“Well, so does the rest of the council,” Julian said. “He may be the founder of the Dunarians, but every one of us feels like we've earned our spot. He's had his chance in the past. If you don't even think he should lead then you should understand why I don't think he should be part of the council.”
“You shouldn't be worrying about this now, Julian. His position with the council has nothing to do with your task today. You know how important these medallions are.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get it.”
“I don't think you do,” Holden said slowly.
Julian wanted to punch something. He did understand. It wasn't as big of a deal as most on the council seemed to think it was, but it was worth going after. The plans for stealing the medallions came to Julian only a year after he had been on the council. He remembered being told all about the secrets of the Jekyll Rock fortress. In a place that few had seen there was a large, flat, stone wall known simply as Marenon’s Map. It was ancient, and the Erellens laid claim to its handiwork, just as they did with the medallions. Much of the story of the medallions and their beginning was now lost in history, but their uses were well known. In front of Marenon’s Map stood a stone pedestal with six round slots in which the six medallions of each territory in Marenon could be placed. With each medallion the map revealed the activity of anything currently happening in that specific territory. It was like a live-action map. If one had the medallion of Mudavé, the territory of the Stühocs, one could see anything happening in Mudavé with a bird’s eye view.
Each territory had been given their own medallion to guard and keep safe those thousands of years before. Many thought of the medallions as a representation of who they were, a symbol of individuality. But with all of the medallions and Marenon’s Map, the Dunarians would be able to see anything that happened in the land. But the fact remained that few Humans had actually seen Marenon’s Map, and then only under the supervision of Garland Ainsley. How Garland knew so much about the medallions’ power remained a mystery. There is a lot of mystery surrounding the Ainsleys, Julian thought.
The Erellens had left Marenon’s Map with Garland and the Dunarians during the war. They presumed the Dunarians would only be concerned with keeping watch over their own territory. But now the Dunarians needed them all. It was the only way to complete The Reckoning. Julian felt sure the Erellens would not approve of the Dunarian’s plans.
He had also felt it was a little presumptuous to think that obtaining all of the medallions would really help them win the unavoidable campaign against the Stühocs. Anything for the cause, he would always tell himself.
“It’s not the end of the world if we do not get each medallion, you know.”
“There are a lot more to the medallions than I told you before,” Holden continued.
Julian stopped what he was doing and raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.
Holden sighed, wondering if he should go further. “It's more than a map of the happenings in Marenon. Although it may help a great deal, it wouldn't do much in winning a war. But the weapon it creates might.”
A weapon? What sort of magic had been put into the medallions? Julian waited.
“We aren't sure of the magnitude of the weapon’s power once the medallions are brought together, but we’re convinced that it will be enough to finally destroy the Stühocs for good. If we can get these medallions, it will truly be a reckoning, Julian. We will be an unstoppable force against evil. We will become the new law of the land! We will no longer be subject to your brother's idiotic laws and we will have a free and peaceful Marenon.”
Julian stood, letting the words sink in. Holden’s plans felt perilous. Anyone with that kind of power could be dangerous. To be the ultimate power? Unchecked? But if it were meant for good, wouldn't it be for the best? Julian thought of the Stühocs and how they had killed his father, a man that wanted peace. Surely, he would have wanted this, anything to destroy the Stühocs and provide a way for Humans to live in peace.
Julian resumed packing the saddlebag. “I'll get you the medallion,” he said.
“For the cause,” Holden said.
“For the cause,” Julian repeated.
He then mounted Eden as she spread her wings and prepared to fly. Getting all of the medallions was essential to peace. Perhaps having all the power was the only way.
Chapter Nine
Silas woke up flat on his face and freezing. When his eyes opened he realized the cold was produced by snow blanketing the ground. It was deep, still falling and people stood all around him, but they weren’t paying him any attention. They seemed as lost and confused as he, just as they all had been in the corridor. These were the ones that had gone through the fiery gate before him. He noticed a crowd to his left sifting through something, he was not sure what. His feet felt numb and he knew he would freeze to death if he didn't get warmer somehow. But wasn't he already dead? If so, why was he shivering so badly?
He felt someone grab his shoulder and he rolled on his back. It was Dink. In his right hand he held a wad of brown cloth.
“Here, I got this for you.”
Silas accepted it graciously and began wrapping his exposed skin. With some extra cloth he was able to form crude shoes to at least keep his feet from being frostbitten.
“Where did you get them?” Silas asked.
Dink glanced at the crowd of people examining a pile. When Silas took another look he could see a mound of dead bodies, those who didn't make it far from the gate. Silas looked back at Dink, sick to his stomach. Dink seemed adequately covered and warm enough.
“Thank you,” Silas said as he took Dink's arm and stood.
“People are gathering over there.” Dink pointed to a trio of soldiers standing nearby. Two of them were clothed in warm garments and boots meant for the snow. They looked quite comfortable with their swords and bows strapped to their sides and backs. They did not seem to be expecting any sort of fight. People just wanted heat. In between the two stood a man dressed in leather armor. His bald head and bulging arms were exposed to the cold, but he seemed to prefer this. An ax the size of Silas was strapped tightly to his back. He was not a man to fool with, Silas could tell. Slowly, Silas and Dink made their way with the crowd in front of the bald man who stood on a wooden platform towering above the rest. His arms were crossed and his look remained severe with eyebrows darting forward as he surveyed those standing in front of him. Silas heard one of the soldiers to Baldy's side say that the last of them were through for the afternoon. The mean, bald one didn't move.
There was a hush over the crowd and the only noise was the icy air soaring past their ears, biting every inch of the way. Finally, the bald one spoke.
“As you have probably realized, all of you are dead,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “There's nothing you can do about it. Everything you knew, everything you've ever known no longer matters. You are not in heaven; you are not in hell. You are in Marenon.”
The people glanced around at each other, confused but silent.
“Marenon is your life after life. While here, you can die and I promise you that many of you will die before day's end. Do not ask what the next life is because I don't know and I don't care. All I can tell you is that you died on Earth and that you were sent here, so get used to it.”
“What is to happen to us, and why can I not remember my death?” a man next to Silas asked.
At that moment, Baldy nodded at the soldier on his left. The soldier lifted his bow and sent an arrow flying through the crowd and between the man's eyes. Blood shot to the ground before the man's body fell limp, inches from Silas' feet.
“Your memory of your previous life will eventually come back to you. There are those who remember every detail of their lives before and there are those that remember nothing.” He nodded to the man he had just shot. “He is obviously one that remembers nothing.” Baldy chuckled at his own sick joke. “Are there any more questions?”
Apart from the uncontrollab
le shivering, no one moved or even considered speaking.
“By order of Morgan Hobbes, King of Marenon, I, Commander Barron, have been assigned to weed through new Human arrivals in Marenon.”
Barron gestured to his right at a path leading down the mountainside.
“All of you will take that path downward. At the bottom, you will come to a river. You will then cross a bridge. If you make it across the bridge, then you are accepted into Marenon. It's that easy.”
Silas exchanged a sideways glance with Dink.
“Many people have gone on to do great things here,” Barron continued. “Many have gone on to do nothing but die again. Personally, I couldn't care less what happens to any of you.”
Barron pointed at Silas. “You there.”
Silas froze in place, unsure of whether to answer in acknowledgment or to stay quiet.
“Come here.”
Silas' legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as he moved slowly through the snow. He gave another fleeting glance to Dink who seemed to be saying good luck with his expression, or perhaps goodbye. Silas stood in front of the immense figure. Fear would not let go of his heart and the thought of dying again was too much to handle. But Silas’ death was not Barron's intention.
“I'm designating you to be the leader of this rabble. Their lives are in your hands. If you can get them past the bridge at the bottom of the mountain then you all may live wonderful lives. Otherwise, you'll die before even making it into the mainland. Do you have any questions?”
Silas shook his head, knowing if he said anything he too would be met with an arrow to the head.
“Then go,” Barron said. Silas turned quickly and gave the crowd of a hundred or more a look telling them to follow. He did not know why he had been chosen for this, but it didn't matter. Their fate was not in his hands. They were all dead anyway. What could be the point of a second life in a different world? By now, most of them were looking for someone to tell them what to do. Many of them were so confused they barely knew their right from their left.
Silas motioned Dink to walk next to him. Once out of earshot, Silas whispered to him from the side of his mouth.
“I’m going to need your help.”
“Any way I can,” Dink said as he tried to wrap himself tightly against the freezing wind. “I’m not sure why Barron thinks we need a leader.”
They followed the path silently and they were soon out of view from Barron and his two cronies. The snow fell thicker and the cold bit harder. Silas wasn’t sure they would make it to the bridge at all. Perhaps Barron’s way of ‘weeding out’ people was by making them walk through the deadly storm. Maybe there was no bridge.
Eventually the path leveled off into a flatter terrain, but they were still high up. Several stragglers stopped along the way to wait for their second death, even while others prodded them forward. Silas encouraged them to keep moving, but there was little motivation to keep going. After a while, he began to lose his own enthusiasm. Dink too had gone quiet. The endless sea of white scattered with a few trees in the distance foretold only death for the nomadic sufferers. The path before them was only apparent because of the snow that had been trodden by previous travelers. To his surprise, Silas never noticed any bodies of others. Perhaps Barron and his band came through and disposed of them. Maybe animals ate them. Whatever the case, his own group would be leaving their trail of dead bodies, even if only temporarily. After an hour of slogging through the ice, those eighty or so that were still breathing began to complain more. One man, who had a scruffy, red beard with clumps of ice forming and tangling within it, spoke out to everyone.
“Barron’s just marching us to our deaths! I don’t think any of us are meant to survive.”
The crowd began to murmur among themselves asking each other if they thought it was true or not. Silas looked around at the weary group. They shouldn’t be stopping. They needed to keep going so their blood would pump. Silas quickly moved within inches of the man’s icy face.
“What do you expect to gain from announcing there’s no hope?” he said quietly. “Do you think we should just sit here and give up, or do you think we should keep walking to the river?”
“The river isn’t there! I’m telling you, he’s sending us to our graves!”
“We’re in our graves!” Dink snapped, standing next to Silas. “In case you haven’t noticed, we all died a few minutes ago. If we don’t keep moving we’ll face the same fate again.”
“Are you proposing that we do something different?” Silas asked the man. His question was drowned by a cold tremor in his body’s attempt to ward off the numbing pain.
The man had nothing to say. Silas could tell he was trying to formulate a plan in his mind, but nothing would come. They were resigned to move forward and if every last one of them were to die once more, there was nothing that could be done. Silas and Dink moved to the front of the group and everyone followed. Their pace lagged and their bodies were ready to give out. Silas was beginning to accept the inevitable: a second death.
Silas shivered violently as he walked, hardly noticing the once knee-deep snow now only covering his ankles. His delirium nearly caused him to walk face-first into a rock wall.
“A cave?” someone shouted in the wind.
Past the haze of a chilly fog, the wall could be seen, and through the wall, the path led to a cave, and hopefully to the other side. The cave would have to be warmer than the environment they were confronting now. A new energy came over the group and their pace accelerated. When they finally reached the cave, they could see that the path spiraled downward. This was good news. The further down they went, the warmer it would become. At least, this was what Silas was hoping. Downward they traveled and the longer they walked the more feeling their limbs gained. The shivering wasn’t so uncontrollable. Along the way, breaks in the shallow cave let in some light from the outside.
After about fifteen minutes they came to a spot that seemed like a good place to rest. It was still freezing, but they had to take a moment. Silas told everyone to sit and many immediately dropped to the muddy floor and began to rub their cold, aching limbs. Silas sat and rubbed his toes fervently as Dink sat next to him.
“You hanging in there?” he asked, pulling his clothes tight to his chest.
Silas nodded. “As best as I can I suppose.” He scanned the group, wondering what had sent them all there. There were young, old, men, and women. What were their stories? He barely understood his own. Bits and pieces made pictures in his mind, but it was still confusing.
“So, what about you?” Silas asked. “How did you die? Any memories coming back to you?”
Dink sat for a moment, thinking. “I remember driving a large truck, but I can’t remember what I was hauling, it’s all kind of blurry. It was dark and my lights weren’t working, I remember that. Next thing I know I was floating above my truck and it was on fire. I then woke up in some room and I went into a corridor. That’s where I met you. What’s your story?”
Silas wished he could remember the details. His story was bizarre, he knew that much. He could remember creatures all around his body and that he was killed by some man, but the details were fuzzy.
“I was killed,” he said. “I can’t remember why I was killed, but I was.” He decided to leave the evil creatures out of his description for obvious reasons. He wasn’t even sure if it was real.
Dink’s eyes brightened and he sat up intently. “How?” he asked almost too excited.
“I think,” he hesitated. “I think I was stabbed with a sword.” This triggered something in his mind, a memory, a person. Kaden Osric? This was the man that killed him. Silas stood in realization, forgetting to conceal his thoughts from Dink.
“That’s right! It was Kaden. Kaden stabbed me?” Why? Then it hit him. “The Stühocs!”
“The what?” Dink’s look of surprise instantly turned to confusion.
Silas realized his error immediately and tried to recover. “Nothing,” he said.
“It’s just … I realized now why I’m here. A man named Kaden Osric killed me.”
Dink snorted. “You seem happy about it.”
Silas was not angry for some reason. He remembered that Kaden said it was better to be dead than captured by the Stühocs. The Stühocs … Maroke! Yes, it was all coming back to him quickly as if his head were opened from the top and someone was pouring his memories in from a pitcher. He was in Marenon, Barron had confirmed this. Kaden had said that he was from Marenon and his grandfather Garland was there too. It was all part of some plan. What that plan was, Silas still had no clue, but it had gone horribly wrong. Silas was not supposed to die. The plan had not being carried out like it should have been.
Silas stood and began to walk away from Dink, lost in his thoughts.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m just remembering what happened,” Silas answered, pacing. His thoughts led him to where he was now.
Silas was dead and Kaden had been captured according to what Silas had seen just before his flight through space, to the room and corridor. Unless he had been killed, Kaden was a prisoner of Maroke and the Stühocs. But if Kaden were dead, then wouldn’t he be with Silas now? If this were true, then it would be possible for Maroke and the others to make it into Marenon through the gate that had been opened in the cave. But none of this would matter if Silas didn’t survive to make it beyond the river into Marenon.
Silas came out of his dazed state when Dink tapped him on the shoulder. He shook his head. “What?”
“I said, I think everyone is ready to move on,” Dink answered.
Silas nodded and moved to the front of the group again, his mind not completely on their current situation, but on things to come and what his next steps should be.
The cave kept leading down. The group slid along the icy slope with few handholds, but the air was gradually getting warmer. Slowly, they descended and after a couple of hours and a few more breaks to rest, the cave ended and they walked out into the open. There were still patches of snow on the ground, but most of it was melting, revealing a rich green earth with a forest that surrounded their path. Silas could hear the sounds of birds in the trees, calling to each other to join in song of the newborn spring. It was now conceivable that Barron had not been lying about the river after all. Perhaps there was hope.
The Marenon Chronicles Collection Page 9