The Coming Dawn: Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 3

by R. G. Triplett

  Deryn released his blade from Johnrey’s neck and flitted over to meet his gaze. “My name is Deryn, a sentinel of the house of the Queen herself,” the Sprite said as he sheathed his blade. “I was sent to aid and to guide Calarmindon of Haven on his quest to seek the light of our Great Father.”

  “And now that we have found it,” Cal added, “we come in search of our friends.”

  Johnrey moved out from behind his concealment and into the open light on the other side of the iron gate, and what he saw filled his face with utter joy. “Raise the portcullis!” he shouted to someone out of view.

  “I can’t believe it!” he said as he walked through the now open gate and over to Cal. He nearly put his hands on Cal’s shoulders, pausing only at the blade that was still brandished before him. “Are you the one everyone has been talking about?”

  “I … I don’t know—” Cal tried to say before being interrupted.

  “The one that found the Poets, and the Sprites? The one who left with the colony in search of Illium’s light?” Johnrey was bumbling with excitement. “They are never going to believe me!”

  The sound of footsteps upon the stone stairs cut through the moment.

  “Lower your weapons,” Cal said, still unsure of what had just happened, but trusting in the goodness of it. He sheathed his own blade and reach to shake the arm of this guardsman, Johnrey. “We are going to be just fine.”

  Bows were lowered and blades were sheathed as the company came forward to be greeted by a small contingent of guardsmen, dressed in a mix of the green and silver, but adorned with armor that reminded him of his own.

  “Where are we?” Yasen said as he, too, greeted Johnrey.

  “The Halvard,” Johnrey said as he watched a woodcutter, a captain of Haven, and a violet-eyed beauty walk through the gate before him. “This was once called the Guardian of the Rock by the people of Terriah, or so I’m told.”

  “Of course!” Cal said. “It reminds me of Petros.”

  “And how did you come to be in command of it?” Pyrrhus asked.

  Johnrey just shook his head in amazement as he and his men beheld the sight before them. “That is quite a long story, and I will save it for after we get you all settled and fed. For there are going to be many who will delight to hear of your return.” The corporal turned to one of his guardsmen. “Lower the portcullis!”

  “Not so fast, Corporal,” Pyrrhus said, holding out his one remaining arm. “The rest of our friends have still to join us.”

  Yasen smiled at this kindness, and then raised his horn to his lips and let out a single blast to signal the woodcutters. Whips were cracked, and the rams’ carts woke to life, making their way round the rocky road and through the Halvard Pass. The company rested in the shadow of the ancient stronghold. Unbelievable stories were shared by the silver light of evening time. When morning came and their fast was broken with cheese and honey and toasted pieces of rough-cut bread, Cal and his company bade the guardsmen farewell.

  “Thank the THREE who is SEVEN, my new friends,” Johnrey said as he embraced these unexpected guests of his. “I never, in all my days, believed we would witness such histories as we have.”

  “And just think, Johnrey,” Cal said as he slapped his back in warm affection. “This is just the beginning of a new age, and we are invited to be a part of it.”

  “May it be so,” the old guardsman said with a salute across his chest.

  “I am not so sure that you need to worry about the portcullis anymore, Corporal,” Pyrrhus said. “On the other side of the world is a bright kingdom, a good kingdom … and I doubt there are any left who would want to oppose it.”

  “I have my orders, Captain,” Johnrey respectfully disagreed.

  “I know you do,” he said with a smile as he placed his hand upon the corporal’s shoulder. “And they will soon seem foolish enough.”

  They set out westward, ranging from long bouts of silence to hours of wonder-filled conversations. They followed the instructions of the men at the Halvard, but as they stepped onto the soil of the retreating forest, both Cal and the woodcutters knew exactly where they were.

  “Home,” Yasen whispered reverently.

  “It looks a lot different in the light of day, doesn’t it?” Gvidus mused.

  “Less dangerous, for one,” Oren said.

  “Aye … and a lot sadder,” Alon added.

  “Makes a grown man – a woodcutter, at that – do a lot of thinking about all we have done … and what good it did us, or anybody, for that matter,” Gvidus continued.

  “We did what we had to,” Yasen replied. “For what we thought was best, even if we were wrong in the end … we did not labor wrongly.”

  “Aye,” Gvidus said between puffs of his pipe. “I suppose you might be right.”

  Days passed and the journey was slow, for the ground had been ravaged in the march of the Nocturnals. It wasn’t until they came upon the old timber roads that they felt as if they could move with any real haste.

  “How much farther?” Yasen asked.

  “About a day, maybe less, once we reach the Altar,” Cal said with anticipation as he scanned the horizon.

  “And we shouldn’t be too far away from there now, if I remember correctly,” Yasen continued. “To think this was all forest, once, and rich hunting grounds.”

  “And it will be again,” Cal said, hope ever in his eyes. “That’s what I believe, anyway. Look!” he said as a tall shape came into view, not half a league before them. “The Altar! We are nearly there, my friends … nearly there.”

  “Well, that is not how I remember it looking,” Gvidus mused as the company beheld the ruined and desecrated altar.

  “Aye,” Oren said, matter-of-factly. “As I remember it, the thing was in one piece.”

  “Well … I am sure there is going to be quite a lot of this same conversation as we continue to explore our homeland,” Yasen said. “I’ll wager our city didn’t fair nearly as well as this did.”

  They didn’t stop as they came upon the Altar; they continued onward, each taking in the foreshadowing moment of all that would be required of them as the ruined places were built anew. Westward they continued, the ground about them unchanging for the most part, until the sounds of the river Abonris began to reach their ears.

  “Well, that is a welcomed sound,” Cal said as he spoke to Astyræ.

  “Oh?” she said playfully, and with a smile in her eyes. “Why is that, groomsman?”

  “It was the river, Abonris, that led me to where we are going. If I hadn’t tried to run away…” His eyes went wide in horror as the sudden realization of something very important crashed in from the recesses of his memory.

  “Cal?” she said, puzzled at his expression. “Cal, what is the matter?”

  “The reason why I ended up in the river to begin with was because I was trying to escape … her.”

  “Who is her?” Yasen asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Cal said as they continued on. “She had eyes like Morana, and like Nogcwren; a sickly yellow.”

  “A witch, then?” Yasen offered.

  “Maybe a demon, or some foul, evil spirit,” Cal said. “She wore the body of a sad, beautiful maiden. And then as she spoke, a wretched old witch would just … I don’t know … take over. Frightened me to my very bones.”

  “I don’t understand,” Astyræ said. “Did she throw you into the river, or trick you somehow?”

  “She guarded some ancient bridge, probably Terrian. I had never seen it before, or heard of it, for that matter,” Cal told them as they drew closer to the place he remembered. “She meant to entrap me … to keep me from, well … seeking the light. I suppose I see that now. And when we ran, Moa and I … we ended up in the river. We almost drowned.”

  “Is that the bridge?” Astyræ said as she pointed out into the distance.

  “I believe so,” Cal said, shaking his head at the full circle of his journey.

  “That doesn’t look ve
ry scary to me, brother,” Yasen said playfully.

  “Nor does it to me, anymore,” Cal said thoughtfully. “Perhaps the horrors we have seen and fought makes this place seem… well, less horrific. I mean, the bridge was never evil itself… though somehow she was bound to it.”

  “Well, you are not alone this time, groomsman,” Astyræ told him with a sweet smile. “And just because you might not need to travel half-a-world away anymore to seek the light, it does not mean your quest now is any less important. So, we will all be on our guard with you.”

  Cal laughed, but he knew her words were not making light of his story. “Thank you, my lady,” he said, with a dramatic nod of his head.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Pyrrhus said skeptically. “I think it is safe to cross it.”

  “No,” Cal replied, examining the small, stone bridge. “I don’t see anyone either.”

  “Do you think?” Gvidus offered. “That when the light came … maybe it destroyed her?”

  “Maybe so, brother,” Cal replied.

  “I guess the rider in white meant what he said, then,” Alon said with laughter in his voice.

  “Of course he meant what he said,” Oren countered, with an exasperated shake of the head.

  “But look!” Yasen told them as he pointed to something metal that bisected their passage.

  “What is that?” Gvidus looked harder.

  “It looks like some kind of manacle, chained from one side to the next,” Cal offered. “Though I have never seen one like that before.”

  “And it’s broken, at that,” Astyræ said with a smile.

  “What is she saying?” Oren asked in confusion. “Is she saying that there is some damned witch running around here now? She wasn’t destroyed … she was … released?”

  “I thought you just said that the rider in white killed all the witches,” Alon argued.

  “No!” Astyræ said sharply. “What I am saying is … maybe the weeping maiden is now … free.”

  “Ah!” the woodcutters said in union.

  “Still,” Oren interjected one last time. “I am not touching those cursed things if it is all the same to you.”

  The company laughed as they crossed the bridge, unopposed and undeterred, towards their final destination. It wasn’t much more than a half a day’s ride from there, and soon Cal and his company found the ancient, paved roads of the mountain palace. Their eyes began to mist over with emotion as the stone reliefs told the tales of a place they had never before known existed.

  A blast of a horn, and then another to answer, woke the sky of the dwindling day, and voices, dozens and dozens of voices, could be heard, going about some excited business. When at last the company came to the great grotto in the shadow of the Hilgari, they looked upon the ripe and teeming fields of the gardens of Kalein and onto the deep, blue water of the Dark Sea.

  As the group of travelers was spotted, people ran towards them, curious, then excited, then overflowing with joy. They laughed and cried and embraced wholeheartedly, reveling in the glory of a reunion they had not dared to hope for. Yasen scanned the heads of the gathering crowd for the curly-haired barmaid that had won his heart and saved his life with her affections.

  “Keily!” he shouted out, as he climbed atop the ram’s cart to get a better look. “Cal, I don’t see her,” he shouted worriedly over to his friend. “Can you tell if she is here?”

  Cal just smiled, his own eyes misting over as he watched the brave and beautiful barmaid climb undetected into the back of the very cart where Yasen stood. “Do you see her, brother?” his face betraying the longing in his heart.

  Cal laughed and nodded his head as spoke. “I do … I do, brother.”

  “What?” Yasen replied, unsure and frustrated. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that I don’t know how you made it all the way back to me alive, if you couldn’t even spot a lady climbing up into your own cart,” Keily told him playfully. “Maybe if you had two eyes…” she tried to finish her teasing thought, but the strong arms of the woodcutter grabbed her roughly and picked her up off of her feet, bringing her in tightly and fiercely into his own arms.

  “I don’t know either, girl,” Yasen said, his smile unguarded and beaming with joy. “But I am sure glad I did.” He kissed her deeply and she returned the passion, while all of the woodcutters let out a riotous roar.

  “I have missed you … so much,” Yasen told her amidst the celebration.

  “And I you, North Wolf,” she whispered, her cheeks stained with the tears of utter relief.

  “Is your uncle here?” he asked. “I would like to hug that old woodcutter’s neck.” He scanned the crowd of people for his chieftain and friends. “Where are they all? Where are my brothers?”

  She shook her head. It seemed a lifetime ago that Hollis and nearly the whole camp of woodcutters were brutally and savagely slaughtered at the hands of the Raven army. “Brádách is here, and the cook … oh, and that Priest, what a fighter he turned out to be,” she said kindly, trying not to smother such celebration in the quicksand of lament.

  “The others?” he pressed, needing to know the truth.

  “No,” she said, with a sad shake of her head. She reached her hands up to take his face, drawing his saddened gaze back down to meet her own. “But you are here. We are here … and we will live to honor their sacrifice and build a brighter world.”

  Yasen took a deep, steadying breath and nodded his understanding, his hand sliding up her strong arm to find her beautiful face. “Aye … we will.”

  “Well, you sure didn’t get any uglier over there in the wilderness of the Wreath,” Cal heard a familiar voice shouting through the noise of it all. “I thought for sure you would come back looking like him,” Michael said as he pointed to Yasen from across the way.

  Cal laughed, his eyes overflowing with tears of joy. “Oh, thank the THREE who is SEVEN! My horse-faced cousin is here!” he said with irreverent sincerity. “Come on, then!”

  The two cousins, brothers really, ran and embraced each other. “You look good … and in one piece, too!” Cal said as he held Michael by the shoulders.

  “Barely! I nearly lost my head a dozen times!” Michael said as he kept shaking his head in disbelief at it all. “You wouldn’t believe the things I have seen!”

  “Oh, I promise I would, Michael, and I can’t wait to hear all about it!” Cal said.

  “Cal?” Michael said as he brought his cousin closer in a hard embrace. “You did it … you really did it. You were right this whole damned time. I should have never doubted your Poet heart, brother.”

  “I found him, you know,” Cal said with a smile.

  “Who?” Michael asked. “Who did you … wait, you don’t mean?”

  “Aye … I found him,” Cal said with a nod of the head. “I found his ship. I fought alongside the grandchildren of some of his men. I said my prayers at his grave.” Cal looked up and shook his head at the sight all about him. Poets and woodcutters, guardsman and outliers, Sprites and even a Priest; every heart filled with joy at so great a reunion.

  “He never stopped seeking it, you know,” Cal continued. “Never once, the people told me. He never stopped seeking the light.”

  “And neither did you, Cal,” Michael said proudly.

  A golden-haired woman with violet eyes walked from the outskirts of the celebration to take Cal’s arm.

  “And who is this?” Michael said playfully. “My horseface of a cousin isn’t much for manners, you’ll have to forgive him, my lady.”

  “Michael, this is Astyræ,” Cal said as the grin grew ever wider across his face. “My lady … this is my cousin, Michael.”

  She reached out and shook his hand, nervous and elated to be here amongst his family. “I’ve heard so much about you Michael, and I am honored to finally meet you. Though,” a mischievous grin crept across her face, “I am glad I got the handsome one.”

  The three of them erupted with laughter as Margarid foun
d them and shared in the joy and release of those who loved and overcame insurmountable odds.

  “Welcome, brothers and sisters of the new light!” came a booming voice, whose youthfulness was only betrayed by his aged body. “This is our home, Kalein … welcome to Petros, and to Islwyn, and to the new world!” Tolk said as raised his arms high and wide. “You are now home!”

  A cheer went up from all who were gathered.

  “Daily, it seems now, new friends are finding their way along the ancient paths to the heart of the Hilgari,” Tolk continued as his face beamed with the joy of hospitality. “And daily our scouts are finding those still lost amidst the aftermath. Our ranks are swelling … and that, dear friends, is worth celebrating!”

  “Now, let’s be about a feast, shall we? For friends new and old have sought and found … and I am sure they are rather thirsty by now!” Elder John chimed in.

  “I think the guest of honor, Cal, should be the first one to drink the first draught of victory!” Meledae decreed.

  “Agreed!” Clivesis said as he raised his pipe high in smoky punctuation. “Besides … the Miller has been hard at work, and he will tell you all about it himself.” He gave them a wink and a smile. “Don’t tell him I said so … but it may be his best fermentation yet!”

  “Well, come on then, Cal!” the Poets jovially demanded.

  “Alright, alright!” the groomsman of Haven said as he took Astyræ by the hand and led her to the center of the celebration. “It is good to see you all, but I must admit I am no singular guest of honor. Deryn, come on, my friend!” he said as he beckoned his noble companion over to join him. “I will not drink a drop of this legendary ale unless you drink with me!”

  Cheers again erupted, and the people clapped and laughed.

  Bright notes rang out as the trumpets of the Sprite Queen announced her arrival. In a royal parade, the host of Islwyn flew out to greet the victors and welcome them back home. Iolanthe laughed, and her laughter was like the music of the Sarangrael. The banners of her sentinels danced in the fragrant breeze as she approached the three of them at the center.