Ekleipsis

by Pordlaw LaRue

  Sorcery was punishable by death, and if told, Rayhold’s fate would be sealed. Vandor knew his father was too strict, but Rayhold was his friend. Could his father show mercy, if Rayhold swore to refrain from such hence forth?

  Many questions in their minds kept the trip back quiet. They had agreed to keep silent of the Gottlo and sorcery till they could come to a safe way to approach the subject. With the burden of knowing something which could not be shared, their hearts were heavy.

  Through all the commotion, the shadowed figure merely taking notice of the whole event from around a tree a short distance away went completely unnoticed. Upon his face was a sneer, having a mind which pondered much mischief and malice. Very good, my dear Rayhold, very good. Fuel the power.

  Hope in Signum

  Dartego had been riding north across Trachten to Signum. Pausing for only moments along the way, he warned those in Xiacon of what had occurred in Palvolin. As soldiers prepared to seek out Xima in Palvolin, Dartego continued over the Umeten Canal toward Kirche as fast as he could. This was much for a man of his age, but the will to save the souls of Erde from the Darkness moved Dartego to press on.

  § § § §

  Kirche was an established school named after its founder Erdessest Kirche, where the Sealed were trained in the wisdom and arts of the King and his Book of Wisdom. It was an enormous castle made of individual stones three stories high, built in the place where King Salvare’s kingdom once stood. It was surrounded by a twenty foot stone wall – three feet wide, circling the entire grounds – with a gate which took six men to move.

  When Judarius murdered King Salvare, one of his first acts was to clean out the King’s castle. Most of the Sealed had fled from Signum, so at the death of Judarius, enraged with malice, Galtare and his band of Gottlos destroyed the King’s castle. Their desire was to rid the Land of Erde of all remembrance of King Salvare. Had it been possible, they would have succeeded.

  It was Erdessest who convinced men from all over Erde to build a new castle in Signum, for the return of King Salvare during the Awakening. They experienced a small amount of freedom, per se, to rebuild during the years Galtare remained in Oscuridad; as if oblivious to the happenings outside the walls of his castle. Galtare lay sickly unto death, while the hearts of the people of Erde moved back toward the King.

  Jagare had the desire to retake Signum at his father Galtare’s death, and was upon his march toward such thoughts, when he was dealt the deadly blow to his head. Though the bowman never found, the voices of Erde cheered nonetheless. Jagare had been silent since that day, with stories of whether he was dead or merely awaiting a time to resurface carried between villages, among the breeze, throughout Erde.

  Erdessest, already great in years, fell asleep soon after the completion of Kirche.

  § § § §

  Dartego was old and his body told him so. The ride was almost unbearable. Many times he felt the need to stop, only to recall the words of MaZak, “The Dragon has come. You must hurry to tell our families in Nesal, and warn the other villages on the way. I fear we are not prepared. Call to the Sealed in every village. Make sure Ciafus knows of this first. Tell him to prepare for the Ekleipsis. Rubicund has surfaced!”

  § § § §

  Ekleipsis: Judarius claimed that darkness would one day overcome and destroy all light. The name of that day, he called thus. True, there was a span of Dark Ages for the Land of Erde during the reign of Galtare, but that which Judarius spoke of was a complete annihilation of the remembrance of all that was pure and good.

  Galtare had even claimed that he brought in the Ekleipsis, but the Awakening had proven him wrong. His reign brought forth the Dark Ages which Judarius had set in motion, causing many to lose hope, but the flicker of light remained. It was but a pre- Ekleipsis or false- Ekleipsis, depending on the person – merely a glimpse of what could come to pass. Some used it as proof that a true total Ekleipsis was not possible, while others saw it as proof of what would happen if people continued to lose sight of all the King spoke of.

  Dartego and the Sealed believed the latter, and thus anxiously awaited the return of the King to put an end to the Darkness forever.

  § § § §

  Days passed with Dartego and his borrowed horse growing weary past exhaustion. With Signum in sight, he pulled the last bit of his strength, pressing the horse to move faster. The wind blew hard against his bearded face and bushy brows. Squinting, he could see Kirche in the distance. His bones ached, his back was stiff, and his stomach growled of hunger, but the sight of the King’s insignia upon the walls of Kirche sprang forth life within his bosom. Dartego longed for the sweet rest he knew he would find once there. The comfort and care he knew the Sealed would greet him with caused him to will the thoroughbred to stride beneath him with purpose.

  A jerk, a stumble, Dartego could feel his horse sway to one side. It appeared slow in his mind, but only seconds in reality. The horse’s front hoof had found a random hole in the plain, less than a mile from Kirche. Impulse moved Dartego to prepare for the fall that awaited him. How could this be but moments from where he needed to be? The horse could not regain its balance, nor hold up the weight upon his back. The fall was inevitable. Dartego could do nothing to save himself from it.

  At full speed the horse pounded the ground, shoulder then head, twisting and flipping, with Dartego tangled amidst it all. Dartego was beat by the body of the horse and the ground, as they rolled and tumbled multiple times. Grunts and moans filled Dartego’s mouth and emptiness filled his mind, as they stopped.

  Dust rose, forming a cloud. The horse was lifeless on its side. Dartego was motionless, lying face down with his legs under the horse. The dust settled back to the ground, mixing with drops of blood. Shall we have come this far, but to die? was Dartego’s last coherent thought.

  Eyes saw it all from outside the walls of Kirche, including a few of the Sealed. There was no doubt that such a fall could kill even the strongest and best riders. Labat and his two sons rushed in Dartego’s direction. They and their horses were fresh and moved like the wind, covering the distance in minutes. They knew nothing of this man but that he needed help.

  Labat, a Sealed veteran of fifteen years, dismounted his horse as he arrived at the incident. His twin sons, Falken and Ion, tall muscular fellows, followed suit. Recently turning twenty, they had been numbered among the Sealed for nearly two years. Still in training, but had grasped the teaching well.

  They found Dartego mumbling something they could not quite make out. Shrugging, they worked to roll the dead horse from his legs. His face held small cuts, but they worried more about the gash atop the large lump upon his forehead. Drool hung from his mouth as he repeated incoherent phrases over and over. They could see his legs look crushed, but were sure internal problems most likely also existed. They needed to get him back to Kirche to the physician.

  Entering the walls of Kirche, they were met at the door by the medical team, led by Nartod. A dark man with grey wisdom covering his head and face, he was one of the first to come to Kirche as a lad, after it being built, and was now over the infirmary.

  “Dartego,” Nartod looked surprised, recognizing the man.

  “You know him?” asked Labat.

  “Quite so. This man is numbered among the Sealed.”

  Labat and his sons informed Nartod of what they had seen, and that Dartego had been mumbling phrases they could not decipher. Nartod then led four other men carrying the stretcher holding Dartego to the medical wing. They would care for him as best they could.

  Nartod and the four men managed to clean and bandage Dartego, so he was now resting on a cot in one of the four bays they had for various conditions: one for the sick; a second for recoverable injuries; a third for harsher wounds; and yet another for the least likely to recover. To Nartod, it looked bad. Considering Dartego’s age and the incident, it did not leave much promise for recovery. Yet Nartod acknowledged he had seen miracles before. As such, he would try to remain hopefu
l and pray.

  Nartod went to leave the room when he heard movement. He turned to see Dartego sit strait up. Eyes wide open, “Ekleipsis,” Dartego said clearly.

  Nartod was speechless. The hairs on Nartod’s neck stood up, with a chill racing down his spine. Dartego coughed and fell back. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, as air exited his lungs. He went to sleep to be with his fathers. There was nothing Nartod could do. Unable to revive Dartego, Nartod ran to find the Auctoritas.

  § § § §

  The Auctoritas was the Commander of the Sealed, not as a king would be, but as a commander nominated by the Sealed, approved by the council, and then voted on by the Sealed collectively.

  There were a few requirements for being an Auctoritas: He must be at least the age of thirty and be no older than sixty at the time of vote. He must also have served as one of the Sealed for a minimum of ten years. He must remain at Kirche during his time in office (as a home, not physically unable to leave).

  He was to be a figure head for what was right, not above the people, but for the people. Being approved by the council, he could also be removed by the council, due to clear variance and departure from the Book of Wisdom. The Sealed believed they had one true king, namely Salvare, so none dared assume the title of such in his absence.

  The current Auctoritas was Ciafus. Ciafus was a young man in his early fifties of strong build, with a solid jaw of truth, and piercing eyes – as one who could look through the lies of another, stand firm on principle, and remain sturdy in battle. Upon the leave of MaZak, years ago, he had been given the title of Auctoritas concerning the Sealed.

  With unanimous approval from the council, along with a majority vote of ninety percent among the Sealed, it placed Ciafus in authority till he either chose to step down, died, or upon return of King Salvare. He dared not rule as one above all men, as a Popish, but merely one who others may look to in times of danger and support.

  The Sealed were free to live as they saw right, as long as by the guidelines set forth by King Salvare in his Book of Wisdom. They needed no special permission from Ciafus. He was there not as a dictator or legalist but to hold the common interest of the King, that the Sealed be not persuaded to waver from such.

  The council was made of twelve men who were also voted in by the Sealed. As with the office of Auctoritas, so were the qualifications for the council members. Known as the Council of Kirche, these were the members in alphabetical order: Adevar, Bron van Vreugde, Ehrlich, Frieden, Fuerza, Langmutig, Odvaha, Pameten, Rakkaus, Usk, Vitis, and Zavest. Bron van Vreugde was the eldest of the council, with Adevar the youngest.

  § § § §

  Nartod ran the flight of stairs rather quickly, making his way to the center of the castle on the second floor. Reaching the council room, he pushed through the door. Ciafus set at the far end head of the long, thick, wooden table, with maps and papers spread the length thereof. Sitting on like-padded chairs, as Ciafus, was Adevar, Usk, Ehrlich, Pameten, Vitis, and Odvaha to his left, with Fuerza, Zavest, Rakkaus, Frieden, Langmutig, and Bron van Vreugde to his right. An extravagant rug covered the floor of the enormous room, with paintings and tapestries decorating the walls.

  Ciafus, Usk, and Bron van Vreugde stood most serious. Nartod paused to catch his breath, looking into a group of inquisitive eyes.

  “Dear Nartod, this is most unlike you to barge in when such a meeting is being held. Could this not wait?” questioned Bron van Vreugde.

  “He looks most pale, Bron. Speak Nartod, what have you to tell us?” Ciafus inquired.

  “The Ekleipsis, dear Ciafus,” said Nartod, almost yelling, yet breathless.

  The room silenced. “The Ekleipsis?” repeated Ciafus, more as a question.

  Nartod moved forward to gain support from the table, catching his breath. It was not so much the run, but the thoughts which accompanied him up the stairs that worked him. He told the council of Dartego and the accident, how he was brought inside the castle and spoke only one word before he fell asleep: “Ekleipsis.” He told how Dartego had come from the direction of Trachten, which was just shy north of the Shadow Lands and Oscuridad. They all knew of that which he spoke, they just could not believe it was spoken.

  Secrets Revealed

  A pounding at the door awakened Sycress. Her eyes sprung open with the jar of noise. She rolled over to shake Labo, whispering, “Labo…Labo…Someone is at the door…wake up.” He was stubborn and deep asleep, not even flinching at her call. She found his ribs among his chubby sides and poked them. He flinched awake.

  Labo tiredly questioned Sycress for waking him. It was a little past midnight, most uncommon behavior. Before she was able to answer, the pounding came again. Startling Labo, he jumped to his feet, sliding on his pants and grabbing an odd-shaped black handled dagger by his bed.

  Reaching the door slowly, the pounding continued. “Who is it?” Labo questioned loud and deep.

  “The council,” was the quick reply.

  This was the Council of Nesal, made of seven persons. The speaker was Tindal and tonight he had led the group to Labo’s home, but that was not who they sought.

  The council? Labo questioned to himself, reluctantly opening the door. He hid the dagger inside his jacket hanging near the window.

  The first person Labo saw was Tindal carrying a lantern, but none of the council looked very happy in the least. He felt the nerves come alive throughout his body, not really sure as to why the men were at his doorstep. What would drive them from their beds at this hour, he did not know and it scared him. Guilty conscience or human nature, he couldn’t help but run things through his mind to see if he had done something worthy of the visit.

  “Labo, is Rayhold here?” Tindal asked without introduction or common chat. Straight to the point relieved Labo of his question if it was he, only to create new fear by the mere mention of his son’s name.

  Sycress heard every word and hastened to make herself descent before men. She spilled from the room, directly to the door, before words could leave Labo’s mouth. “What do you need with our son?” she asked intently, feeling the motherly instinct of protection overtaking her.

  § § § §

  Although Vandor and Rayhold were friends, less close most recently, their parents were not so much. Rayhold’s parents, Labo and Sycress, were quiet people who were hardly seen in Nesal, as most of the things they sold were delivered to other villages. When they were around, there were mostly mere common greetings and such without much more.

  Vandor’s parents, Tindal and Sorie, on the other hand, took part in other things. Tindal spent most of his time in study, teaching, and learning of history and other topics. He was speaker of the Council of Nesal, so he was close to family and the council members, but not many others. Sorie was quiet and mingled mostly with those she had known for years, but always spoke with the other ladies of the village as well.

  § § § §

  Tindal and the council seemed eager on seeing Rayhold and not really idle chat. “We need to see Rayhold,” Tindal demanded, still standing outside the home, with the council to his back.

  Rayhold was now up, peeking through the crack of his door. He was not really able to see anyone because of the angle, but clearly he heard his name and recognized the voice of Vandor’s father.

  Fear gripped him tightly. He pondered a hundred thoughts it seemed. Vandor, Kayla, and he had agreed to refrain from speaking of the incident of a few days ago. Had they lied? Had they broken down and told on him? Surely they were his friends and would not betray him. But what else could it be, he could not imagine. Their vow kept returning to his mind.

  Labo and Sycress held Tindal and the council at the door, questioning and reasoning as to what their visit was all about. Tiring, Tindal stepped up, pushing his way into the house between the two.

  “By the authority of the Council of Nesal, we demand to see Rayhold your son!”

  Labo and Sycress cried loudly, “You have no authority in our home,” as the co
uncil moved forward anyway.

  Labo shoved Tindal in the back screaming, “You have no authority,” as Sycress backed up in fear, echoing the same.

  Tindal fell forward to the ground, dropping the lantern. Qad and Kol rushed in, grabbing Labo, pinning him to the wooden wall with a loud thump. Labo was a large man and difficult to hold, even with both of them. Nau moved to keep Sycress back, less aggressively than the others had Labo, as Rayhold ran from his room.

  “Leave them alone. Here am I,” cried Rayhold, facing them all.

  As Tindal recovered himself from the floor, the two men tightly held Labo and Sycress sat with Nau near her.

  Yanes stood in the doorway, while Ishbal and Zoac moved to the sides of Rayhold. They carried shackles, and the clinging chilled the air. Rayhold knew they had come for him, but stood in place. He moved his sight between Tindal, his father, and his mother. He could see the anger, fear, and hurt in their eyes. He pondered the idea of running, but decided against it. Rayhold’s mind was too cluttered to think.

  He didn’t resist as they placed the shackles around his wrists and ankles. They were cold, hard, and rang out a metallic sound when closed. Zoac locked the chain, connecting the wrists shackles to the ankle ones.