A Single Candle (Cerah of Quadar Book 3)

by S. J. Varengo

  “Forgive me!” were the first words Slurr heard his mother say.

  In that instant, nineteen years of deep-seated sorrow and uncertainty vanished. Slurr’s heart all but exploded in his chest. He too dropped to his knees and wrapped Preena in his strong arms. “There is nothing to forgive,” he whispered into her ear. “I can only thank you.”

  Even kneeling Slurr towered over his mother. She lifted her eyes to meet his and shook her head. “How? How could you thank me? They stole you from me and left you to die among the garbage and the vermin! You should hate me!”

  “What the agents of your father meant for ill, Ma’uzzi has used for good. Had I not been left in the dumping grounds, Jul would never have found me, and I would never have known Cerah.”

  Cerah had walked toward them, but remained at a respectful distance. The sight of her husband’s tears brought them to her eyes as well. As she witnessed the reunion, her body literally shook, both with her sobbing and with a joy she could not contain. To see Slurr holding his mother so tightly gave her spirit the tonic it had needed.

  Slurr turned his head and saw her. He slowly stood to his feet, lifting his mother to hers as he did. “Come,” he said to her. “You must meet your daughter-in-law.” Together they walked to where Cerah stood, her tearful smile beaming.

  “Mother, this is Cerah, the Chosen One of Ma’uzzi, and the love of my life.”

  Without a second’s hesitation Preena threw her arms around Cerah and squeezed her with a strength that belied her slender frame. “Your mother told me your name, but she did not prepare me for your beauty,” Preena said.

  Cerah stepped back. “My mother? But how? You could not have gone to the cave,” she said, her elation giving way to confusion.

  “Cave? No. Well, in a way, I suppose. The place she found me was as dismal as any cave. But no. Her spirit came to me. She told me everything.”

  “Her spirit came?” Cerah could not understand how such a thing could have happened. The spirits of the wizards could be reached in the Hall of Whispering, and the souls of the damned could be seen in the Cavern of Sighs. But for a spirit to come to this plane…to walk upon the Green Lands was unheard of. “Are you certain?” she asked.

  “As certain as I am that you stand before me now. She told me she had begged Ma’uzzi to let her come to me.”

  Cerah began to weep even harder. She thought of the strain coming to Preena must have put upon her poor mother’s spirit, knowing what going Between had done to Jul. Now Cerah was filled with an even greater level of respect for her. She silently said a prayer that Jul might be resting now in the Creator’s arms, and that He might give her peace and comfort. Surely her part in this conflict was at an end.

  Preena reached out to wipe the tears from Cerah’s cheeks. “Do not weep, dear child,” she said. “Your mother bathed me in love and joy. She does not suffer. Neither should you.”

  That only made Cerah’s sobbing intensify. Slurr could stand it no more, and he now took her in his arms. Kissing her hair gently, again and again, he said to her, “She is far stronger and far greater than even we could know. Look. She has given us a family!”

  As Slurr spoke, Ban and Preena joined the embrace, and for several minutes the four stood at the head of the vast Army of Quadar, feeling as though they were the only people on the planet.

  Finally, Cerah regained her composure. She kissed Preena and Ban on the cheek, and her husband on the lips. Then she said to Slurr, “Tell the warriors to make camp. We march no further today.”

  “But it is not nearly time to rest,” he said. “We can make several miles more before darkness falls.”

  “No,” Cerah said definitively. “We will face Surok in Ma’uzzi’s time. My wish is that the remainder of this day will be spent giving our forces some much needed relief. And you have a lifetime of separation to begin to overcome.”

  Slurr turned to face the column. “Make fires! Roll out your blankets. We celebrate tonight!”

  A cheer went through the warriors and wizards alike. Those close enough to have witnessed the mother and child reunion cheered the loudest, as no heart had been untouched by the sight of it.

  “Mother, there are many others you must meet,” said Ban, pulling at her hand.

  “Yes,” said Slurr, smiling at his little brother’s exuberance. “We are surrounded by great wizards and mighty warriors. Let us show you to them.”

  For the next several minutes Preena was introduced to the captains of the army, and the leaders of the wizards. At last they came to Kern.

  “This,” Slurr said, placing his huge hand on Kern’s shoulder, “Is Kern Yarrensleeve. He has long been my teacher, my mentor, but most of all my oldest and dearest friend.”

  Preena curtsied. Kern took her hand and gently kissed it. “It is an honor to at last meet the woman who brought my dear companion into the world. Your son has taught me as much as he has learned. Long before it was time for the world to see his brilliance and his boundless heart, he showed both to me, and I was ever blessed by it.”

  “Thank you for showing him the love I was not allowed to give,” she said in response.

  The remainder of the evening was spent around a blazing campfire, and was filled with much laughter and more than a few tears. Kern and Milenda had gone off together, seeking a place to find some privacy. Cerah spent most of the time sitting quietly and watching as her husband interacted with his mother and brother. It seemed to her that they were rapidly overcoming the years of disconnection, and that filled her with happiness.

  But at the same time she felt that the presence of Preena would prove to be a dangerous distraction to Slurr. He had long dealt with the fact that his wife would ever be at the forefront of all hostilities, and he had even recognized the bravery and resourcefulness of his brother, though he still insisted that Ban would not enter combat. Having his mother among the army, however, held no advantage that Cerah could see.

  As her husband’s face continued to shine brighter than the fire around which they sat, however, she decided that for tonight, at least, Preena would be a welcome addition to their numbers. She could deal with difficult realities in the morning.

  “A toast!” Cerah said at last, lifting her mug of water. “To the family of General Slurr!”

  Preena, who had been given a drink from the battered wineskin of Loar Pilta, touched her mug to Cerah’s. “To all of his family,” she said.

  At sunset, the Army of the Dark had found another homestead. Zenk again looked on as the buildings and fields were set fire. But then, to his surprise, he saw as the monsters turned their attention to the family of six whose land was now blazing around them, that the man he assumed was the father, flanked on each side by sons who looked to be in their late teens, stood their ground. Each held simple farmer’s sickles in their hands. The mob of the Silestra’s sons roared with derisive laughter as they approached them, pointing at the rude weapons. But the farmers quickly showed that the tools were capable of much more than cutting grass. Before the monsters realized what was happening, three of their heads rolled along the ground. Soon several others were dead as well.

  However before long the inevitable outcome played out in front of him. Silestra armed with bows fired upon the family, striking down the man and his sons. With a shriek of delight the creatures closed in upon the fallen bodies, and the women who had been shivering behind them. The screams of the dying women reached Zenk’s ears, and he once more felt a measure of remorse which had been slowly growing within him.

  No! he thought to himself, shaking his head. Damn the humans! Let them die! What good are they to me?

  He still wanted desperately to believe that, in the end, he would be allowed to lead the wizard race, and would turn them from their eon-old course of service to the humans and Ma’uzzi, to the far more practical service of Surok. Here was a god who would stand before them and demand their worship. Not some mythological voice from beyond the galaxies. Flesh and blood! A horrible god, to be
sure, but aren’t all gods horrible? he asked himself.

  Still, as the screams ceased, one after another, he looked down at the insatiable beasts who served Surok now. He looked at the fire spreading through the grain, white and ready for harvest. Those sickles would have been put to another use in a few days’ time, he thought as the smell of the smoldering farmhouse reached up to him. He was not sorry that the humans had killed some of Surok’s monsters. He hated them as much as he did the humans. More perhaps.

  With a sigh he thought, I have cast my lot. In time I will see if my number comes up, or if my fate will be the same as theirs.

  In time.

  For the first time in perhaps a hundred years, the beautiful elder wizard Lycantra climbed from her dragon’s resting place to the mouth of Onesperus.

  Since her son had ascended to the office of First Elder, Lycantra had been content to give him counsel, when asked, and to see to the more mundane, domestic areas of life on Melsa. Though she still took joy in riding on her match-mate’s back, she did so with far less frequency than in her younger years. As she climbed, she looked down to see Gue curling up to rest and wait for her, his blue scales sparkling in the setting rays of Vellus. She smiled at her old friend, then continued to climb.

  In her fifteen-hundred years of life, Lycantra had known much joy. But her time had been filled with far too great a share of sadness as well. She had lost both her daughter-in-law and her grandson in service to the humans of Quadar. Her husband, Parnasus’s father, had also died long before his time, having fallen ill while flying alone far from Melsa. He had never bothered to master the craft of healing, preferring to concentrate more on the mental disciplines. So, when the extremely virulent sickness came upon him, he was helpless to stop its rapid course, and had died, alone, in a matter of several hours. His broken-hearted match-mate had carried his lifeless body back to Melsa.

  But these recent months had been happier ones for her. She had lived to see the coming of the Chosen One. And though her beloved Quadar was now gripped by great evil, she trusted in her heart that the Light would prevail.

  Still, as she climbed she felt a sliver of fear within her spark. It was this dire hint that brought her to Onesperus. As she reached the cave’s mouth and entered, she saw that it was not as she remembered it. The Chamber of History was darker, colder.

  This first cavern with its walls carved in intricate runes, was not her destination, however. She quickly made her way through the narrow opening that led to the antechamber, with its two portals, one to the Cavern of Signs, and one to the Hall of Whispers.

  It was the latter that she entered. Walking far into the vast grotto, she eventually came to a place that felt right to her, and she sat upon the cool stone floor.

  Clearing her mind, she waited. In short order, she began to hear the jumbled whispers of the wizards who had gone onto the Next Plane as they welcomed her. She smiled in response to their greetings, recognizing many. After a moment, the voice of Opatta rose above the others.

  “Well met, dear Lycantra!” he said. “It has been a long time since you have come to speak with us.”

  “Yes, old friend. It has.”

  Opatta had been a contemporary of hers. Only a few centuries her senior, they had known one another for many years by the time he had become Parnasus’s teacher. During the time that he took the young wizard under his wing, she had formed a warm friendship with him. He was then the First Elder, responsible, as her son was now, for the well-being of all of wizard-kind. But she saw the care he invested in her son, and realized Opatta must have seen great potential in him.

  “What brings you up the mountain after so lengthy an absence?” Opatta asked.

  “I have a spy,” she said. “A wizard who flies with the Army of Light. She is young and in her there is great strength and determination. But I have enlisted her to keep me abreast of the Army’s progress and of their day to day operations.”

  “I do not fault you for that,” the ancient wizard’s spirit said, the faintest hint of mirth in his voice. “Were my only son at war, I would want to know of his status as well.”

  Lycantra nodded. “I do worry after Parnasus,” she admitted. “But also, I have come to love the Chosen One dearly, and I fret after her as well, perhaps to an even greater degree. While I obviously want very much to see my boy again, and to see him live out his remaining years at peace on our island, I have to some degree accepted that this may not happen. The evil he fights is great, and I must be honest with myself; it could claim him.”

  “I share that concern,” said Opatta.

  “But Cerah is just a babe!” she went on. “I was blessed to spend much time with her during her months on Melsa. Though she still carries with her many human weaknesses, her mighty wizard ancestry is undeniable. In fact, to call her a wizard almost does her an injustice. Never has a wizard possessed the power she wields.”

  “She is unlike all who have come before,” agreed Opatta.

  “Yet even now, I felt during her recent visit that she is still plagued by much self-doubt. She has risen to the role of Chosen One, but the insecure girl who landed upon our shores last year still shivers within that mantle.”

  “I have long entertained that concern myself,” Opatta said. “But in the days since she last spoke with us in this Hall, I have come to an understanding about it.”

  “Please tell me!” Lycantra pleaded. “I worry that when at last she confronts the demon, she will allow this doubt to stand between her and her purpose.”

  “I am now convinced it will do just the opposite.”

  “Please, friend, explain.”

  “Had Ma’uzzi chosen a vessel of vast confidence and bravado in which to place the Greater Spark, I believe He would have had a much more difficult time working through her. I have an advantage over you, my dear Lycantra. I spend my days in the presence of Ma’uzzi.”

  Lycantra felt of rush of emotion as Opatta spoke those words. “It is a fitting reward for your sacrifice,” she said.

  “That reward awaits all who walk in the light. But my point is this; our Creator, while He does not reveal the intricacies and the totality of His works, does allow us to seek pure knowledge. So even though I dwell in the Next Plane, I am able still to study the histories and the prophecies.”

  “And what have you come to understand?” Lycantra asked, as she tried to wrap her mind around the vast implications of all that Opatta was saying.

  “It is clear that Cerah is the Chosen One. Of that there has never been any doubt. And it is clear that even at this late hour, she sometimes feels uncertainty within her. But listen: although the prophecy clearly states that she is to be the instrument of the demon’s destruction, it also makes clear that it will be the Spark of Ma’uzzi moving her hand that will bring the evil down. He has blessed her with unbelievable power and craft. He has placed within this young girl the skills of a seasoned, gifted warrior. But he has allowed that chink of doubt to remain, that she may never lose her humble heart. She is the Over-Wizard now, and as such is the ultimate servant. She stands above us all, yet never fails to reach down, to lend herself to the most insignificant of Ma’uzzi’s creations. That is why the animals and flowers of the field ran to her and blossomed in her presence. Every living thing that walks upon Quadar knows in their spirit that Cerah has come to conquer darkness with the love of Ma’uzzi. And that, Lycantra, is why I do not fear the coming battle, though the odds appear to be very much in the enemy’s favor.”

  “They do? But my spy tells me that the bulk of our army marches out to meet Surok.”

  “For all the destruction Surok has wrought, the demon has hidden his strength from our forces.”

  “How do you know this?” Lycantra asked, her hand going to her mouth as she heard this dire news.

  “I, too, have a spy.”

  “You do? But how? Who?”

  “It is the traitor, Zenk.”

  The whispered words struck Lycantra like a fist. “Zenk! But
he brought assassins to Cerah’s door! He moves even now at Surok’s side!”

  “He does, and I do not for a moment understate the degree to which the darkness has consumed him. It has festered and propagated within him for many years, long before the coming of Cerah. But he too was my student. He did not have the success that Parnasus had, nor did I offer him the depth of my knowledge that I gave freely to your son. But I did teach him, and as such I have maintained a connection with him, one of which he is wholly unaware. He was never especially good at shielding against divination.”

  This news overwhelmed Lycantra. She struggled to comprehend how such a vile being could be connected to so great a wizard as Opatta. The ancient mage remained silent for a moment, sensing his friend’s struggle to understand.

  “What have you learned from him?” she said finally.

  “Surok marches north on Kier with an army of over one hundred thousand beasts.”

  Lycantra gasped. “That is more than triple the size of our force!”

  “It is. The human slaves he claimed during his last months in the ice cave were legion, and his vile Silestra seeded so many of the women he captured that when the unholy offspring ripped their way out of their hapless mothers’ bodies, Surok was presented with an army far vaster than any that has ever walked upon Quadar. Added to that are the vile Silestra themselves. Their numbers were greatly reduced when I bound Surok, but thousands remained alive. And finally, the karvats, created by Pilka, not Surok. The cataclysm of our dueling conjury killed many of these vile scum as well, but far too many escaped death.”

  “Then what hope is there?” Lycantra asked. The sliver of fear within her was now a vast tower of despair.

  To her surprise, Opatta laughed loudly. It was the loudest sound she had ever heard in the Hall of Whispers. “Do you think numerical superiority means anything to Ma’uzzi? He has held the outcome of the coming day in His palm since before there was before!”