The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy)

by R. G. Triplett

  “We ride to Abondale, and then embark towards the end of the world!” Seig shouted in a hair-raising battle cry. The clank of the forty guardsmen striking their chests in salute punctuated the surrealism of the moment with a clarified finality. “Move out!” he commanded, then wheeled his horse around and began riding south.

  Yasen took Michael by the shoulders. “Do not dismay, groomsman, for you remind me of a friend of mine. His green-horned hope did not waver in the face of brutality, ignorance, or small-minded men, and I suspect that you have a bit of that kind of blood running through you, too.” He smiled, doing his best to lift the spirits of this obviously disappointed young man.

  “Thank you, sir,” Michael said in a defeated tone of voice. “It is not just the disappointment of missing out on this assignment, it’s the embarrassment of being left behind.”

  “Well,” Yasen said kindly, “that is true enough, lad, but at least you are left in the best of company,” Yasen winked to Armas, knowing full well that although the captain had not once shown the sting of being passed over, he too held onto the lingering pain of assumed disgrace.

  Armas nodded in agreement. “Ah, come on Michael, let us still ride south and see them off, huh? For the Priest King, in his infinite wisdom,” Armas said in mocking reverence, “has seen to it that a feast be thrown in honor of the first colony. The least we can do is fill our guts and drink away our embarrassment!”

  “Aye, lad,” Yasen agreed. “Come ride with us to Abondale.”

  “Thank you, sirs, your words are kind,” Michael told them both.

  Yasen turned, walking back towards his men, when Michael shouted out after him. “Yasen, sir! I almost forgot to ask you a question.” Michael ran back to the chieftain of the woodcutters.

  “What is it?” Yasen asked.

  “My friend was sent to the North months ago, and I know that there are many woodcutters, and that the northern territories are vast … but I wanted to know if you have any word of him? I haven’t heard anything of his whereabouts since he left to make his restitution.”

  Yasen’s eyebrows raised in such a way that gave Michael hope.

  “And just what is this friend’s name, groomsman?” Yasen asked playfully.

  “Cal, sir. His name is Cal, and he is a bit taller than me, and his hair is yellow in color. Have you seen him, or heard of him?” Michael asked.

  “I know this friend of yours, Michael, for he is also a friend of mine.” Yasen looked to Armas and gave him a look that said what he was about to tell the young man was going to quite possibly be painful news.

  “In fact, he has traveled here with us,” Yasen told him.

  “He has? He is here with you now?” Michael’s eyes shot over the faces of all the bearded men on horseback. “Where is he? I would love to see my friend and hear of his adventures! Is he alright?” Michael’s excitement over Cal seemed to momentarily wash away his disappointment over the colony.

  “He is, lad,” Yasen said a bit shyly. “He is … in fact … the groomsman that will be traveling with us to the Wreath.”

  The words took a minute before their meaning finally sunk in, and Michael stood and stared at the chief of the woodcutters, crestfallen. “Oh … I see,” he said, the wind of excitement now vanished from his sails.

  “I think he would like very much to see you though,” Yasen told the doubly disappointed young groomsman. “He is riding in the last timber cart, there at the end of the line. Why don’t you ride to Abondale with him, for he has many stories to share with you, of that I am sure.”

  Yasen mounted his large draft horse and blew his ram’s horn, signaling to his men that the time had come for them to move on. In answer to the sound of his horn, more horns began to ring out from the company and soon they were on their way southward.

  Michael stared hard at the ground as the mounted men filed past him, stuck in the weight of his shame and disappointment. It was not until the long-familiar timbre of Cal’s voice shouted in excitement that Michael raised his eyes to find his friend.

  “Michael? Michael, is it you?” Cal shouted amidst the noise.

  Michael hung his head while his mind swirled in a conflicted storm of emotion. He couldn’t bring his eyes to meet Cal’s, so he just stood there, unmoving, as his friend was carried right past him by the timber cart.

  “Wait! Michael?” He heard the voice of his closest friend fade down the road towards a destiny he would no longer get the chance to participate in. “Michael!”

  When the clamor and the excitement of the moment had faded, and the whole company of governor, guardsmen, and woodcutters had lumbered off, Michael wiped the disappointed tears from his eyes to stare down the now-empty highway.

  Then, moved by something unlooked for, Michael turned towards the disappearing line of men and horses and took off in a dead sprint after his friend.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “I was so hoping I would get to see you before we left!” Cal beamed with excitement upon seeing his friend running alongside him. “Come on, brother, ride with me!”

  Cal reached down and grabbed the wrist of his long-missed friend, and with a heave of muscle he pulled Michael up into the large, ox-drawn timber cart. Cal wrapped his arm around his friend and embraced him with a firm but joyful welcome. “Ah, I have missed you, horse face!” Cal beamed.

  Michael, slick with perspiration and breathing heavily, made a valiant effort to push away his darkened disappointment, doing his best to choose to see this moment as a joyful reunion.

  “I have missed you too, Cal,” he managed to earnestly huff out in between his labored breaths.

  “How are you, brother? You look well enough to me!” Cal said, grinning from ear to ear. The shadow of a freshly grown beard was outlining his happy features.

  Michael took in the full measure of his friend. No longer did he seem like the greenhorn that rode off north with his tail between his legs in search of penance. No—here aboard the timber cart of the woodcutters, Cal looked like a seasoned man of the North. He appeared like a man who had seen both danger and death, one who had felt the sting of cold and the bite of fear and overcame them both.

  Michael felt a bit guilty for the ill will he had just moments ago felt for his friend. “Well, I am better now that I get to see your ugly face!” He spoke with a half-shamed smile.

  Cal let out a howl of a laugh in response. “Oh brother, I have much to tell you!”

  The caravan of woodcutters and guardsmen trekked the half-day journey through the walled city of Haven, en route to the southern borough of Abondale. Unlike the utilitarian atmosphere of Westriver, with all of its smithies, tanneries, mills, and taverns, Abondale was made up of lush and fertile farmland. League after league of rolling pastureland and sprawling farms brought an unfamiliar yet gloriously refreshing green to the mostly greying city. It was here in the borough of Abondale that the king’s cattle were raised and the swiftest and bravest of horses were bred. Sprawling vineyards lined the hilltops that bordered the main roads to the small square at the entrance of the Southern Gate.

  The people of Abondale were of the earthy variety, making for themselves a living from what was already there. The aromas of husbandry and cattle farming, golden wheat and the choicest barley, and the faint smell of salty ocean all scented the sweet air that hung about the land in the southern part of the kingdom. These citizens were of the most hospitable sort, which could be attributed to their nature as southerners, as some were prone to suggest. However, the truth of the matter was that their affability had much to do with both Abondale’s distance from the Capital’s oppressive spirit and the abundance of fertile green that made up their surroundings. Somehow the air was a little crisper, a little easier to breathe here in Abondale, and a small, hopeful part of its citizens was kept alive, even during this worrisome season of life.

  The horses’ hooves clanked and knocked upon the cobblestone highway as the company of the first colony rode through the villages. For most of t
he journey, Cal and Michael exchanged stories. Michael spoke of the riotous mob that attacked his carriage, and Cal told him of the demon bear and the Poet colony. The two young men had done quite a bit of growing up in the last handful of months; that was plain enough for both of them to see. However, there was indeed a distinct note of guardedness that kept the full joy of their reunion from ever truly taking over the conversation.

  “So, you have been spending time with the Arborists, have you?” Cal asked him.

  “Well, just one in particular,” Michael said. “Engelmann the Hopeful.”

  Cal raised a disbelieving eyebrow, not quite sure he knew this new man who was riding along side of him. “Did you say Engelmann the Hopeful? You? You are being taught by someone who is hopeful?” Cal said with teasing incredulity.

  “Yes,” Michael said defiantly. “Why is that so hard for you to believe? Huh?”

  “I am just simply pointing out, that he sounds,” Cal thought about a tactful way to say this, “…a bit contrary to your flintish ways.”

  “Well, perhaps I might be ready to admit that there is more magic to this world than just the self-made spark from a piece of shiny rock,” Michael admitted. “And speaking of shiny rocks, do you happen to still have mine underneath that fancy cloak of yours?”

  Cal went white in the face. “Oh brother … I will need your forgiveness,” he said, hanging his head in embarrassment. “It was stolen months ago when I was robbed by some highwaymen. But if I am honest, I had not even remembered it was gone until just this moment.”

  “Ah well, I should have known that I wouldn’t get it back,” Michael’s crestfallen features managed to force themselves into a reassuring smile. “Especially since the person I lent it to is prone to fits of staring off at purple lights and dreaming of mythical, snake-eating Oweles,” he said with a laugh.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Cal said with a mix of awe and mischievousness to his words.

  “Just what do you mean by that?” Michael probed, a bit offended. “Of course I don’t know the half of it! I have been waiting here inside this grey, depressing city, while you have been out on all sorts of fantastic adventures, outwitting witches and shadow cats … and losing my flint!” Michael’s voice rose in frustration at the unfairness of it all.

  “Adventures?” Cal replied. “I was robbed, and I have nearly lost my life more than once! I didn’t leave you behind, brother. And I am not trying to rub salt in whatever wounds you feel, either.” Cal’s voice softened a bit as he began to understand the reason behind Michael’s outburst.

  “It was supposed to be me, you know?” Michael shot back. “I was chosen by the Citadel to be the groomsman to the first colony.”

  “But … that’s great, brother!” Cal said excitedly. “There will be enough adventure for the both of us, and who knows what kind of death we will stare down this time? Huh!”

  “No, Cal,” Michael said dejectedly. “They only have room enough for one groomsman.”

  “I don’t understand,” Cal spoke, and his eyes then widened with the realization of just what it was that Michael was trying to tell him. “I didn’t … I had no idea,” Cal said apologetically.

  “I know you didn’t, horse face,” Michael said with a disappointed smile. “It just feels like I am missing out on all the adventure once again.”

  The two men rode on in silence for a few moments, both of them staring straight ahead, both of them deep in thought. Michael broke the silence first. “I mean, I guess it’s not all boring. I did get to go into the Great Hall of the Arborists.”

  Cal looked up at Michael with awed disbelief on his face. As he searched his friend’s features, he could see the almost unbelievable truth that his story was not in jest. He smiled at the thought of what it must be like there under the hallowed tree. “I guess you really have been spending some time under the influence of Engelmann, haven’t you?” Cal laughed.

  “What does that mean?” Michael asked a bit defensively.

  “Oh never mind, brother!” Cal told him.

  Just up ahead of the line of woodcutters, the tops of the harbor homes began to come into full view. Cal could see the banners of the Citadel waving green and silver from the towers that turreted out from atop the great wall. What little time they had left in the privacy of the timber cart was surely coming to an end. Cal looked at his friend and then back towards the fast approaching town, with all its sounds of ceremony and celebration threatening to drown out the very words he had most wanted to share.

  “I need to tell you something else.” Cal paused, letting the gravity of his words sit heavy in the pit of both of their stomachs. “I need to tell you something that you might not believe, but that I desperately hope you will accept.”

  Michael could see the village square off in the distance. “Well then, hurry up and tell it, before we reach the harbor and you set sail without me.”

  Cal tightened his face and rubbed his hand across his stubbled cheeks in nervous frustration. He looked back to his friend and then again to the village.

  “Oh come on, don’t be a stubborn ass; out with it!” Michael chided him.

  Cal took a deep breath and then spoke to his friend. “You may or may not have heard the rumors, but I tell you this to be true. There is evil out there in the shadows, Michael. It sees with …” he shook his head, trying to rid his memory of the very sight, “with eyes of the green death, and consumes, or rather possesses things that should be living.”

  Michael stared at his friend. He could see the torture that lined Cal’s face as he struggled to find a way to express the truth in a manner that would not seem like complete lunacy. “Go on, brother,” he said slowly. “I believe you.”

  “The Oweles and the Sprites, they talked about great winged serpents, and I am afraid—“

  “Sprites? What Sprites? What are you talking about?” Michael interrupted.

  “Ugh. Well, these—I mean—the Oweles, they led me under the mountain, to this grove and there were Sprites that told me …” Cal stuttered and stumbled over his words, desperately trying to make some sort of sense out of the fantastical tale he was trying to tell.

  “Come on, brother,” Michael said, sounding rather wounded. “I thought you were being serious, and all this time you were just poking fun?”

  “No! Agh!” Cal grunted in frustration. “This is what I am trying to tell you!” Cal stopped to take a breath and collect his thoughts. “There is a danger, a green death that is coming for Haven, though few are even aware of it.” Cal looked as earnestly as he could into Michael’s disbelieving eyes. “I need you to … I don’t know … do something about it!” Cal blurted.

  “The Oweles and the Sprites told you this?” Michael asked with a raised eyebrow. “You do realize that you are the only person in all of Haven that claims to have ever seen an Owele, let alone have talked to one; and now this … a Sprite too?”

  “I know it sounds mad, but I promise you I am telling you the truth of what I have seen with my own eyes,” Cal pleaded in desperation.

  The brass horns of the Capital guard rang loud and bright as the caravan of woodcutters and guardsmen made their way inside the village square near the Southern Gate. A throng of people had gathered to join in the festivities and participate in the blessing of the first colony. Atop the barbican of the Southern Gate, the Priest King himself stood amongst his most trusted advisors and his personal guards.

  Abondale had never looked so adorned as it did this day. The green and silver banners danced in the breeze as they hung from the battlements and bastion towers. Great gilded lamps fashioned in the form of the burning tree were ablaze in their yellow firelight, and rows of tables had been set in honor of all who would soon set sail.

  The horses and carts all came to a halt as Cal desperately tried to convey his whispered message, but the silence commanded by the Priest King made his attempts at conversing all but impossible. Jhames stood high and imposing there atop the gatehouse. His thi
ck, black and green robe hung heavy around his wispy frame, and his elaborately embellished flint glittered in the firelight as an ornate reminder of his Priestly agenda.

  Jhames lowered his three fingers and addressed the company of men and the crowd of citizens alike. “People of Haven, men of the first colony, and residents of Abondale … today is a bright day for our bright people. For the THREE who is SEVEN has seen it right that we should board these ships and seek the light!”

  The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Jhames raised his fingers once again, exercising his sway over the gathered people. “Tonight we feast, tonight we celebrate our bright future together; but as for this moment, we must attend to the ancient and holy words of the Priests who have gone before us.”

  The woodcutters and knights dismounted their horses and the company of the first colony made its way to the center of the square where Chancellor Chaiphus waited. The guardsmen stood in uniformed attention and the woodcutters listened with intense reverence as Jhames spoke blessings over these, the last hope of Haven.

  Whatever Jhames lacked in strength of might or feats of battle, he more than made up for with his enthralling eloquence. His charismatic piety was electric as he stood there upon the Southern Gate; all eyes, not merely those of the first colony, were held captive by his passion and his flint-like holiness. The boys and men alike held in their right hands the small flints that they wore around their necks, in an effort to participate in this sacred moment.