He moved his hand along the ground.
Damp but not wet … a cave or crevice of some type.
The great beast breathed out slowly. Matthias felt its warmth.
I am not alone.
“You are in Kor,” it did not speak. The words seemed to move into his mind like a drifting wind.
“Am I dead? Dying?” he asked.
“You are alive, Matthias,” it said.
“So, you are some winged beast that speaks Altarian? If you plan to kill me, spare me your words.”
“That was Ryoch. He does our bidding, as we do the bidding of another. He took you here for me. I have no intention of killing you, Matthias.”
“Stop calling me by that name,” Matthias spoke in a whisper. Bile burned his throat at the sound of the name.
“It is just a word. It represents your person,” replied the voice.
“That person is no more,” Matthias said.
“Those of this world do not have that power … you alone cannot change the person you are,” the words lingered in his mind.
“Then I live only long enough to die,” he replied.
I will see them in death. They wait for me.
“You … the feared warrior? Hunting those that did not bow to your king? You were the killer of those that would not worship the throne. Were you not?” asked the voice.
“No longer. Kill me if you wish to punish me for past actions,” he said, as he sat up on his knees. “But do not speak to me as a servant of the king … any king.”
“Too much death is already at hand. These are times above those of murderous kings. A storm has fallen. Mortal rulers will fall. These four small realms of Altaris will crumble with the rest of Ehlür.”
“I care not for the four realms or the mad kings that rule them,” said Matthias.
“This is one of the reasons you are here. Someone will come for you soon.”
“You leave me here blind? I cannot see. Is this my penance … to slowly die in the rocks of Kor … food for the carrions of the mountains?”
My death is deserved … why do I still fight it?
“There is need for you yet in this world, Matthias.”
He heard the great beast rise. Its wings beat down like a herd of wild horses. It pushed itself from the ground with a leap. The stone ground almost shook from it taking flight. The fiery creature flew from the cave. The cave opened from the side of a mountain that crashed into the sky like the curving blade of an axe. Matthias lay upon the damp rocks. He wanted to weep, but like so much else in his life … he was unable. Instead, he listened to the water drip into the cave like a slow bleeding wound.
___________
Mirkus woke. His head was pounding. His muscles were sore and aching. His ribs felt bruised. He was cold. A light snow had begun to fall around him. It was too warm yet for it to stick. The leaves from the great field of mallop trees held the snow just long enough to make the light reflect soft silver. Mirkus lay on a small pile of leaves and broken twigs. A lake rested solemnly in the center of the field. A stone jetted from the center. It had been pounded into the shape of an enormous great sword. Its hilt rising from the water. The hilt was fashioned as a winged lion. The sword’s cross-guard were the outstretched wings of the lion. Its clawed feet wrapped tightly around pommel, which was a water onyx carved like the sun. The water onyx seemed to pull light into its orb and cast it down the stone blade of the sword. Melted snow carried the light, as it dripped down the statue into the water below. Mirkus could hear the water caressing the moss around the lake’s edges.
Am I dead? I am still in pain.
He rose slowly so his body could adjust to the agony of moving. He couldn’t tell if the snapping sound were the twigs from his bed or his bones.
Mirkus bent down by the lake filling his hands with the cold water. He drank deep and poured what was left onto his face and hair. Something was different. He felt his face once more. He then saw his hands and arms. Without a thought of his pain, he leaned over the water to glimpse his reflection. He saw it in small ripples. His leathered skin was no more. The fingers that were once crooked and narrow were straight and fleshy … and his face. His skin was now light with high set cheekbones. His matted dry hair was now the color of deep silver, almost pewter. It fell around his neck. It was soft to the touch. By all human standards, Mirkus was quite striking.
“I don’t understand,” he spoke aloud.
“Your curse is no more,” said the Grandeur behind him. Her wings wrapped around her body like a cloak of radiant feathers.
Mirkus fell to his knees. It was the Grandeurs that cast the curse upon the Bournes.
“I don’t understand … I broke the vow. I raised a weapon,” Mirkus looked upon her from his knees.
“You broke the vow of your people out of honor for another tribe. Sacrifice is not without honor,” her voice was the sound of one and yet a thousand voices at once.
“Am I dead?” asked Mirkus.
“Do you see a path to the Great Halls of Ehlür? No, you are not dead. You are very much alive. You are at the seat of your people. This is where your kind started … where you began. The High Woods. The covenant with your people was at this very lake.”
“I didn’t know this place was real,” said Mirkus.
“And yet, now you are here,” she said, as she walked closer.
“I don’t understand this,” said Mirkus. He looked around.
“A time of war is at hand,” she said, gently caressing his face. He could feel a warmth move through his limbs. His pain was leaving. His body felt new … stronger.
“Stand,” said the Granduer.
Mirkus stood. He could see the Grandeur’s face in a way that he could not before. She was beautiful. Her features were soft and overlaid with an aura of comforting light. Something was different. Mirkus looked at the lake. Light was crisper. He could see the individual rays as they gathered around the water onyx.
“What’s happening?” he asked. He rubbed his eyes.
“Your curse is no more. You are no longer Mirkus or an omen of foreboding. You are not a monster. You are a Nighteye no longer. You are a Bourne again.
“I never knew life as a Bourne. The first war ended before I was alive.”
“Mirkus is a name for a Nighteye, but not a Bourne. You will be Luras,” said the Granduer.
“Why? What do you want from me,” asked Luras in a whisper.
“You have been chosen. You are an Acolyte. You will stand with the others against the coming storm. They will need one of your kind.”
“An Acolyte?” said Luras. His eyes reflected a hue of bluish silver light.
“Darkness again descends upon the world. Kingdoms will fall. The petty battles between kings are over.”
“Can’t you stop them? The Granduers … the Creator. Can’t you all stop it?” asked Luras.
“It was not the hands of the Great One that let evil back upon this world,” replied the Grandeur.
“You could help stop it.”
“Make no mistake, the forces of evil may swell but they will not drown this world. However, will this generation cast darkness back into the shadows or will it be the next? This is the question for you and all others,” said the Grandeur.
“Why did you save me, then?” asked Luras.
“Acolytes will keep evil at bay until the world of men and their great armies decide to rise up … or fall. The world is not alone.”
“But why not just strike it down yourselves?”
“The hearts of men are best refined by fire.”
“What am I to do?” asked Luras, almost to himself.
“You are to meet another in the Mountains of Kor. Travel there at once. Remember, Luras, this world has not seen your kind for hundreds of years. They will hate you.”
“How will I know the person I am to meet?” asked Luras.
“The same way he will know you … the eyes of the Acolyte.”
Chapter 7
&n
bsp; Servant to Slave
Finn woke along the road from Castle Red. There was a pounding ache in his head. His legs slowly moved with the rest of the captives. He had no idea he was even walking. His body must have taken over while his senses slept. Finn was caked in mud. It had dried to his clothes; he could feel it inside his boots. Blood was dried from a cut above his brow. He could feel it wanting to open if he moved his eyebrows. He did not recognize the man that was yoked beside him. They were like a herd of cattle. A small oxen yoke was strapped over each person’s shoulders. A rope wrapped around their necks and went down around their waist before leading to the next in line. There were two lines of captives. A leather harness attached each person’s foot to the person walking next to him. They were slaves.
Where are they taking us?
The gorgons walked with their captives. Finn could see them more clearly in the light. The creatures were more menacing when not cloaked in darkness. It looked as if beasts from a violent nightmare had been pulled into the living world. They looked much stronger than the night before. The gorgon’s upper body looked more like a hairless ape. Their teeth were stained yellow and jagged. The creatures walked erect. Their hardened tails wrapped around one of their legs. It tightened and slithered like a snake on its prey. Scales wrapped tightly around their bulky frame. Their dark scales swelled and slid over each other as they marched. Some of their scales had a deep red outlining, while others had yellow. They appeared like beasts dressed in armor, but they were not simpleminded.
These beasts will burn through the realms.
One of them wrapped himself in leather jerkin dyed red over a black tunic and pants. The handle of his whip was in his right hand. Its corded leather lash drug in the dirt beside him like a second tail. His scaled left hand was missing three fingers. His eyes were black but full of violence. He enjoyed running the slaves. Finn made sure to not stare at him. Although, he studied the creature in protected glances. The other gorgons did not utter their slithered black speech to him.
He is below them somehow. They look down on him.
Finn made a mental note. He had no idea why.
A portly man up the line slipped down to one knee and then fell to his side.
Waltur the butcher.
Waltur tried to rise, but he was large and soft.
Get up, Waltur.
The gorgon in red yelled a deep language that Finn couldn’t understand. He lashed out with the whip. It struck Waltur across the face and down his chest. His skin opened almost immediately. Blood began to steadily drip. Waltur cried out. He tried to stand but fell again. This time he pulled the men down beside and in front of him. The rope that connected them all pulled tightly. The man in front of Waltur began to grasp at the rope around his neck. Waltur’s full weight pulled the rope tightly around his neck. He gasped for air; his finger nails dug into his neck as he fumbled with the rope. The whip lashed out again and then again. It hit Waltur and others around him. The gorgon approached Waltur.
Get up, Waltur. Get up!
It pulled a short sword from its belt.
“No! Please!” Waltur cried out, but his last words were just gurgles of blood. The gorgon’s blade tore easily through his neck. His body hit the ground in a lump. The gorgon held his head in his two-fingered hand. He forcefully said something to the captives. They did not need to understand his speech to know what he said. The gorgon dropped the butcher’s head to the ground. Finn had to walk over the body as they kept marching forward.
Finn began to make mental notes of all those around him. He had to know some of them. They were all from Castle Red. He studied both lines of captors in front of him. Everyone seemed so different. Fear and exhaustion caused them to appear like strangers. He had to recognize someone’s face whether stranger or not. Finn saw the stable boy. He had aged twenty years since the day before. His eyes dripped heavy black shadows. There were clean streaks down his face from tears. He limped slightly. Finn began to make out familiar faces but he could not remember some of their names.
Am I tired or wounded inside. What are their names?
Then, he saw her … Nylah.
She’s alive!
The night and morning had pulled her from his thoughts. A sudden rush of excitement ran through his heart. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. His excitement turned to a surge of guilt. He thought of Margery and how her body was probably still lying along the road outside of the bake house. He was thinking of himself and no one else. Nylah was deathly frightened. Finn had seen the look on her face before, but from men on the gallows. It was as if she could die at any moment, so all her senses were heightened from fear. She too was exhausted. Finn wanted to weep. Margery was dead. Now, Nylah would most likely die, along with him and the rest of the village. He had never even had a life, at least the life of a free man. He was a forced servant that was now a captive. Death was very near.
An odd thought came to Finn. It was clear and obvious. He knew it was right. He could achieve one last thing. One thing that would be his own decision and not that of a master or beast. He thought of Margery lying dead. He wasn't able to help her. Finn thought of Nylah. She was all he had left. Everyone else was a stranger. I can help her. There was no decision to make. He would try and help Nylah escape, whether it cost him his life or not.
I will help her … the choice of a free man.
They marched steadily northwest throughout the majority of the night. More villagers had fallen along the way and were left to the scavenging beasts and carrions that had begun to follow them. They left a stink of blood and fear in their wake. The gorgons did not let them rest until a few hours before dawn. The gorgon in the red jerkin yelled out something, as he pointed to the ground. The captives’ ropes were removed. The villagers knew immediately and fell to the earth. Some passed out from exhaustion the moment they were off their feet. A few women began to breastfeed their babies, while others pulled their kids to them for comfort. Finn noticed an older plump woman looking around. She was like a trapped deer.
She is going to run.
The gorgon in red must have seen the same thing. He grasped the fleshy woman by her hair and drug her away. She flapped like a fish and cried out. It was too dark to see what happened, but her screams became gurgles. Then, there was silence. Finn heard the sounds of cutting and hoisting.
They are dressing her. They are going to eat her.
Finn wasn’t the only one that realized this. A deathly silence came over the prisoners. Another gorgon came to the group and grabbed a man by his foot. He tried to resist but the creature pulled him like a doll. The rest of the group huddled together. Shouts were heard, as some villagers were being crushed in the middle of the group. No one wanted to be on the outside. Sounds of crying and sobbing erupted. The man the gorgon had taken let out a shriek. A snapping sound was heard. The man no longer cried out.
“Stay calm,” some of the prisoners whispered. “Back up … back up! Stay calm.”
Finn knew this was his chance to move closer to Nylah. They would be roped again in a few hours. If he was beside her, they might tie them together. He could also speak to her, plan an escape. He looked her way hoping they would meet eyes but she kept staring at the ground. One of the Baron’s guardsmen was in front of her, but kept trying to move behind. He needed to move from the outside row and away from the gorgons' grasp. He was pushing Nylah and cursing for her to move.
“Wake up. Move your arse,” he said. He was middle-aged with a thick mustache. Finn knew him. He had seen him kill a dog once with a knife, as the other guards laughed. His name was Timmons.
Timmons pushed himself behind her causing Nylah to snap out of her trance. She tried to move back, but he buttressed himself behind her. She was on the outer rim of the group now, fresh for gorgon pickings. Finn was five to six prisoners deep inside the group. He began to crawl toward the outside. Others filled in behind him like water. Once he made it out, it was easier to breathe. The air was clean. He wiped his han
ds on his pants. He must have crawled through blood, urine, and all manner of things. He moved along the outer edge of the group slowly to not gain attention from the gorgons. She saw him as he got closer. There was a sense of relief on her face, as if she had been waiting for him. It was the look he would sometimes give Margery after a long hunt with the Baron. He was a familiar face in the midst of strangers.
“Are you ok?” Finn whispered. He felt his heart beat a little faster. She was beautiful even in the present horror they found themselves in. She had a grace to her motions like Finn had never seen. Her green eyes burned in the darkness; her black hair hung down in ringlets. Her high cheeks led down to a straight jaw. Finn had never seen a woman whose face was soft and yet sturdy.
“Finn,” she said.
She remembers.
“Are you hurt?” asked Finn.
“I don’t think so. What are these things?” she whispered.
“Gorgons … walking snakes. I’ve only heard about them, though. I didn’t think they were real.”
“They killed my aunt,” she whispered.
“I'm sorry. They killed a friend of mine as well.”
“I don't know if my cousin survived,” she said. “Do you know where they are taking us?”
“I haven’t any idea. We are going northeast though. Don't worry, I plan on getting you out of here,” said Finn.
“How?” Nylah asked.
“Shut your mouths, the both of you,” Timmons hissed from behind her. “If you draw their ire, by god and kings, I will slit your throats before they take me.” He had a dagger in his hand.
“Who will you hide behind then?” said Finn. His words struck out like a snake. The rules of kingdoms no longer mattered. Timmons was just another captive.
“Watch yourself, boy,” warned Timmons.
He’s right. Trapped men will soon become animals.
Finn leaned close to Nylah to whisper in her ear. He could smell her hair. Her skin was warm and healthy.
“Try to stay by me at all times. I have no idea when our moment will come but it will. We have to be ready,” whispered Finn.
A Dark Tyranny Page 5