming of an unlikely pair.
Behold the golden fires of hope
That curse and grace the lives of man
Yet one cannot in life exist
If two won’t find the strength to stand.
NORTH
Chapter 2: In the Hands of Chaos
“Mr. Horace Redwood.”
Horace stood, staring straight ahead, his mind fixated on what he was going to say once he was given his audience with the King. His white and bony knuckles worked to mash the folds of his felt hat. He was so nervous, he didn’t realize that he was mangling the only hat he owned.
What can I say to make him understand? thought Horace. So much depends upon this.
Horace’s nerves were on edge, to the point that they had separated his mind from what was going on around him. He didn’t realize that the Clerk of the Royal Court had called his name. The other citizens of the Kingdom of Chreos who had ventured into the courtroom on this day looked around to see which one of them was Mr. Horace Redwood. The Clerk of the Royal Court repeated himself.
“Mr. Horace Redwood, please.”
Horace felt someone poke him in his ribs and he turned, momentarily jilted from his trance.
“Hey,” whispered the man who had poked Horace. “Ain’t he callin’ you? Ain’t you Redwood?”
Horace looked at the man oddly for a moment, as if he couldn’t understand what the man was saying. Then, all at once, Horace shook himself back to reality and realized that his name had been called; this was his moment.
“Here,” Horace blurted, raising his hand. “I’m here.”
Horace Redwood shuffled past the people he had been standing next to while he waited for his name to be called, and worked his way to the aisle that led up to stand in front of the King’s throne. Horace looked at the faces of Chreos as he moved past them. They were drawn and there was solace in their sunken eyes that reflected the same heartache suffered by Horace and his family. It did not improve his mood to know that he was not the only one who would be looking to the King for help. Horace reached his destination, twenty feet in front of Aplistia, King of Chreos, and looked up at the man as he sat on his throne. Horace’s knees wobbled and the blood drained from his face as he stared up at the King. Horace Redwood was not normally a nervous man, but his current situation was something he had never experienced in his forty-five years of life. It was uncomfortable for him to have to be in this situation. Horace lowered himself to one knee and bowed his head, waiting for his King to address him.
“Mr. Redwood, is it?” said the King dryly. “What matter afflicts you that you must stand before me on this day?”
Horace slowly rose to his feet, looking anxiously to both sides. He was trying, oh so desperately, to calm his nerves, but his situation was just too far beyond him. He opened his mouth and found it too dry to make a sound. He sucked at his tongue, trying to work up a bit of saliva, and he stuttered in his address to the King.
“G-Good King Aplistia, I am here because I need help and I don’t know where else to turn.” Horace paused and again looked to his sides before continuing. “You see, I’m a cobbler, sire … a shoemaker. I have been all my life; learned the trade when I was young. Up until now, I’d been working for Mr. O’Brien, but …”
“I know what has happened to Mr. O’Brien, Mr. Redwood,” interrupted the King.
“Well, I guess you know that his bad investments caused him to shut his business down then?”
“I do, Mr. Redwood. I am sorry for the loss of your job.”
Horace dipped his head slightly, feeling the shame of hearing his misfortune discussed in public forum.
“I’ll be all right, sire, but I provide for a wife and a daughter. I’m all they have.”
“I understand your situation, Mr. Redwood. You are not alone in your misfortune. If you will see the Treasurer on your way out of the castle, he will kindly grant you a loan.”
A strange look crossed Horace’s face as if he were about to say something that he knew he shouldn’t. “I-I didn’t come for a loan, sire. I won’t be able to make good on a loan.”
The King leaned forward and looked down at Horace Redwood, furrowing his brow. “Do you mean to t
ell me, Mr. Redwood, that you would not pay back a loan given to you by your King?”
“No, sire,” said Redwood quickly, palms out apologetically. “I didn’t say that right. What I mean is that I’ve already been to the other cobblers in the kingdom. They’ve barely got enough work for the employees they have. None of them have the funds to take on another cobbler. So you see, sire. I can’t find a job, so that I could make a wage to pay the loan back.”
“So, it’s charity you seek?”
“No, sire, not charity.”
“Well out with it, man. What do you expect me to do?”
“I need an opportunity. I’ll do anything. Any job at all. I’ll scrub the castle floors. I just need a paying wage to take home to my family. I beg of you, my King.”
King Aplistia ran his fingers through his silver hair, his golden rings disappearing into his thick locks as they passed through. He sighed slightly as he looked out at the gaunt, expectant faces filling the courtroom. They had all come for the same answer to their problems. What is wrong with these people? thought King Aplistia. Have they no pride?
“Mr. Redwood, if I were to give you a position here in the castle, I would have to give everyone who entered this court a position in my castle. You’ll understand that I can’t very well do that.” Aplistia looked down on Mr. Redwood derisively. “I’d advise you to take the loan. That is all I can offer.”
“But… but, sire. If I can’t pay it back… well… I’ll be worse off than I am now.”
“Then I suggest, Mr. Redwood, that you find a way to pay the loan back. The Treasurer is at the end of the hall.” The King turned his gaze to all the other citizens in the courtroom. “That will also be the only help I can offer to the rest of you. That will be all for the day.”
The Clerk of the court nodded to the King and bowed as Aplistia exited through a door, just behind his throne. Horace Redwood stood, slumped and defeated, while the murmurs of the crowd grew around him. Horace looked to the ground and sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. He slowly turned and followed the pack of sullen faces exiting the courtroom.
As he reached the exit, he found his wife, Miranda, and daughter, Paulina, waiting for him outside in the hallway. Horace’s wife widened her eyes with expectation and it pained him to have to let her down.
“He told me that I could take out a loan.”
“Horace, we can’t-”
“I know, Miranda. But I don’t know what else to do.”
Little Paulina pulled slightly on her mother’s apron, and Mrs. and Mr. Redwood looked down at their tiny, little daughter in her tattered, green dress.
“Mumma… I’m hungry,” said the little girl, almost ashamed of her own need, as if it were a weakness.
Horace and Miranda looked at each other with pained expressions. Horace shook his head resolutely and turned himself away from his family. He took a deep breath, drew himself up to his full height, and proudly walked into the office of the Treasurer to have his loan drawn.
•••
King Aplistia ascended the tower stairs that rose directly on the other side of the courtroom door. He had been making the long trip to the top of this staircase more and more in recent weeks. The view from the top of his personal tower reached out over the entirety of the Kingdom of Chreos, and out across the Northern Sea. Each trek he had made to the top of these stairs had been harder than the last, and he had begun to wonder to himself, Do I suffer the consequences of age, or am I just increasingly tired of needing this refuge?
Aplistia opened the ornate door that led onto the balcony, and blinding, bright light washed over his face and chest. Aplistia wrinkled his brow and the lines of age lightly traced their way over his visage. He was no young king, but his charmed life had allowed him to look much younger than many a man of his age. It was only when he winced that his face showed any wrinkles.
Walking out onto the balcony, Aplistia let his eyes adjust to the light and inhaled the spray of the water that the Northern Sea tossed, gently, into the air. The day was clear and sunlight danced on the waves that crashed onto the shores of Chreos. The sky was a thing of beauty, practically unblemished with the exception of small storm clouds that lined the water’s horizon. The King traced his fingers along the golden trim that adorned the balcony’s short wall. This gold trim outlined the whole of Aplistia’s castle. Some found it to be quite gaudy, but Aplistia had always maintained that the gold served as a display of how great Chreos truly was. Chreos, they had said, the gem of Northern Ephanlarea. Unfortunately, the treasure that was Chreos was beginning to show its tarnish.
Chreos was beginning to feel the strain of an ever-increasing population. Tragic events were causing many people from the surrounding villages to seek refuge within the Kingdom’s walls. The villagers brought with them stories both fantastic and terrible, stories of fire and stories of death. The hardest thing for Chreos had been that these villagers had not only brought their stories, but had also brought their hungry mouths. The streets were full of beggars and people without any place to call their home.
There was nothing Aplistia could do to help these people. The destruction of the surrounding villages had harmed the investments of many nobles who lived within Chreos’ borders. It had caused many of them to lose their own businesses, which created more hungry mouths to fill the streets. Chreos was failing, and there was little Aplistia could do to stop it.
Many times already, Aplistia had met with the noblemen and women of Chreos to discuss what could be done to spark the growth of their kingdom, and to solve the financial burdens. Regrettably, the nobles had all gained their status through investing in the business of others. They were not the fountainheads of industry, merely people who were adept at prospering by those who were. The resources that had made Chreos a once thriving kingdom had been drying up for some time, and the recent influx of people had exacerbated the issue astronomically. Aplistia was at a loss. He stared as the cold ocean waves crashed against the cliffs of his northern empire, and every wave began to feel like a blow to his resolve. He felt weakened, tired and alone. The once small storm clouds on the horizon had grown rapidly, and it seemed as if rain would be unavoidable.
Even this respite has lost its ability to soothe me, thought Aplistia as he slowly wandered back toward the tower door. How have things gone so wrong? I’ve run this kingdom exactly as my father before me, and his father before him. This castle and this royal family have become more prosperous every year of my rule. Why has the whole of the Kingdom not followed my example? Aplistia blamed the erosion of Chreos on the working class. They’ve become dreamers and laggards. They’ve grown too fat, and have forgotten how to support a kingdom with productivity. They’ve forgotten their place in this world. Aplistia shook his head in disapproval. It’s as if they all wish to be King for themselves.
As the King of Chreos closed the tower door behind him, lightning flashed in the sky and thunder sounded its belated warning. Aplistia could taste a metallic tinge upon his tongue and decided it was time to retire to his chambers. He walked back down the steps, but not as far as from where he had come earlier. About halfway down the spiraling staircase there was a purple door with a lock. He removed a large key from the lining of his robe and unlocked the door, revealing a small corridor with another purple door at the opposite end. His feet padded the purple carpet on the floor of the corridor that, so perfectly, matched the purple of the doors. Lanterns hung, illuminating large pieces of art along the walls, and Aplistia glanced at each of them as he passed. He briefly wished he had a more practiced hand at such things.
The King found the door to his private chamber ajar, just as he had left it, and dragged his weary mind inside. He sat down upon his canopied bed and tried to relax himself. Licking his lips, he found that the taste of metal had not left him.
“One would think that the lightning has marked me,” mumbled the King quietly.
“One would think,” replied a voice both mocking and cold.
Aplistia swung himself around, startled and furious at the intrusion. “Who dares–” began the King, before he stopped abruptly and allowed his jaw to hang wide as he stared at what he imagined to be an illusion. A skeletal being of light stood across his bed, staring at him with eyes that could only come from a nightmare.
“Don’t you know me, Aplistia? Can’t you feel it in your bones?”
The King was shocked, and unable to process what he was seeing. “What are you?”
“Such an astute question, oh King. For it is the what of my being that should concern you most.” The thing slowly circled the room, closer to Aplistia, as he continued to speak. “I can be many things: life, death, power, fear. Consider yourself fortunate, for you have more control than most over which what I am for you.”
“I don’t understand,” droned Aplistia. “Are you my dream?”
“For your sake, you’d better hope I’m more than that, but enough with this cryptic exchange. My visit is not without purpose, and it is time that you hear what I demand of my servant.”
Aplistia’s reaction at being named a servant caused him to scoff. “I am a king. I am nobody’s servant.”
“You are to me,” sneered the creature as a tendril of electric light snaked its way around Aplistia’s throat and burned the man it held in place. The King shrieked, and suddenly, his eyes widened in recognition.
“My Holy,” he uttered.
“Yes,” hissed the Great Tyrant, “and it is time that you give penance.”
The tendril of electric light constricted around Aplistia’s throat, forcing him to open his mouth wide. One touch of electricity upon the tip of the King’s tongue, and Aplistia immediately went limp and fell to the chamber floor. A brief moment passed, and then the King began to recover. He rose to his feet, but he was changed, his expression was vacant, and his eyes were sunken.
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 51