Circle of Reign

by Jacob Cooper

  Ryall stopped reading and folded up the scroll less gently than he had opened it. “And blah blah blah forever after. Right. Perfect.” Calling over his shoulder to Holden he said, “I successfully found the child section. You’ll do better than me here.” Again no response from Holden came.

  “Seriously, come check this out,” Ryall said.

  After replacing the scroll he retrieved another, determined to give this section one more chance. He heard Holden sigh and stand up. When the redheaded boy approached, the coupled light from his torch with Ryall’s added greater illumination to this little corner.

  “Here’s another one,” Ryall said as he handed it to Holden.

  “Feels very brittle.”

  “More than the others.”

  Holden opened it carefully and read the title symbols. Or rather, he tried to. “I don’t recognize the second symbol, do you?”

  Ryall looked closely and then shook his head. “It kind of looks like ‘living’ or maybe ‘lived’.”

  There were many unidentifiable symbols, including that particular one, which repeated many times throughout the text of this scroll. They had not noticed them in any of the other scrolls, but there were still literally thousands they had not yet even glanced at.

  Holden started to put it back.

  “No, wait!” Ryall said. “They are two symbols together. Look!”

  “Ancient Heavens!” Holden exclaimed. “I think you’re right! One does look like ‘live’ and the other—”

  “Glow,” Ryall finished. “Well, sort of. Morning, dawn, rising, glow,” he rattled on. “They all look very similar. Actually kinda looks like ‘breathe’ as well.”

  “But the root seems to be ‘light’. They all branch off of that symbol, although this second symbol, if it is a second symbol, seems stronger than just ‘light’.”

  “Light live? Morning life? Breath of Life?” Ryall was trying to work it out in their tongue and way of thinking, which he knew was not a perfect or rational method for interpreting languages, but being only fifteen years of age, he thought he was doing a rather stand-up job.

  “How about ‘life light’ or ‘light of life’?” Holden suggested.

  “Living Light!” Ryall exclaimed. “Let’s go with that! What’s the next symbol down?”

  “I don’t recognize it and it doesn’t appear to be a mixed symbol like the first one.”

  “It’s more circular than most symbols,” Ryall said. “Almost like an oval without a top or bottom.”

  “I have no idea, Ryall, but the next symbol is ‘clear’.”

  “It is? I don’t know it.”

  “Yeah, ‘clear’, like I just said. As in ‘transparent’.”

  Holden looked up and moved his head back and forth to stretch his neck. “Ryall, it’s late. I mean early. Our sick days are long over. We really need to get to—what in Heaven’s Light is that?”

  Noticing Holden gaze upward, Ryall extended his arm fully and raised the torch as high as it could go. “What? I just see more inlets.”

  “Are you certain you have not taken any scrolls from up there?” Holden asked.

  “Positive. Just the one you have and the other in the cubby next to it. That’s all.”

  “But they are in this same section as these other scrolls.” Holden put the scroll he was handling back.

  “Uh, yeah, we haven’t moved,” Ryall quipped.

  “The cobwebs are missing on several of the upper inlets.”

  “So…” But Ryall paused when the understanding finally hit him. The cobwebs were not in fact missing, he observed, but dangling around the opening of several alcoves. His heart sped up.

  “I don’t suppose you think that could have happened naturally?” Ryall hesitantly asked. “The wind, maybe?” He knew there was no wind here underground.

  The other boy continued to stare at the open inlets that were missing their fibrous coverings. He reached up and took a scroll from one inlet. Nothing seemed to be amiss, though he did not unravel it. He took another from the same inlet and likewise found nothing immediately suspicious. Ryall reached up to another alcove he could barely touch, even on his toes. His fingers could not reach deep enough into the opening to grab anything.

  “Give me a boost,” he said.

  Holden knelt on one knee and braced his other leg at a right angle. Ryall stepped on his friend’s thigh and gained the height he needed. His hand pierced the cubby all the way until he felt the stone at the back. He pulled his hand out and looked down at Holden.

  “There’s nothing there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I mean, you see me reaching my hand all the way back. There’s nothing here but air.” He knocked against the back of the inlet as if to emphasize his point, but his hand brushed something as he was once again pulling it out of the inlet.

  “Wait.” He reached back in and retrieved a small piece of parchment. He hopped down from Holden’s leg and placed the small parcel in the palm of his hand. Holden stood and inspected it closely.

  “It’s a piece of a scroll. A corner. Look, there’s even an ink stroke there at one edge,” Holden observed.

  “This means there had to be a scroll there at one time, right?” Ryall asked.

  “I, uh…I think so. But however long ago that was we really don’t know. There’s nothing really suggesting that someone was—I mean, recently here or anything, right?”

  “No, of course not. That wall I busted through was—”

  “Not the original wall,” Holden interrupted. “Not the part we came through at least.”

  Ryall’s heart continued to thump loudly in his chest, and, looking at Holden, he knew his was as well. Chills crept up the nape of his neck like a spider feeling its way through a tattered web to its trapped prey. He looked back at the wide-angled corner and had an eerie suspicion.

  “Let me stand on your leg again.”

  “What?” Holden asked, confused.

  “Come on! It’ll only take a minute.”

  Reluctantly, Holden knelt back down and Ryall stepped up. He felt the walls where the corners met. It really looked more like a bend in the wall than a corner, sending the two walls off in different directions from each other. As he ran his hand up and down the natural corner, his fingers stopped in a small cavity. It seemed nothing more than a crevice but he thought he felt—

  “Hand me a torch!” Ryall said excitedly.

  Holden grunted and raised a torch to his friend as he tried not to wiggle too much.

  “You need to go on a diet,” he said.

  Ryall brought the flame to the crevice. He waited. Nothing. Stooping down just a bit and pulling the torch back so he didn’t burn himself, he tried to look through but the flame did not illuminate far enough back. Or there was nothing really to see.

  The fire flickered.

  “Ah!” Ryall moved the flame closer to the small crack. It flickered again. “It goes through!”

  “It?”

  “The crack, here! A breeze is coming through. It must go to an opening on the other side!”

  “Just like the cracks in your head you call your ears,” Holden retorted.

  Ryall began chipping at the crack with the tapered butt end of his torch. Embers fell from the head of the torch as Ryall continued to chip away at the crevice and landed on Holden’s head. The boy quickly swatted them away.

  “Blasted Heavens, Ryall, watch where you throw your fire!”

  Another dull bang sounded, followed by another as Ryall repeatedly punished the wall with the wooden shaft. Holden covered his head as a small shower of sparks continued to rain down on him. His leg was starting to ache.

  “Ryall! Come down!”

  The sound of small rocks giving way made Ryall stop. Excitedly he brought the torch back to the crevice to give light, and he did indeed see several small stone chips the size of fingers that he had managed to dislodge. He cleared the debris, and this time the hole was large enough for
him to put his eye up to it and also allow some of the yellow torchlight to peer through. He saw a small room through his peephole with dark silhouettes of—

  “People!” he shouted and fell back with surprise off Holden’s leg. He hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from his lungs.

  Holden stood up in alarm. “Ryall, are you all right? What happened?”

  Coughing but otherwise unhurt, Ryall recovered quickly and stood. He held his torch out in front of him like a weapon.

  “People!” he whispered loudly. “In there!” He pointed to the wall.

  Grabbing his own torch, Holden approached the small opening. He hesitated for a second but then put his eye up to eyelet, leaving enough space for the light to accompany his sight.

  He pulled his head back suddenly but then stopped. Cautiously but less concerned, he moved back to the hole.

  “See?” Ryall whispered.

  Holden nodded. “Yes, but they are not alive. They are just statues.”

  “What?” Ryall moved back to the eyelet and peered through once again. He still had butterflies flapping wildly in his stomach. Five people appeared in his vision. Two standing, two kneeling and one sitting. They were in different parts of the room, each holding a gesture of some kind.

  They were motionless. Statues, as Holden had said. But Ryall also saw other things in the room despite the poor light. More inlets and alcoves, more scrolls and other relics. And a yellowish shimmer that threatened to again cause him to fear until what he saw dawned on him.

  Water!

  Pulling away from the opening, he looked left. He followed the wall as it curved toward the indoor pond where the stalagmites protruded from and came to the water’s edge. Drops from the ceiling and stalactites interrupted the water’s smooth surface with shallow ripples. With his right hand on the wall that had led him away from the opening he had enlarged, he stood at the water’s edge, pensive.

  “What?” Holden asked.

  “There’s water in that room.” Ryall knocked on the rock partition. “Just on the other side of this wall.” He glanced at his friend with a look that Holden knew all too well.

  “No,” Holden snapped. “No! You don’t know if it goes through!”

  “Purity,” a new voice sounded. Ryall thought he felt the breath of the single spoken word.

  The two boys dropped their torches and spun around in fright, deep breaths trapped in their lungs. They did not exhale.

  “Purity,” the foreign voice repeated. Ryall could not discern the speaker in the darkness. “That’s the meaning of that symbol you were searching for, the open oval. The title of that scroll, in our tongue, reads literally, ‘Living Light of Open Purity’ although ‘transparent’ or ‘clear’ could also be acceptable. It is the Hardacheon symbol for the Lumenatis. However, you’ll find copies of that same scroll in various places here. It’s not as insightful as I had hoped when I first ran across it. But under the water,” he continued, “yes, through there rests true knowledge.”

  “Wh-who are you? I don’t know your v-v-voice,” Ryall stuttered as he released some of his pent-up breath.

  “There are none who know me anymore,” came the answer through the darkness. “I have been called by many names, none of them true.” The sphere of limited reaching light produced by the torches at the boys’ feet did not find the face or form of their unexpected visitor. Holden reached down and picked them both up, handing one to Ryall.

  “Step into the light!” Holden demanded, trying to show courage.

  “I tried that at one time in my life. Now, I much prefer the Dark. It is so much more comforting. For when you know the Dark, what else is there to fear?”

  “Perhaps you fear the light since you won’t come forward,” Holden said.

  “Ah, yes, the tempting of one to conform to your desires through trickery is a powerful tool. Flattery is another, but not appropriate for this setting. I must admit, I am impressed that someone else has found this lost repository and obviously applied themselves so vigorously to learning. Well done, my young ones.”

  “I thought you said flattery was not appropriate right now,” Ryall replied.

  “Good! Very good! Wit can often place you above others without openly belittling them. You will both do very well.”

  The two boys looked at each other. “With what?” Ryall asked.

  “Why, learning the Influences of true power, of course. You have already begun your lessons.”

  “Are you a Vicar? We didn’t mean to intrude—” Holden began.

  “A Vicar? One of the Changrual? Ancients Come, of course not. Well, not anymore. I have discovered higher paths than the Changrual could ever hope to travel. That began in this very room, in fact, just as it has for you, yes? I must say I am impressed with your ambition. I am here to perfect your learning.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Lord Hedron Kerr

  Day 7 of 2nd Dimming 412 A.U.

  KATHRYN HOYT SHOOK IN HEDRON’S EMBRACE, her tears wetting the left shoulder of his tunic and cloak. He let her cry uninterrupted. It went on for nearly half an hour before she finally pulled back.

  “He saved us,” Hedron said. “You saved us. We would have had no chance without your bravery and your father’s trust in you. My people owe you everything. I owe you everything.”

  Kathryn choked back a sob. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  “He said something to me before he died, something that caused me to find the courage to press forward.”

  “What was it?”

  “Essentially that once you retreat from doing what you know to be right, you have lost the right to life. Actually, he said ‘shrink’, not retreat. I have not ceased pondering on this since the end of the battle. Even when I felt doubt and was about to surrender, he was brave enough to urge me forward. This victory is had because of many, but not the least of which are you and your father’s roles. He may have well bought our victory by his last words.”

  Hedron stepped forward and tenderly kissed Kathryn. It was brief and chaste, conveying his utter gratitude for her belief in him. “I tell you again, my love, that had it not been for you, I would have been dead and my people gone with me.”

  Alabeth whined as she limped forward on three legs, her hind leg that had taken a spear bandaged by a healer with Triarch leaves. She rubbed up against Hedron’s leg.

  “I think we’re going to have to keep her,” Kathryn said.

  “She’ll not be a pet. Alabeth will come and go as she pleases.”

  “What of the others? These Borathein that are still coming from the glaciers?”

  “Jayden is seeing to their preparations. She has marked land already for their use in the Gonfrey Forest. I have also sent provisions to them that are being carried by some of the remaining Alysaar. Their journey will have been hard and treacherous.”

  Kathryn was pensive. “You are showing great mercy, more than is expected.”

  Hedron swallowed and looked away. “It’s not easy.” In his pocket he felt for the wreath pendant that had been Seilia’s. “Not easy.”

  “I must see to something. Will you come with me?” Hedron asked.

  Kathryn nodded. “Of course.”

  They walked through the streets of Calyn together. Kathryn witnessed both rejoicing and mourning. Few fires remained but the smoke had become a hazard. Hedron had organized teams to begin clearing the debris and caused the canopy above Calyn and the surrounding forest to be cut away, allowing the trapped smoke to escape. Many of the Gyldenal were busy infusing seedlings, they had called it, with Lumenati Light and planting them in the earth. Kathryn decided she would need to learn more about these Gyldenal.

  “The Southern Province is yours, Hedron. Our marriage will make it so. I am the only heir my father had. My mother could remain as regent if you so desired. She knows the people and—”

  “I never sought this,” Hedron interrupted. “Any of this.”

  Kathryn knew what he meant. He looked solemn. It was an
effect of the burden he was now carrying, she guessed.

  “That is exactly why you are now who you are. And you are the right person, my love. Everyone can see it.”

  She saw him raise a hand to his chest where she knew his scars lay under his clothing.

  “No,” she said, gently grabbing his hand. “Let them go. They will not hinder you any longer.”

  As they walked, they came upon a group of children gathered in an area of the city. Hundreds.

  “Who are they all?” Kathryn asked.

  “These are the ones who lost both parents in the battle and are now orphaned.”

  Kathryn’s heart sank. “There are hundreds, Hedron.”

  “Four hundred and thirty-three.”

  Empathy was awash in Kathryn Hoyt as she took in the sight of the younglings, and tears stung her eyes. She saw healers among them, caring for and comforting them. Others—relatives Kathryn guessed—sifted between the younglings, desperate looks upon their faces as they searched for loved ones. Some found those they sought…others did not. A storyweaver told tales and sang songs accompanied by his mandolin to a score or so of children who had flocked to him.

  Good, Kathryn thought. Their minds need to be distracted.

  A young girl with a bow and a boy, obviously her brother, were on the outskirts of the group. Hedron went to them and Kathryn followed. The young Lord knelt before the younglings.

  “Rue-anna, Mikahl, there is something I have for you,” Hedron said. An airy, longing melody came from the storyweaver’s song in the background. “It will be difficult for you to receive, but keep heart.” He pulled out Seilia’s wreath pendant and placed it into Rue-anna’s hand, closing her fingers around it. Mikahl started to cry. “I have no doubt, none, that she fought when they came for her.”

  Kathryn’s breath caught as she understood. Rue-anna was silent as she looked down, obviously fighting the tears. “My Krithia is gone,” she said in a broken voice.

  “I am told, Rue-anna, that you and your brother saved Master Aiden’s life. That you and those younglings here who fought are the greatest heroes our people have known in ages. Such sacrifice should not have been asked of you, but such courage has never been known among our people. You are my heroes, both of you. All of you.”