by Tripp Ellis
Nolan dove for cover as the ground exploded near his feet from a spell blast. He tumbled and rolled behind the trunk as a hail of energy bolts peppered the tree. He flattened his back against the trunk, trying to make himself small. He watched in horror as both Caleb and Darvak were eviscerated by the glowing bolts. The projectiles seared their insides, spraying chunks of their organs across the dirt. Their bodies crashed to the ground.
Nolan felt like his insides had been ripped out. His best friend had been killed. It was like a punch to the gut. Sadness and anger welled inside of him. His throat tightened, and rage flushed his face.
Spell blasts continued to chip away at the tree trunk. Branches were severed and fell all around him. The tree quickly ignited in a furious blaze. Amber flames flickered high in the sky. The wood popped and cracked and hissed as the fire raged. Smoke billowed into the sky. The tree was the last point of cover between Nolan and the temple. And that was quickly going up in smoke.
27
Nolan could feel the heat from the burning tree radiate through his armor. The flames roared and crackled.
He drew his sword and charged for the temple. There was nowhere else to go. He had to keep moving forward. Several spell blasts rocketed toward him. He used his blade to deflect them. More bolts erupted at his feet and whizzed past his head. But as he neared the temple, the small arms fire stopped. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but it seemed like the enemy had run dry.
Nolan let out a war cry as he engaged the first of the warrior monks at the base of the temple. Their swords clanked and clattered.
Another squad of Soturi was behind Nolan. They arrived just in time to join the battle. The floodgates had opened, and the remaining members of the company advanced. They charged across the battlefield and collided with the monks. It was madness and mayhem. Hacking and slashing and stabbing. Dodging and twisting and blocking.
The warrior monks were dressed in ornate battle armor with golden accents. They looked reminiscent of Samurai warriors. Nolan heaved his spell sword and hacked off an arm of one of the warriors. He charged up the temple steps and ran his sword through another. He slashed and stabbed, slicing and gouging.
These were skilled swordsmen, but Nolan's gift with a blade was superior. He moved through his enemies with skill and precision, slicing and dicing. But there was something unusual about the whole scenario—the monks didn't bleed.
Despite severing limbs, or puncturing chest cavities, Nolan's blade was always clean. He didn't care whether they bled or not, as long as they fell before his sword. The problem began when they started to get back up.
It took several moments for a fallen monk to stir to life. But eventually, they all staggered to their feet and began fighting again.
Nolan's eyes widened in disbelief. The rumors were true. Perhaps the monks were immortal?
Nolan kept fighting his way up the temple steps. It was a disheartening battle. No matter how valiantly he fought, they just kept coming. But there wasn't as many of them as he had anticipated—maybe a hundred at most. Still, two platoons of Soturi against a hundred immortal warriors? That was asking for trouble.
Nolan figured the only way to accomplish the task was to move swiftly. He'd have to fight his way in, grab the medallion, and fight his way out. There was no time to dillydally.
Flames flickered from wall sconces as Nolan entered the temple. The amber glow reflected against his dark armor. He was met with bands of resistance. Nolan hacked and slashed his way through the ancient warriors, moving through the passageways as fast as he could. Moments after he passed, he could hear them stirring to life—the clanking of their armor echoing down the stone passageway.
Nolan made his way into a rotunda. In the center of the room was a pedestal. Atop the pedestal, the Medallion of Saan was illuminated by a mystical glow.
Nolan moved cautiously toward it. The room was oddly calm and empty. There were no guards. They were all busy defending the temple.
Nolan reached down and grabbed the gold medallion from the pedestal. It was encrusted with rare jewels. It sparkled in the flickering firelight from the wall sconces.
The medallion was heavy. Both sides were engraved with markings in the ancient language of Navutu’ar. He could make out some of it, though he wasn't fluent in the old tongue. He could read enough to tell that it was a map, of sorts, describing the location of a precious object that once belonged to the god Strark.
Nolan's wondrous eyes gazed at the majestic artifact. But his trance was broken by the commotion in the passageway. He heard the clash of swords and the clank of armor. He prepared to engage the monk warriors that had no doubt resurrected themselves. He was surprised to see Tanc emerge from the passageway.
"Hand the medallion to me. I will present it to Commander Xule.”
Nolan hesitated.
"I gave you a direct order!"
Nolan couldn't see Tanc’s face behind his helmet, but he knew there was an angry snarl behind that visor.
Several other members of Tanc’s squad held off the monks in the hallway, repeatedly stabbing them, then watching them resurrect, then stabbing them again.
"I said give it to me. That’s an order!“ Tanc demanded.
Nolan reluctantly tossed the medallion to him.
Tanc almost dropped it, not anticipating the weight. He marveled at it for a moment, then his gaze returned to Nolan. "I will see that the commander knows you were instrumental in acquiring this."
It sounded like bullshit. Nolan wondered what was behind this sudden change of heart.
"Move out, Jamison!"
“Aye, sir." Nolan readied his sword and prepared to enter the fray once again. As he passed by Tanc he felt the sharp sting of a blade pierce into his abdomen. Tanc had thrust his sword through Nolan's gut, stabbing through a gap in his armor.
The sharp blade stung. Nolan doubled over with pain. His muscles seized and spasmed. His internal organs were skewered by the broadsword.
Tanc kicked Nolan in the chest. He slid off the blade and crashed to the ground. He could feel the life force draining from him. Nolan writhed in agony on the floor, staring at the ceiling. As the blood drained, his extremities grew weak and cold. His hands and feet vibrated and tingled. He watched helplessly as Tanc stormed out of the chamber with the medallion.
Nolan tried to pry himself from the floor and stagger to his feet, but he was too weak. The wound too great. He knew it wasn't going to be long before the chamber filled with monk warriors. That would be the end of him. He was going to die in an ancient temple that he had desecrated. It seemed like a fitting end, and punishment fair enough for the vile deeds he committed in the name of the Emperor.
28
Nolan's vision began to fade. His slow heartbeat pumped the remains of his blood through his body. The precious liquid was spilling out. His pulse was a slow dull thump in his ears. His belly was on fire as he gasped for breath.
The world went dark.
When Nolan woke up, he had no conception of how much time had passed. It could've been an hour, a week, or month. He was surprised he woke up at all. He lay in a glowing beam that suspended his body like a bed. The chamber was lit by flickering wall sconces. The amber flames danced along the stone walls. Black soot stained the ceiling above the flames. It was calm and peaceful.
Nolan felt almost no pain until he attempted to sit up, then the burning fire returned to his belly. He felt the sharp tug and pull of stitches in his abdomen. He glanced down to see the laceration dressed in bandages. A quizzical look covered his face. Did the warrior monks tend to his wounds?
There was a cup of water on the nightstand by the beam, along with a bowl of fresh fruit. Nolan winced as he reached for the glass. He could barely lift it to his lips. The cup trembled in his hand as he took a sip. The water quenched his dry mouth.
Nolan set up as a young woman entered the room. She wore a long flowing robe and a hood. He barely caught a glimpse of her soft skin and glimmering eyes. A few strand
s of wavy blonde hair were visible. "You need to rest," she purred softly. She had the voice of an angel, soothing and calm.
"What happened?" Nolan asked.
"You were wounded during your attempt to steal the medallion. But Master Tong saw fit to tend to your injuries.”
"Why?"
"You tell me? Why did you take what is not rightfully yours?"
"No, I mean why did Master Tong choose to save me?"
She looked at him like it was the most idiotic question ever asked. "All life is precious. The Kataari defend the temple. When you no longer posed a threat, you turned from someone who was an enemy to someone who needed our care."
Nolan was surprised by her compassion.
"Now you tell me. Why did your friends take the medallion?"
Nolan shrugged. "They're not my friends. I was just following orders."
"You always do everything you’re told? Even when you know it's wrong?"
"No. But I didn't have a choice."
"We all have choices. You may not like the alternatives presented, but there's always a choice."
“My people were killed. I was enslaved and forced to fight."
“Oh, that's your excuse?"
"It's not an excuse. It's…"
"You became the thing you despised and perpetuated the cycle of tyranny." She was right, and Nolan knew it. There was no sense arguing. He could've refused to fight—it would have meant death, but he did have a choice.
“It seems, since your friends left, you're now a free man. Once you heal, you will be allowed to leave the temple. You're not a prisoner here."
Nolan gazed at her with amazement. He was taken aback by her kindness, despite the fact that she most likely despised him. If she did, she hid that emotion well.
"Thank you,” Nolan said.
“I’ll return to check on you shortly. If you need anything, let me know." She spun around, her robe twirling behind her. She moved effortlessly toward the door.
"Wait? What’s your name?"
"Mia."
"It's nice to meet you, Mia," Nolan said. But she was already out the door. He felt like an idiot. He knew that Mia didn't think it was nice to meet him. He meant to ask her how long he had been unconscious, but he figured he’d get around to that next time he saw her.
He pulled himself out of the beam and hobbled to the restroom. Each step felt like someone was sticking a kitchen knife in his gut. The first few steps were uneasy. He felt lightheaded and almost stumbled. Nolan managed to brace himself against the wall as he made the journey.
In the restroom, Nolan looked at himself in the mirror. His face was rough with stubble. He looked pale and gaunt. He peeled off his bandages to look at his wound. The scar was stitched nicely. But the skin was swollen and bruised. Multiple shades of purple, green, blue, and yellow. It was going to take quite some time before he was anywhere near back to normal.
He staggered back to the beam and passed out. The short trip to the restroom had worn him out, and the beam felt like floating on a cloud.
He woke up in the middle of the night, having lost all sense of time once again. The flames of the wall sconces continued to flicker. There was an eerie silence about the temple. It was as if he was the only one there. He crawled out of bed again and staggered out of the chamber. He stepped into the passageway that was bathed in flickering amber light. He wandered the hallways, passing stone statues of monk warriors every 10 feet or so. He didn't recall seeing the statutes before. It didn't take long to put two and two together. These were the soldiers that he had fought. They stood guard over the temple, frozen in stone, until they were needed.
Nolan examined one of the statues closely. He leaned in, looking at the fine detail carved into the stone. It was spooky. The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall. He was partly waiting for one of them to jump out at him.
"Are you all right?" Mia asked, startling him.
Nolan jumped. The sudden movement caused a jolt of pain to rush through his abdomen. It took his breath away. "I'm fine."
"You must be feeling a little better if you're up and about."
"I feel slightly worse than terrible," Nolan said, dryly. “But better than dead.” He pondered this a moment. “I think.”
"You should get back to bed. Don't want to tear your stitches out."
"That's probably wise."
Mia followed as Nolan hobbled back to his chamber. It hurt to tense his abdomen and lift his legs into the beam. Mia pulled the covers up and tucked him in. Nolan felt like a child again, helpless and vulnerable.
"I'm just down the hall if you need anything." Mia spun around again and headed for the exit.
"What's the significance of the medallion?"
"It gives the location of the Sword of Destiny, if you believe in that kind of thing."
“The Sword of Destiny?”
Mia looked surprised that he was unfamiliar with it. "It's late. That's a story for another day. Sleep well." She vanished into the corridor.
Nolan's curiosity was piqued. He lay in bed wide awake, wondering what he had helped Valdovar accomplish. Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
29
Morning sun cascaded through the windows, casting shafts of amber light. Nolan stirred, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He thought he smelled breakfast? The aroma of bacon, eggs, and fresh brewed coffee wafted into his chamber. At first he thought he must still be dreaming, but it wasn't long before Mia entered the room with a tray of food. She sat it on the nightstand next to him.
Nolan's eyes widened with delight. He sat up again. It took him a moment to realize the sharp pain in his abdomen had diminished—it hurt like hell to sit up yesterday.
"Did you sleep well?"
Nolan nodded. “Very."
"It's peaceful here." Mia said. Then she added, “Usually." A subtle jab at Nolan's violent arrival.
"Where did you get bacon and eggs and coffee?"
“Master Tong manifests abundance."
Nolan wasn't sure what that meant exactly. "Master Tong is a sorcerer?"
Mia chuckled. “Master Tong has certain gifts. The gods have blessed him for years of prayer and meditation.”
Nolan was skeptical. But he’d seen so many unimaginable things already that he wasn't going to rule anything out. However it got here, breakfast smelled divine, and Nolan was hell-bent on devouring it as quickly as possible.
"How are you feeling?"
Nolan thought about it for a moment. His eyes perked up. "I feel much better than I thought I would."
He checked underneath his bandages. The wound no longer looked fresh. The scar looked like one of seven days, not something that had happened less than 24 hours ago.
Nolan’s face twisted up, pleasantly perplexed. "I don't understand how this is possible."
A slight grin curled up on Mia's lips. "The prayer prayed over a sick person will make him well."
“Master Tong prayed for me?” At this point, Nolan couldn't argue with the results.
“Is that so surprising?”
Nolan shrugged.
“Gifted ones heal faster as well."
"What do you mean, gifted ones?"
"You're a mage. You heal at twice the rate of normal humans.”
Nolan's forehead crinkled. "I'm not a mage. I have no magical ability whatsoever."
"Just because you don't believe in yourself doesn't mean that ability is not within you.”
"What makes you believe I have magical ability?"
Mia shrugged. “Master Tong seems to think so." She thought about it for a moment. "Perhaps that is the real reason that your life was worth saving."
Nolan was sure Master Tong was mistaken. But if he had saved Nolan because he thought he was a mage, who was Nolan to argue?
Mia set the tray on his lap, and Nolan began to shovel breakfast into his mouth. The eggs were lightly seasoned, the bacon was crunchy, and the coffee was perfect.
"Does breakfast meet with your liking?"
&n
bsp; Nolan nodded. "It's delicious."
"After breakfast, if you're feeling up to it, Master Tong would like to see you."
"Okay," Nolan mumbled with a mouthful. He felt like a little kid that had been summoned to see the principal.
After breakfast, Nolan staggered through the corridors. Mia led him to a chamber where Tong was on the floor, praying before a golden statue of an ancient god. There were so many religions throughout the universe, all with their own sets of deities. Nolan didn't know who Tong was praying to.
Nolan had never been particularly religious himself. He believed a greater power had to exist, but he never actively practiced any specific religion. Generic prayer to the Universe in times of need were all Nolan ever offered.
Mia left Nolan alone with Master Tong. He waited patiently for the holy man to finish his prayer routine.
After several minutes, the monk stood up and addressed Nolan. He wore a long flowing robe, similar to what Mia wore. His face was shrouded by the hood pulled over his head. He looked ominous, almost sinister. Until he pulled the hood back, revealing a smiling, affable face. "You're looking well. You should return to full health in no time. But your spirit is in need of great healing."
Master Tong’s calm, soothing voice filled Nolan's ears. It was the kind of low, massaging voice that could put you to sleep in no time.
There was no doubt that Nolan’s spirit needed healing. After all the trauma he had been through, his soul ached worse than his body ever could.
"Thank you for your kindness."
Master Tong nodded. "Everyone deserves kindness. Even those who do the most reprehensible deeds."
Nolan felt ashamed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Destiny brought you here. All things happen the way they are supposed to. It is the fulfillment of prophecy."
"Prophecy?"
Master Tong nodded.
"So, you're not upset that the medallion was stolen?
Master Tong shrugged. "Why should I be upset about anything? External events are not under my control. My thought is the only thing that I can control. Besides, who am I to argue with what the Universe has decided?"