Ekleipsis

by Pordlaw LaRue

  Land of Erde

  § Ekleipsis §

  Pordlaw LaRue

  This book is to be considered a work of fiction.

  The characters (their names and origins), places, and events are the creation of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, places, or events are to be understood as completely coincidental.

  Any Scriptural quotes, whether in part or in whole, are from the

  King James Bible.

  Copyright 2011

  No part of this book may be copied, duplicated, changed, or redistributed without written permission from the author, whether in written or electronic format.

  Contents

  Ekleipsis

  Ekleipsis (Greek, eclipse): Judarius claimed that darkness would one day overcome and destroy all light. The name of that day, he called thus.

  To Begin At a Moment

  It was a cold, stormy night in the midst of a small village, nestled quietly among the mountains and valleys. Howling winds blew wildly through the large trees that surrounded the village, protecting it like a great wall around a castle. The streets are empty of souls, where only debris flew effortlessly on the breath of the night. Hoping for a brighter tomorrow, families snuggle in bed resisting the fear that creeps among the shadows waiting to gain entrance into the mind that dares to embrace it.

  These storms seemed to come forth from the mountains, most unaware to the people below. Sometimes ceasing as quickly as they had come, other times lingering well for hours without losing strength. Attacking with the force of a mighty army, the bitter winds sliced through the thickest clothing, chapping faces, and reddening exposed flesh. The heavens sent forth hardened crystals upon all caught beneath the clouds, often simply melting away into the sodden paths.

  Through the gloom, a small home near the edge of the village remained alive, entertaining the dancing of lantern lights and the patter of footsteps.

  Why tonight? Why must it be during a time of such disarray?

  A small, elderly lady, with silver- laced hair flowing to her waist, paced the floor. She ran to and fro, ministering to a young girl slightly above her teens.

  Dear God, I pray that you show compassion. Hear the frail attempt of your child, to call upon such a mighty God to request such a selfish thing as this. Lend your ear to my pleading and see what is right in your own eyes. Thou hast given Sorie life and have been gracious to spring forth life from within her womb. Shall she carry such a love only to perish at its coming? Do as thou see fit, but remember compassion. In thee will I trust to do that which is right.

  Sorie was due any minute with delivery, yet boiling with fever she felt her life slipping ever so slowly away. Her brown hair, tangled and glued to her face with beads of sweat, hid well the beauty she possessed. Hardly able to hold her eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness, there was but one thought which griped the entire essence of her being: How is my baby?

  For the last nine months Sorie could think of nothing else than the soul who had grown within her. She caressed her stomach often and longed to see the face of her child. As those who she knew would speak of their own, her lightly tanned face would glow as her brown eyes sparkled with eagerness of what was to come. Sorie delighted in the stories of others, and hoped to the uttermost that she would be a good mother to such a lovely gift.

  A History of Sorts

  From the beginning, Sorie had a fondness for a young tan lad by the name of Tindal. Tindal, though rather small in stature, was fearless. Somewhat defined, though not overly muscular, he was the son of his athletic father MaZak. Hairless from birth, Tindal would often be mocked by the other boys, who soon learned to keep their comments to themselves or in secret.

  Tindal was very smart and loved history. He would often spend hours in the makeshift library reading books on all types of topics. He enjoyed comparing the different perspectives of various authors’ writings of the same time and subjects. Tindal could never read enough, as he would audibly agree and disagree with various writers. He was full of passion when it came to the law and history of Erde, whether it would be of King Salvare and the Sealed, or the Darkness.

  Tindal’s father, MaZak, had brought books from his days at Kirche, the school of the Sealed. Others, who sometimes visited the markets in Trachten, would also purchase a variety of books to share in the communal library in Nesal. Although MaZak did not agree with the content of all the books, they were there none the least. Men would read that which they wished, and he could not be every man’s conscience.

  Tindal’s father was a well-defined swordsman. He was known throughout the lands as The Bladesman. He was considered to be, if not the best, one of the best sword makers and carriers around. MaZak had chosen to move to Nesal for the purpose of removing his family – and himself, admittedly – from the mainstream of things. Although he had served the Sealed well for many years, he desired to keep his family far from the deceits of the Darkness due south. Even the mere gossip within the limits of Signum at Kirche burdened his heart, and wished not to lend his family’s ears to it.

  Nesal was a small valley hidden by the Cadas Mountains and Lake Szikla to its north and east, with large oaks and sycamores of the Ascuns Forest to its south and west. It was a quiet and peaceful place, out of sight and mind of most in the Land of Erde. Most preferred the large, busy spaces of Erde, while some still held to the peaceful calmness from the crowds.

  MaZak felt that he could enjoy his wife and raise his family away from all the problems of Erde by hiding away. He had seen too much he wished to keep from his family. He cared not that he would have to leave the luxuries of the modern, large village of Signum, which lie northwest of Nesal. It was in the quiet of Nesal MaZak felt his family could better hear the voice of God, and ponder the words of the Book of Wisdom from King Salvare.

  Twice a year MaZak traveled to the Land of the Seekers, who set up markets to have those from around the Land of Erde bring new and interesting creations to buy, sell, and trade. Men of dignity and power sometimes sent their servants from far kingdoms to have The Bladesman handcraft each minute detail into the finest metals, to become weapons of war and protection. And on occasion, some dignitaries paid a personal visit, just to view and offer a price to his prized possession – Reflection.

  MaZak named his most famous piece of work Reflection for two reasons; or so he said. The first was due to the nature of his work: his swords were created to hold the smoothest, shiniest reflection even after a day’s worth of battle. As for the second, which he most often enjoyed to tell: if it were true that man indeed saw his life flash before his eyes at the very moment of death, then very well it was the Reflection which brought him face to face with it.

  MaZak was a gracious man and full of wisdom. Strong as an ox and built like red cedar, none dare cross him. Though he held the image of an immovable force, underneath he was a man of compassion with a soft touch for his wife and child. He taught them the way of the Sealed and spoke often of the Shimmering kingdom. Numbered among the Sealed himself, he long served the true King, Salvare, valiantly along the frontlines and as a craftsman for the better part of his life. He had recently removed himself from the frontlines, moving to Nesal to spend his time defining works of art, namely swords. He claimed the frontlines were for the young to fight fervent and fierce, while it was the old one’s duty to lend support through teaching and training.

  “One cannot fight forever, for no man’s light is eternally lit in this life, but our knowledge and swords may be passed down from generation unto generation; for the battles against the Shadow Lands and the kingdom of Darkness shall continue to rage on long after we are gone. Fight while you are able, so the feeble may be protected. Hold on to faith in times of doubt, to
give encouragement to the weak. Live life by the law, so the unrighteous may know what is right. Give honor and show compassion, that others may want to follow.

  Remember your testimony before the kingdom as you serve in all obedience, Salvare, the true King, that all of Erde may know that he is righteous, pure at heart, is yet alive, and has a love for people. Let not King Salvare return to see us standing idle in the streets, as those around us are slain in the name of the Wicked One. Become one with your sword and wear the King’s armor proudly. Fight for Truth! Long live the King!” From his farewell address given to the youth who much enjoyed his stories, he said goodbye to a life of battle, but not of service.

  Tindal’s mother, Eslar, was much in love with her soldier, MaZak. He had rescued her from the Shadow Lands and told her of King Salvare. Although he would never take credit for saving her; for he told her it was the King’s Whisper that indeed had led him to her, and awakened her from the Shadows.

  § § § §

  The Shadow Lands were where many a soul drifted away, never to be seen or heard from again. It was a veil whereby the wickedness may pass between the light of Erde and the Darkness of Oscuridad. There were those who had lost themselves among the thick fog of the Shadows in search of the Darkness, but most had been taken captive by the Darkness itself. Being brought there, hearts soon became burdened beyond measure, minds confounded by the wickedness which dwelt therein, bodies worn by the unhealthy conditions of the climate, and soon all hope was lost as the Darkness overcame them.

  Though difficult, some souls were graciously saved, being pulled from the bonds of the Darkness back into the glorious light of the sun, nourished by those who fought against the Darkness and served the true King. Of such a one was Eslar.

  § § § §

  Day after day, as MaZak spoke of the King and the Shimmering kingdom, Eslar longed the more to see it and to meet this great King of who he spoke. He told her that one day soon King Salvare would indeed return with his kingdom, and that she would then be able to behold him face to face. Until then, one’s faith must rest in the words of the King, “Fear not my children, I shall return to you my people.” So she did.

  Even from her youth, this lady looked small and frail, but was very much a hard worker and quite feisty when the situation called for it. Ever striving to please MaZak, never had Eslar felt such love from any other man. She had neither known her father nor mother but was an orphan, who most seemed to over look. She would often claim, “When one has been pulled from the Shadows, what are the trials of life but a small thing.”

  If there were days Eslar would consider the greatest of all in her life, she would say it was the day she was saved from the Shadows, the meeting of her love, and the birth of her only son Tindal.

  Tindal was a most disciplined young man. He would anxiously await the arrival of his father and beg him to tell him the stories again and again - though he had heard them many times before - of how King Salvare had come, was betrayed by a friend, and slain by kindred and those who served the Darkness. Yet, did he rise again by the power of his father Allmachtig, and promised to return to gather his people unto his Shimmering kingdom, called Scimerian.

  § § § §

  Scimerian, the Shimmering kingdom, was described by King Salvare himself in the Book of Wisdom. “My children, behold when I shall return, to henceforth destroy the Darkness forevermore, I shall bring you forth to New Erde as Erde shall be no more. Even now do I go away to prepare a place for you. As you approach, ye shall see Scimerian’s gates of precious stones, which shall never be closed.

  “Ye shall enter upon streets of purest gold, able to be traveled by foot, as they are soft and pleasurable to walk upon. The vegetation shall cover the ground as a blanket, with colors so beautiful to behold, one can feel the warmth of their color. The trees stretch forth their arms, full of ripened, bountiful fruit, toward the bright sun which casts its light, forbidding forever the Shadows and Darkness entrance.

  “There shall be no more sorrow among the inhabitants of Scimerian within New Erde, for my desire is for your hearts to be pure and full of joy. Ye shall behold me as your king, and I shall love you as my people forever.”

  § § § §

  Tindal listened carefully as MaZak read him the law and would tell his father that he would be the first to keep that law perfectly, so the King would know he loved him.

  MaZak would chuckle and say, “Dear Tindal, do not fear if you by chance falter or stumble at the law. Indeed it is right to desire to obey without error, but the law is not what allows you into the kingdom. The King himself must grant you entrance.”

  “Aye, father, but how much more so shall the King accept that one who is perfect?”

  Sorie’s family had been slaughtered by an attack from the servants of Oscuridad, the kingdom of Darkness, as they overtook Almozak, where she lived. As the Gottlos attacked, strong delusions overwhelmed the people of the village, causing them to slay one another amidst the battle. It was as though the people were controlled by another, having them do things they normally would not.

  § § § §

  The Darkness was that which some believed had always been, though others considered began with the treason of Judarius. Dwelling along the southwest outskirts of Erde, though close enough to touch it, the Shadows Lands were all that appear to divide Oscuridad from Erde – though truly never separate, but by sight. Those who fell into the Darkness, such as the Gottlos, never again returned to the light except to fight against it. The Darkness and the servants thereof merely waited eagerly among the shadows throughout Erde, to overcome the souls who knew not their devices.

  § § § §

  There were no survivors, save Sorie. The village was left desolate with the bodies of those dead, lingering where they lay in the streets and homes. The Gottlos left as quickly as they had come, snickering and laughing with delight in what they had done to the people most unaware. Though rebuilt, Sorie had never returned.

  Was it by chance or something more that young Sorie had been saved from such torture? She pondered often why the entire village had to perish, save her. She still missed her family, but was no longer angered by it. She had returned from visiting her cousin Tamar in Felter, to find the village and all she had burning. Her joy was stolen that day, and in its place put sadness.

  As the smoke pushed its way through the fresh breeze, it carried the smell of death and sorrow like a message to others who may also fall prey to the desires of the Gottlos, or other servants of Darkness. The stench of the smoldering bodies was horrendous, along with the ashes carried by the wind, which caused Sorie’s eyes to burn. These were people she knew, family she loved.

  Sorie stood in fright, yet amazed. Wanting to turn away but unable, her tears found themselves watering the grass beneath her feet. If only she had not gone to visit Tamar – though she may have likewise died – she would still be with her family.

  How could such have happened? Have they all perished? Am I but left? Shall I call to them only to hear the crackling of the fire midst the ashes that remain?

  Sorie stood alone as time seemed to stand still. She scarcely heard the thunder of hooves quickly approaching from behind her, caring not who did approach. Had the savages returned to consume her also? She would readily embrace it.

  Rather, an average-sized, bearded man, wearing a tan cloak, carrying a strait smooth wooden staff, did dismount. He solemnly approached, and placed his hand upon her shoulder. Though unknown, his touch was comforting. She wanted to be held, but her angered kindled.

  Sorie’s lips drew fierce. “Where then are the King and the Sealed? Have they no desire for the peasants of the land? Are we but nothing in their eyes? Have you come now but to scoff?” She was fifteen years old, but not some silly child of adolescence.

  The man who stood beside her was Ashvar, a seer among the Sealed. He explained indeed, the village leaders had been told of the coming threat many moons ago, but had played the spoiled child choosing no
t to heed the warnings. Ashvar softly shared that although the Sealed desired to enlighten and move the villagers to a safer location, King Salvare’s words had always been clear that they were not to force people into protection, but to persuade through words of wisdom.

  It was peculiar, perhaps an inward persuading, which moved her to trust the words of the unknown man. With no family or place to go, Ashvar took Sorie home with him. From that day, he beheld her as daughter and she loved him as father.

  It was in the Land of the Seekers, at the semiannual market, that Sorie first laid eyes on Tindal. Instantly, there was a drawing attraction between the two. From that day, they became inseparable. Were they meant to be together by providence, or was it that neither had found another to take interest in? Neither cared for such foolish questions; as they were young, in love, having eyes for only one another.

  A few years later, they made vows to seal their faithfulness to one another, and chose to marry. They decided to live in the village of Nesal with Tindal’s family, but were not too far from her adoptive father in Breckenly. Things were going well for them, as their relationship developed from young love to couple charity: the love which brings forth both action and commitment, above and beyond mere youthful lust.