The Woodland Tombs of Eliantar

by Gary Gaugler, Jr

  Epilogue

  Kaxon Plottus draped the dark robe over his short, thin frame and pulled the hood over his head. He surveyed the blackness of the landscape before him and the sky above him. Given the time of day and the fact that he was standing in the shadow of the Chronometer Cathedral, it should’ve been no surprise that it was completely dark. However, in the past five years, it no longer mattered what time of day it was. The world was always dark.

  It had been five long years since anyone had seen the suns’ light. The world had been drained of all color that day when Skarsend, the god of death and darkness, had declared himself ruler of Eliantar.

  Whether or not it was the real Skarsend from the old legends, no one knew. The whispers were that he was indeed the god of death and that the gods had shielded themselves from his assault on the heavens. Therefore, he was forced to remain on Eliantar. Whether this was true, no one could say for sure.

  All the people knew was that one day Eliantar was a beautiful world and the next day, Skarsend’s dark arts had transformed their pristine planet into a place of nightmares and blackness. No one had heard from King Vale or any of his Ambassadors since that day, and the foolhardy ones that tried to seek their help, were punished with death.

  Skarsend ruled with an iron fist and demanded that all who resided in Eliantar follow his rule. Business was to be followed as usual during the day, but at night it was commanded that all should be indoors and locked in until the morning. For it was at night, when Skarsend’s army of undead marched the fields of Eliantar with absolutely no direction, other than kill whatever they encountered.

  No one would have wanted to venture out into the night anyway. That being said, there were few who were willing to travel from their homes during the day. Skarsend’s magic had disfigured the elemental realms, from what many had heard. He turned the fields and crops of Eliantar to black dust and transformed Ivory Towers into a dark fortress.

  The people had to live on what they had stored, prior to the god’s conquest, which for many wasn’t very much. Skarsend rewarded those who were loyal to him with vast amounts of food. Those that he suspected of treachery were cut off from food supplies. As an example to thwart betrayal, Skarsend would cut off supplies, not just to the individual, but to the entire village where they resided. Needless to say, after a few towns were decimated with starvation and disease, all others were loyal to the Tyrant King.

  Kaxon remembered that day clearly. He had just become a priest and had only been preaching at the Chronometer Cathedral for a few weeks, when one morning he had woken up to see the ground and sky were black as night.

  He smiled to himself, remembering what a positive and idealistic young man he had been then. The world was beautiful and everyone was so much happier. How happy he had been, to preach every day to a multitude of people in front of the clock tower, about how one day the world would get even better as soon as the clock started ticking.

  That seemed like decades ago now. He felt as though he had matured and aged forty years since that fateful day. Though he had never been handsome with his short stature and bony frame, he knew his eyes and smile were full of youth and hope. Now when he passed a reflective surface, he saw only loss. It was the face of a man who had become a hypocrite to all morals that he had once stood for.

  He still came to this same spot every day to preach about the wonder of the grand clock and how one day it would start and save the soul of every citizen of Eliantar. The tragedy of that was that he no longer believed a word that he spoke. No one was coming to save them. Their fate was already decided and he could no longer accept the fairy tale that all of the insignificant dullards still believed.

  They actually still came every day, maybe even more than had originally come in the beginning. It said a lot, considering that so many were terrified to go out even during the day. He stood up at the podium and secretly resented them all for their foolish hopes that they clung to.

  So, why did he still come here? He’d pondered it more than once and he supposed the only reason for enduring his own lies was because it gave him the only sense of humanity that he had left. After all, he had done some pretty terrible things himself in the past five years. One had to be ruthless and give in to their dark side in order to survive, he had rationalized.

  He no longer pitied the people he robbed in the middle of the night or the animals that he had butchered just so he could get something into his stomach. He barely even grimaced anymore when he thought back to the prostitutes that he had literally mutilated with his own bare hands, just for the fun of it.

  One night, two years prior, was the night that Kaxon realized he was losing his compassion. His sense of reality was fading away and he couldn’t have cared less. The new world that Skarsend had created had no use for people. Only animals could survive in the blackness that was once Eliantar.

  And so, with no thought to the atrocities that he had committed since the previous day’s sermon, Kaxon Plottus would don his grim robe and strike a friendly smile. No one ever suspected that the friendly, little man with the worn face and graying hair had become as twisted and cruel as the world itself. This fact made the priest more deadly than any of Skarsend’s evil spells, and he loved it.

  He took one last moment to look up at the Chronometer Cathedral, before he went to his mound. It hadn’t changed any more in the past five years than it had in the past 2,000 but still it looked different to him.

  It was a four-sided spire of polished, black wood that came to a point high above his head. Near the top was a large triangle of green, cracked glass with three silver arms, designed to tell time. Sets of stairs went up from the ground a few feet to the large base that the spire rested on. The heavy, ebony doors at the top of the stairs had never been opened since the Chronometer Cathedral’s creation.

  It was full of eerie mystery. No wonder it inspired so much hope, Kaxon thought to himself as he grimaced.

  Hearing the sound of approaching voices, he quickly moved across the lifeless grass, to his mound of dirt facing the Cathedral, just inside the ring of enormous white stones that encircled the area around the Cathedral.

  As they all began to take seats in the shadow of the epic Chronometer Cathedral, the priest raked his fingers through his graying hair and thought about what to say today. He felt, for lack of better word, stupid for insisting his listeners have faith, even as times continued to get worse.

  Most of them looked even more pathetic than him, Kaxon thought. Their bodies were ravaged with starvation and exhaustion. Their clothes looked more like torn rags than garments. Their eyes were the only part of them that still held a flicker of life.

  In spite of how dangerous it was for them to be here and how it was time away from finding food, here were dozens and dozens of people greeting each other with weary smiles and exchanges.

  As the crowd quieted down, found their seats on the hard ground, and directed their attention towards their preacher, Kaxon Plottus drew a breath to begin his day’s speech. And that was when he saw him.

  The man was slowly making his way to join the congregation. His obvious limp caused many to turn and stare, but they quickly forgot about that when they saw the rest of him.

  The man had long, black hair and wore a deep purple robe. The lower portion of his face was hidden behind a veil, the same color as his robe. The priest grimaced at the man, as he sat in the far back, on one of the Cathedral’s steps. It was unsafe and foolish to be seen in this time wearing such elegant material. At the very least, it was disrespectful to show off one’s wealth in front of the poor. Even more dangerous, was to appear so eccentric and stand out to the Tyrant King’s soldiers and spies.

  Feeling the priest’s eyes on him, the man looked up and stared back. Kaxon immediately felt uneasy. What had originally started out as him staring down his nose was now in reversal. As the man in purple stared back with rays of contempt and ferocity, Kaxon Plottus felt as
though he were on trial. He stood here and judged this man for his appearance, but felt sure that the man was judging him for his soul.

  A ridiculous notion, he knew, but at the same time, he felt a little more human again having that old guilty feeling back again, even if just for a moment. It had quickly passed, as he finally regained his composure and shifted his eyes around to other members of the congregation.

  And now that everyone was seated, quiet, and had their attention focused entirely on him, just the way he liked it, Kaxon Plottus took a deep breath. He was ready to begin, yet again.

  “I’m sure by now that you must all be tired of hearing the same old legends,” he smiled with a bow. “There’s no doubt that you all know the stories of why we gather at the Chronometer Cathedral every day. And yet, we never really tell it. Certainly, you go home and tell your children as they prepare for bed, but perhaps that is why the world is the way it is, because we treat our beliefs like fairy tales.

  “I stand here every day and preach about how we must have steadfast faith and to always keep our eyes to The Great Clock for hope, but rarely do I ever refresh our memories about the stories that bring us our faith system.

  “Surely this is foolish because how can we tell a story to our children that we don’t fully understand ourselves. The adult version of the story, the true version, may be a different version of Lileena’s Legend than you’re used to, but I know you’ll enjoy it just the same.

  Kaxon paused and surveyed his audience. He was thrilled to see that all eyes were on him. It always gave him a jolt of superiority to know that in spite of the atrocities he’d done in his life, he still held the weak-minded in the palm of his hands.

  He was just about to start up again when he saw in the back of the crowd, the man in purple, still giving Kaxon the same glare that he had walked in with. This silently enraged Kaxon, but he resigned himself to the idea that he would simply ignore the man until his sermon was over, and then confront him for his bold rudeness and lack of respect. With peace of mind, he was able to flash a smile, take another deep breath, and continue on with his story.

  “The story, of course, begins over 2,000 years ago after the gods created Eliantar and all the beings that live here. At that time, King Arktur, took on an advisor named Lileena. They had been friends as youngsters and it was said that Arktur had always trusted her above all others, even before he became King.

  “As with all Elites, Lileena had a special power that also made her a tremendous asset to the throne. Lileena had the gift of precognition. She could see things happen before they did, whether they were monumental or insignificant.

  “In a way, we owe the way we live to Lileena. Seeing into the future, she knew where to build towns that would prosper rather than fail. She knew who would be most effective as Ambassadors of the various realms. Her power was so advanced that she could actually foresee many possible futures by changing various details. In this way, she was able to lead Eliantar towards a bright future of prosperity.

  “Indeed all through King Arktur’s years and for the next 2,000 years, Eliantar would exist in a golden age filled with art, architecture, wisdom, and beauty, all things that were passions of Lileena’s.

  “As all the stories agree, Lileena was filled with passion for the betterment of Eliantar and supposedly filled with great beauty as well. She was tall and thin with long, strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes like the water of Quale. She was always dressed in the finest dresses and traveled in the finest coaches. The men respected and feared her knowledge and wisdom while the women envied her beauty and lusted for her. Yet, none should have her or even be closer to her than King Arktur, and in this way as well as so many others, she was the greatest Royal Advisor throughout Eliantar’s history.

  “Lileena was so much more than just a wise woman with precognitive powers though. She was also the most talented sorceress throughout the land. You will, of course, all understand that this was many years before sorcery was considered evil and illegal. Years later, as you know, it was decided that magic attracts far too many who would use the power for evil.”

  The priest paused and looked up at the black sky. He then stared thoughtfully at the dead grass beneath his feet and finally at the poor, worn faces of his audience.

  “As you can see, that theory about magic attracting dark sorcerers proved to be true, but let’s not dwell on the present during this tale. Lileena was a master sorceress and never used her powers for personal gain. She would bring rain to end a drought, she would heal the sick and injured, and she would conjure food from nothing to feed the hungry.

  “Everywhere Lileena went, the citizens of Eliantar would come flocking to tell her of their problems. When her wisdom and foresight were not enough, she would pull out her wand and use her book of spells to right the wrongs.

  “You’ve probably read in the children’s version of this tale that the wand and the spell book were gifts from the gods themselves to Lileena. Unfortunately we cannot say whether this is true or not since there have been 2,000 years of descendants to muddle the stories and re-write them. Most scholars believe that the gods have not been on Eliantar in corporeal form since creation, though then again how Lileena could’ve crafted such tools of sorcery and been so skilled in her lifetime remains a mystery. Suffice it to say, she was a benevolent witch who was most skilled at her craft.”

  Glancing up he saw the man in purple glaring at him ominously. Finding that the distraction had caused him to lose his thought, Kaxon became overcome with rage at the man and could contain it no longer.

  “Sir, I can see the contempt on your face even with that silly mask covering it! Would you care to join me up in front of my followers and explain to them why you mock their very beliefs?”

  “Why don’t you explain first?” Destor spat as he rose to his feet and glided towards Kaxon. “It’s true I may not believe that the gods are going to help us, but at least I do not pretend such things while secretly deriding them.”

  Kaxon sputtered, “Sir…I’ve never met you in my life. You don’t know me. How dare you challenge me in front of my congregation?”

  Kaxon Plottus had never been so humiliated in his life. This arrogant man was standing inches from his face and making direct accusations in front of his followers. He had never guessed something like this would happen and didn’t know how to react.

  “Tell them!” Destor roared. “Tell them how you don’t believe in the Cathedral or in the gods!”

  Tick Tock. The crowd began to whisper amongst themselves.

  “Tell these people that while they say their prayers and sleep at night, you break into their homes and steal from them.”

  Tick Tock. Tick Tock. The crowd had risen and began to yell to each other in a mixture of excitement and panic. Kaxon Plottus was appalled at the accusations and even more so at the loud reactions of his followers, whom he was sure were now furious at the revelations.

  “Kaxon Plottus, tell these people that you murder prostitutes and vagabonds that cross your path in the middle of the night.”

  Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. By now the crowd was screaming and going wild. Kaxon and Destor, now realizing this couldn’t be for their argument, both turned their heads in time for the first strike that shook the ground.

  Seeing the green clock face glow a deep emerald and the frightened look on the people’s faces, Destor stepped back. Not Kaxon Plottus, though. He needed these people. They were the only thing that allowed him to hold onto any shred of power in this chaotic world.

  “People, please be seated. All is well.”

  They didn’t hear him though as the clock rang a second time and the crowd erupted. They charged, running at full force away from the Chronometer Cathedral and directly into Kaxon. He fell to the ground hard and felt himself being repeated kicked in the face and chest as the congregation hurdled away. He choked on the taste of blood that now flooded his mouth and watched as every
thing faded to black as a heavy boot came crushing down on his skull.

  It may have been moments or months later for all Kaxon knew. He couldn’t move as his body was overwhelmed with pain. Hearing a loud creaking in the distance he opened his eyes to see the unthinkable. The heavy black doors to the Cathedral were opening and a strong looking man stepped out, scanning his surroundings.

  As Kaxon Plottus began to choke on the blood that filled his lungs, his very last thought crept into his brain. And as he recited the words in his head, for the first time in five years he knew he was wrong and felt guilt.

  “The spell is this: Eyes on the clock for when the pendulum swings.”

  About the Author

  Gary Gaugler Jr. was born and raised in the Lehigh Valley in Pennsylvania.  He graduated from Penn State University with a degree in Psychology.  This is his premier novel and he looks forward to sharing his expanded universe throughout the rest of the fantastical series.  In his spare time, Gary enjoys reading fiction, going to see Summer blockbusters, and spending weekends with friends and family.  He currently resides in Allentown, Pennsylvania with his partner, Stephen, and his two wonderful cats.

  Visit the World of Eliantar at: https://eliantarbooks.wix.com/eliantar

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  Coming Soon: The Emerald Gates of Eliantar

  Five years after the events of The Woodland Tombs, Eliantar has fallen and become a place of nightmares and monsters.  With the help of his love, the former Prince Vale, Ara must realize his destiny and fight to bring Eliantar back from ruin.  However, the two young men quickly discover that Skarsend, the god of destruction and current ruler of Eliantar, is not the only form of evil to have flourished.

  On a mission deep into the woods of Tacia to rescue Vale's brother, Prode, the heroes encounter an ancient estate filled with secrets and death traps.  It also houses Vale's former friend and betrayer, long presumed dead, as well as a devious plot that will change everything you knew about the world of Eliantar.  How can Ara and Vale ever be together and save the world when what lies behind the Emerald Gates may be worse than Skarsend himself.