She was spent, Silas knew. He closed his own eyes, trying everything in his power to summon the green shield around him so the two-limbed stone couldn’t smash him. He had never truly been able to conjure the energy that Inga had taught him. He thought of nothing but the magic, trying to allow it to flow through him, but to no avail. He couldn’t even get a flicker of the green shield around him. He was a magical failure and it would be his undoing. The statue was basically on top of him. As it reared back its massive arm to crush Silas, he heard a voice behind it yell his name.
When he looked up, he saw Kaden toss him an object. The staff of Uriah landed safely beside him. As he grabbed it, he felt the familiar hum in response to his touch and it instantly formed into a steel shield, bigger than he. The crushing impact of the statue’s swing jarred him, sending shockwaves through his body. After the collision his shield changed back into a hammer. He quickly moved to his feet and brought the hammer down on the statue’s head with as much power as he could gather. The head split into hundreds of fragments and the statue moved no more.
He dropped the staff to the ground and fell to his knees, thoroughly exhausted. His whole body hurt from the fight. He looked up at the others, seeing Inga, Lorcan and Kaden all still alive and breathing, though they too were tired from battle. They all stood among the dust and rubble of broken statues that would never again be a defense to whatever lay ahead of them behind the wooden door.
Silas was finally able to bring himself to his feet. He wiped the dust from his cloak and began searching for the key. After a few moments, he saw it attached to one of the statues and he broke it off. Then he staggered over to the wooden door and slipped the key into the hole. With ease, it turned, but Silas waited before opening the door. He looked at the others who now stood a few feet from him.
“I don’t think I’m ready to fight another group of statues,” Silas said, thinking about what could be on the other side.
“I doubt there’s more,” Kaden said. “I don’t know what other sort of security one would need.”
“They can obviously be defeated, though,” Lorcan pointed out.
“Thanks to Inga,” Silas said. “No one could have done that without magic.”
Inga gave him a slight smile of appreciation, obviously still drained.
Silas looked at each of them and pulled the hood of his cloak back around his head. It gave him an ominous look that brought him confidence to take on anything that could be awaiting them. None of the others protested as he let the door swing open. It was not as he had expected. There were no guards, no obstacles, only a long, dark hallway leading to another door at the end.
Perhaps it was an ordinary double door, but what was on the other side would not be ordinary. Silas knew this because of the light that permeated door’s edges and the crack in the center. The light was so bright that he knew it would blind them if they opened them; yet he knew they would have to be opened anyway.
He took one short step forward, then another. He half expected something to pop out from the shadows and attack them, but nothing came. The only fear that gripped Silas was the fear of what may lie beyond that closed doors. What was the source of the light? It shined white through the cracks, yet it cast a blue tint along the hallway allowing him to see where he stepped. He was drawn to it like a moth to the fire, but he didn’t get the feeling that the light would hurt him. The feeling that came over him was one of familiarity. It was not unlike the feeling that Inga described to him when she could sense her former teacher had recently passed through.
As he walked, he couldn’t shake the sense that he had seen this very light before. But where? All of them walked without so much as breathing hard, cautious of the unknown ahead of them. When Silas finally made it to the doors, even Kaden stayed back several feet. Silas felt no fear, but he didn’t think about what the others might be feeling in that moment. The feeling that was pulling him in could have been utterly frightening to the others. He took one glance behind him, then back to the doors. He placed a hand on them and tried to push forward, but they didn’t budge. He tried again, still nothing. He pulled his hood down, and frustratingly looked at his staff, wondering if he could turn it into an ax to chop them down, but he shook his head. He didn’t have the ability to cast a simple shield around him, much less command a weapon of magical power.
It was barely above a whisper, but he still heard the soft-spoken voice.
Silas.
He turned to the others, but he knew none of them had spoken.
Silas!
“I’m here,” he said. Normally he would have felt foolish talking to a door, but here it seemed appropriate.
Prove to me that it is you!
Silas shook his head, not knowing how in the world he could do that.
Almost as if it had read his thoughts, the voice continued.
Show me the power of the Meshulan!
Silas had no power, at least not magically. He stood firmly in front of the doors. He knew there was no logic in his actions, but he held out his hands, the staff held firmly in his right hand, and his left held outward. A soft wind from behind the doors started to blow, as they opened toward him slowly. The others held their hands up to shield their eyes from the dust carried by the wind.
Silas accepted it. He didn’t know whether the light would destroy him or not, but he didn’t care. It was warm and welcoming. He embraced it and let it engulf his body. Then as quickly as it had come, it wavered. The bright light had changed to a softer white glow. That glow surrounded what looked to be a person. It was a man in white, but his face was blurred with the light, and Silas realized why the feeling had been so familiar. This was the same form that had met him on the mountain in Mudavé. At that time, Silas had been injured and was trying to race to the top when he fell and was caught by Alric Thirsk. It had seemed as though time stood still when the figure had told him to choose the right path, and that Silas would know what that path was. It was a scene in his mind that he played back every night.
Now that same figure stood before him, waiting to speak with him again. Silas turned to the others, but they were frozen in place.
“Silas,” the man said.
“Are you the Gatekeeper?” Silas asked him.
“No.”
“Then who are you?”
“A messenger. An apparition, left here by the Gatekeeper himself.”
“I saw you in Mudavé. You told me that I would always know the right path. You said that day was my first test as the Meshulan. Did I pass?”
“That was not me,” the man said. “It was another apparition sent to you by the Gatekeeper. We are here for but a single purpose, and when that purpose is fulfilled, we fade into oblivion. The apparition you saw in Mudavé is gone forever, as I will be when I have told you what the Gatekeeper wishes to tell you.”
“Why are the others frozen?”
“The message is for you,” the man answered. “If you wish to tell the others, that is your right, but I am not here for them.”
Silas swallowed hard, taking one more look back at his frozen companions. “Go on then.”
“The Gatekeeper is in hiding. He wants you to know that he has taken shelter within Erellen territory. You must travel to Elysium and speak with the Erellen king in order to find him.”
Silas was confused. Why was the Gatekeeper making this so difficult? All Silas needed to do was find out what the Gatekeeper wanted to tell him, but he was making it impossible.
“Why does he need to hide? Is he not the all-powerful Gatekeeper?”
“His magic is failing him, Silas. You know this already. The Gatekeeper is not immortal. Not any longer, at least. His life is now threatened by those that wish to destroy you.”
So that was it. The Stühocs were trying to kill the Gatekeeper.
“Why did the Gatekeeper let Jessup stay behind?” Silas asked. “Why did he let him die? He could have left one of you to tell us where he was couldn’t he?”
“T
he Gatekeeper’s magic is failing, Silas. Jessup knew it would cost him more power to leave another apparition. I am nearly the last of his power. He left me here as the only clue to his whereabouts. An apparition such as myself can speak to no one other than whom the message is intended. Should an apparition be approached by another, it would die.”
“So that’s why you have the statues’ protection then?”
“That is why.”
It all made sense, though it was frustrating to have undergone so much danger only to be told they would have to travel to Elysium.
“There is a storm ahead of you, Silas Ainsley. Be ready.”
The apparition then disappeared as though it was part of the air, and the others began to move as if they were still searching for the source of the light. Silas knew that to them, time hadn’t even stopped.
As they looked around the room, they caught sight of Silas looking at them confidently.
“There’s nothing here,” Lorcan said.
“There was,” Silas answered. “It’s happened to me before. An apparition.”
The other’s looked at him strangely, wondering what he was talking about.
“We’ve got to go to Elysium.”
Chapter Fourteen
Julian could sense the battle still raging in the distance, but that was all it seemed to him. Distant. Physically he could feel himself both sitting against the barn and walking through a corridor of moving pictures. It was like an art gallery with the pictures in transparent frames on either wall. The gallery allowed for Julian to walk through at his own pace and leisure, but there were so many that it seemed it would take him years to watch every memory. The pictures, Julian guessed, were images from Holden’s life in Marenon. Julian had never liked the man, and ever since he had seen Holden plotting against the Dunarians with Maroke and Spencer, he hated him. It made Julian wish he could go through all of the memories of Marenon and see when the man had fallen. At what point had he taken the path of the Stühocs? What had they offered him that would have caused him to betray humanity?
Julian was at the beginning of the corridor, beside the images at the start of Holden’s afterlife in Marenon. Watching the memories was intriguing; something he might even be able to lose himself in were the subject someone he cared about, like Nalani. However, since these were the memories of a traitor, he was not interested in wasting his time watching Holden’s early days in Marenon.
He kept walking until he saw an image of Garland Ainsley talking heatedly. Holden and Ainsley were at each other’s throats, but Julian couldn’t hear them. He reached out his hand and touched the image and it instantly grew big in size where he could see and hear everything. A much younger Garland was yelling, staring straight into Julian’s eyes. But then Julian realized that Garland wasn’t staring at him, but at Holden. These were Holden’s memories. He was seeing all of this from Holden’s physical perspective.
“That child is the only hope we have!” Garland whispered harshly as he pointed to a pile of blankets on a bed. “How could you have led the Stühocs to us? Don’t you realize they want to destroy us all? They want to take Silas away from us! They’ve already killed Will. They won’t stop with him.”
“It was an accident,” Julian could hear Holden’s voice say. “I never meant for them to come here! I swear it.”
“I don’t know who to believe anymore. I thought I could trust you, but now I know I can’t. Kaden and I have been working on a plan. It’s something that will require my absence indefinitely. I’m leaving him in charge.”
The picture image went to Holden’s feet, apparently he was holding his head in shame. “What do you want me to do, Sir Teague?”
Garland sighed and moved closer to Holden and placed a hand on his shoulder. As the picture panned upward, Julian noticed tears in Garland’s eyes.
“Ward, you’re the oldest, dearest friend I have. You and I have fought in wars together in this world and in the last. I have known you for all of my life in both of my lives. That said, I can’t leave you in charge. The Reckoning must be carried out by someone I can trust. Kaden Osric is pure. His passion for the cause is unwavering. I know I can trust him.”
Julian stood baffled. He had no idea Holden and Garland had been so close. Perhaps it had something to do with why Holden turned on him.
Holden looked away from Garland and over at Silas on the bed. Julian was surprised at his excitement in seeing the baby Meshulan. It made him feel proud somehow as if he knew he was doing the right thing. There was no denying that these memories were invaluable. This one memory gave so much insight to Garland and Holden that Julian would have never gathered by himself. They had known each other their whole lives on Earth as well? How?
Julian reached out and touched the picture, knowing he couldn’t linger too long in the corridor. He needed to find the proof. It would be much further down, however. The orb seemed to know that Julian was looking for something that happened much later on, so walking didn’t take hours upon hours. The pictures sped past him until he found something that caught his interest. Some of the pictures looked hazy. It was as if there was a memory there, but when he reached out to touch the picture, it didn’t respond to him. It was as though the memory had faded. Julian had little knowledge of how memory orbs worked. In one of these faded pictures, Julian thought he saw a glimpse of Maroke’s face, surrounded by his personal soldiers, the Leapers, but the image was gone before he could get a closer look. He continued on until he saw something else that caught his attention. He saw himself.
He was standing next to Nalani in some sort of ceremony; he recognized it immediately. It was the day they were accepted into the Dunarian Council. It was Julian’s proudest day. He reached out and touched the picture. Holden was watching from the left side of the ceremony as Kaden recited the oaths of the council. Then a thought came to Julian’s mind. If this was the day that he was accepted, then there might be something in the memories that dealt with Julian’s father’s death. Perhaps there was a meeting, or even just a contact through the green wristband that the Dunarians used for communicating. He looked to the right, trying to find something, but there was nothing. Perhaps this meant Holden didn’t have anything to do with Ruben Hobbes’ death. Julian doubted this, however. He continued to search until something finally popped out.
His hands began to shake as he reached out to touch the picture. For some reason he knew exactly what he was about to witness, but it seemed so unbelievable that terror overcame him. Regardless, he had to see it. When he touched the picture, it became larger and all he could hear was the sound of a wind blowing over the grassy plains. At first, Julian thought that Holden might have been by himself, but one quick glance to his right showed the demon-like Stühocs next to him. Maroke stood ready with his weapon drawn, and behind him were about ten Leapers, standing on their hind legs. They looked barbaric and ready to slash their wickedly sharp claws at anything that might come their way. Their snouts stuck out far, their tongues licking at their grimy lips.
Holden looked out again, but this time he could see the caravan of men riding along in the hills. The surrounding rocks and tall grass easily covered Holden and the Stühocs. The unsuspecting victims had no chance. King Ruben Hobbes and some soldiers were riding straight into the trap.
Julian didn’t want to watch. Everything in him screamed to leave this memory and focus on finding the truth about the Dunarians, but he couldn’t tear himself away. The ambush was swift. Most of the soldiers were taken out from the back. Maroke did most of the damage by himself. Not a single Stühoc was even injured. Holden waited comfortably in hiding until the fighting had subsided.
The last person alive was the king. He lay on the ground next to his horse, his leg injured from the fall. It pained Julian to see his father in his last moments, weak and vulnerable. Maroke stood above him, ready to strike, when Holden yelled for him to stop. Maroke gave him a strange look, but didn’t question the man when he stood next to the king.
&n
bsp; “I’ll take care of this,” Holden said.
Ruben’s eyes widened at the sight of Holden. His surprise turned into anger.
“How could you betray us like this, Holden? The Meshulan is coming back!”
“I know he is,” Holden said. “I don’t want him on the wrong side.”
“You think the Stühocs are the right side?”
“I think Garland Ainsley is the wrong side. There is no reason for all this fighting. The Meshulan belongs to us. With your pitiful son ruling the kingdom and your other son who will be more than willing to join the Dunarian ranks, taking control will be easy.”
Ruben’s eyes narrowed. “You’re one of them aren’t you? A Sleeper? They’ve turned you. The Stühocs wanted your soul and you just let them have it, didn’t you?”
Holden pulled out his knife and silenced the king with one quick swipe.
Julian wanted to vomit.
The story had always been that Maroke was the one who killed the king, but it hadn’t been true. Ward Holden had orchestrated the whole thing, no doubt with the help of Spencer. This made Julian boil.
He walked back down the corridor, hoping to find out the truth about the Dunarians. Holden had said they were all under his thumb save three. Kaden, Nalani and Julian.
He kept looking for some sort of meeting, some sort of indication that would show Julian the proof. Then he saw a picture that showed a council meeting unlike the rest of them. It was dark and outdoors. A fire burned in the center of the council members. Katherine Fallera, Darius Umar, Myron Lloyd and Quincy Todd stood staring at Holden. Julian, Nalani and Kaden were the only ones not present. This is it, Julian thought. This was the meeting. It had to be.
Julian reached out and touched the picture.
“The Gatekeeper’s magic is failing,” Holden said. “King Anithistor has known this for some time. That means his Stühocs are ready to move.”
The Marenon Chronicles Collection Page 43