Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  The boy was so familiar, but irrevocably distant. Rafael could not avert his eyes.

  “This,” Lord Aleksander announced from atop the Mountain’s Summit, stone still in hand, “is your new pact. Serve it well against the Light that blinds all the realm in a terrible glimmer.”

  The boy stretched out his hand. Shadows bloomed from his feet, rising to the tips of his fingers, and Rafael felt a searing pain shooting through his body; the shadows slithered and suffocated him. He writhed against it, but the realm darkened before his eyes. He dropped his sword, put hands against his head and screamed out in pain; but a voice emerged in his head that rattled and tore at him.

  “Do not fight against the Dream of the Animus, Lord Commander,” Lord Kaldred declared. “It is a waking dream. A power that bores into other realms, and brings unions, where there was once only despair. This is the strength that bores into your spirit and bends it to the will of Darkness. What you can see and feel and hear, others did under your hand; a wrath that you feel now—fitting for a treacherous dog. You and your corrupt imperium wrought this. The Dalians are not blameless; for they are as deceitful as you and your allies. It nurtured a hatred, and it grew from the bottomless depths. It is now a slayer that has not been seen in this realm for many years. Not since a time lost to memory, when the Darkness rose before; yet it will not be a ruin now. The Awakening is at hand.”

  Tremors and pain ran through Rafael’s body, stretching and piercing. It was an unfathomable, unbearable pain.

  “You mean to pierce my dark heart, Lord Commander?” Lord Kaldred mocked. “You cannot even shake the waking dream. The dark has a name. The fear is real. This is a birth of an endless dusk. Soon it will spread from this country—to the Southern Nations, Dalia, Trecht, and the skies above. Your efforts are in vain.

  “Strong as your will may be Lord Commander, but not strong enough. Aleksander had a strong will too, but in the end, he succumbed to the Dream, and claimed his lordship to the brotherhood. It is the only path to salvation. For fifteen thousand years, for fifteen millennia of agony, the realm has not changed. Pacts are made and broken. Rivers run red with blood. The realm is a disease. This is the salvation. The dark god will bring us what we sorely need.

  As the words trailed off, Rafael saw shadows in the dark, moving towards him. Three wicked men laughed and taunted him. The boy whose name he could not remember grinned so sardonically. Yet there was one who towered above the others: death and slaughter, a daemon of old. Then the shadows turned to fire, the realm burned, all at the behest of the daemon. The monstrosity was faceless and formless, but full of hatred. The monster’s words echoed in Rafael skull, and another, louder and serer.

  He could not think his own thoughts. Then the daemon stood before him, scythe in hand. The curved blade neared his neck, and he could only shout: “The light of our life may darken, but that of faith is a brilliance that cannot be dulled. Let faith lead your life, and never will you stray from the Light.”

  He saw naught but the endless Void.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Under the Mountain’s Shadow

  Ashleigh turned over the body of the dead man and searched his belongings.

  The man seemed different from his two companions at the camp site. He possessed a scabbarded long sword, a sword breaker, and nearly ten sheathed daggers on his persons. She reached into the pouches along his belt, but found flint, oddments, and a coin purse.

  Hands on her knees, she did not know what to think.

  It was if they ate some poisonous roots, though even edible roots were sparse enough in the southern wastelands. She saw no signs of struggle, and no blood matted their garb.

  “If they had the relic, they do not have it now,” Ashleigh said to the captain of the Black Guard, convinced there was naught more to find. Lord Aleksander had five of the imperator’s guard accompany her to the southern reaches of Isilia, and they insisted on knowing everything. “This one is an islander, though. Crimson Sword by the look of him.”

  The captain bent down and pulled the cloak from underneath the dead man. It was trimmed in crimson. “This is the man that the overlord sent and they,” he pointed over towards a man and a woman in brown and greys, “they were the villagers who guided him. We will find the trail. Gab, Frit, discover where the thief went. I will not return empty handed.”

  “The thief may not be who you think, Captain,” Ashleigh warned in hushed whispers. The captain had been prickly since they left Isil a week past, and she did not want to anger him. “There is no wound on any of them. No blood. It was if they fell lifelessly.”

  “You have seen this like before.”

  She thought there was some familiarity to Serenity, but the bodies were not contorted, nor were the faces frozen in fear. It was not a possibility that she discounted, but she did not believe it either. “Poison, though I could not offer a proof.”

  “Keep looking.” The captain turned to the two Black Guard who remained.

  Ashleigh lingered at the body, closing the islander’s eye lids, and she did the other two in turn. She tugged at the draping cloak beneath the man, and tied the ends at the bottom. It was a poor shroud, but better than rotting beneath the hard sun.

  I do not know you, nor do I know your guides. If you lived, like as much you would be a foe, but far too much has been lost over our obsession with these relics. Rafael, my love, find a way.

  She never saw her love since returning to Isil, though the Black Wrath was true to his word: she was quartered and questioned, but not by the imperator. A lanky, slip of a boy garbed in sable robes attended her. The boy was arrogant and condescending, and there was a clumsiness in his step, and an embarrassed kindness. He introduced himself as Lord Aleksander Avrill.

  She wondered how tractable this Lord Aleksander would be, and what he knew, if aught at all. There were many secrets and trysts that she preferred to keep hidden, but considering the changing of the guard in the imperium—and the lord commander’s absence—there was little that she was prepared to risk.

  If he asks me what was shared beneath the sheets, and if I do not answer sincerely—

  It was always important to her and Rafael that no one knew of what they did. She always suspected that Ian and Lucas knew, but they were wise enough not to make note of it. Either way, Lord Aleksander did not know, and may have asked more if he did.

  “The lord commander was given explicit instructions to procure treasures, much akin to what Lord Kaldred unsurfaced in the mountains. We believe they were hidden away in the tombs and sepulchres of the Faith. Lord Commander Rafael professes that he could not find any. Was he truthful?”

  “We believed one was in Serenity.” Lord Aleksander nodded, though Ashleigh suspected the lord knew that already. “There was a secret monger that Lucas found in Talin. He knew much of affairs that seemed beyond him. The lord commander questioned him long, and we learned much before those who sheltered him earned their due.

  “Lord Commander Rafael sent outriders north, and messages south, warning, daring Ser Johnathan Falenir to come to the fields of Talin. We meant to smash them, push them south of the Sister Cities. If in the north there were no answers, the ancient churches and cathedrals of Dale may have housed the relics.

  “Ah, but the lord commander was impatient. He did not wait for the Dalians to show their strength, and against strong counsel, we lost many in Zelen as it burned to the ground. It was our failure, and their retribution.”

  “Lord Kaldred believes that Dale has more than one,” Lord Aleksander replied nonchalantly. “The lord commander’s impatience cost him dearly. What did your riders report from Serenity? Did you learn what they said?”

  “We met them again upon our retreat, and it proved the secret monger spread lies. Serenity was in ruins. We came later to see for ourselves. If a relic was there, it was long gone.

  “We questioned the secret monger often as we fled, but to no avail. In Jakon, he spoke madness. ‘In the dark and twisty ways,’ h
e said. ‘There it lies. Forgotten, but not by all. Some still speak of it when the forests were young. Go to the paths. Speak to their shamans, and there you will find it.’”

  “It may have been, or perhaps not,” Lord Aleksander mused. “The sprawling forests in the Dalian Northlands are home to prowling beasts. If a relic is within those dark labyrinths, it will be worth the search. I will speak of this to Lord Kaldred.”

  The young lord sat in brooding silence, deep in thought.

  “May I make one request, my lord?” Ashleigh asked, unsure if the lord would grant it, but hoped that he would.

  There was no kindness in the eyes that looked back. “What would you ask of us?”

  “To see the lord commander.”

  “That will not do, not yet,” Lord Aleksander said, looking towards her askance. “Your account mirrors what the lord commander told us, and for my part, I believe you. Our sovereign will be harder to sway, and if you but do us one favour, I may see to your request before long.”

  So Ashleigh found herself on the southern plains of Isilia, far away from where the battle would be waged.

  And Rafael.

  “Captain, we found the trail!” Gab returned, and Frit was coming up on his heels. “It winds down into the valley south of here.”

  “Mount up!”

  Ashleigh whistled to the bay she was given, and patted the dutiful beast along the neck before climbing up and following the Black Guard to the north.

  The sun was still high and hot, though the afternoon waned. Close to the sea, the dry wind from the flat lands pushed it away. It came from the east, and the great maw that opened to the desert beyond.

  Even as a child, Ashleigh was always keenly aware of the heat and emptiness that no travelers emerged from. She shook her head, and kept her eyes bent upon the plains, and the deep valley that was not far off.

  She dismounted at the lip of the valley, and led her horse down the steep incline, patting its side reassuringly. The dried earth was thicker down the incline, with a few roots coming out of the cracks. By early evening green and yellow skinned reptiles would sneak and sliver in the darkest recesses of the valleys, some tall upon two feet, others snaking on the ground. The thief could not have been far, and they would be well on their way to a neighbouring village before it came to pass.

  Another hour passed and Ashleigh saw a speck on the horizon walking steadily southwards. The captain called them to charge, and the traveler seemed oblivious: trudging through the wasteland wearing naught but a torn blue shirt and brown trousers. His hair was a matted mess of brown curls, and his spectacles were pushed down a long, sharp nose. The Black Guard surrounded him, though Ashleigh kept her distance, watching.

  “Are you lost?” the captain asked. The others surrounded the stranger on horseback. The stranger seemed to look around.

  “I did not imagine the plains to be so vast,” he said calmly. “I am a weary traveler. Would you tell me where Isil is?”

  “You are walking away from it!” one of the men called out. “Not that your kind would be welcome behind our walls.”

  The others seemed to chuckle, all but the captain. “You would seek the seat of the imperator? Are you ignorant of the war?”

  “The war?” the stranger asked. “I have no allegiance. I am displaced—a vagrant. All I had is gone.”

  “He is a Dalian, Captain,” Gab said from his horse. “I spent some time o’er there three years back.”

  “I was born there, yes,” the stranger said. “It is not a home for me now. Too much has passed.”

  “Where you are from does not concern me,” the captain declared. “I will have what you have stolen. Lay it upon the ground.”

  “I do not know what you mean.”

  The Black Guard drew their swords. Ashleigh was sure that whoever this man was, he was not the man who killed the islander and the guides. There was no strength to him.

  “Lay it upon the ground, or we will pick through your corpse.”

  The stranger did not move, though the Black Guard dismounted swiftly, moving in on the man. The wind seemed to die, and the air was stifling. Suddenly, the shadow of the stranger seemed to stretch. Ashleigh clutched the reigns tightly, and the faintest of light resonated from the stranger’s chest.

  He has it, but how?

  “The Lord of Death awaits you,” the stranger said.

  Darkness seemed to gather around the man in an instant, and streams of shadows pushed outward. Gab and Frit charged back at the man, but pillars of shadow picked them both up, and held them aloft in the sky, suffusing their bodies. The men cried out in pain and agony, dropping their swords before falling limply to the ground.

  The captain stared dumbfounded at the corpses of his men, while the other two ran. Streams of coalesced shadow chased after them, pinning them to the ground; it crumbled upon them like a tower struck by a catapult. They fidgeted and squirmed, until their bodies went limp.

  “Wha-what are you?” the captain asked, crawling backwards. “What did you do?”

  “I am a vagrant,” the stranger said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing what looked like a red crystal; it seemed to pulsate and shine brightly. “You would have taken this from him, hurried back to Lord Kaldred, and made it a gift to him?

  Ashleigh tried to pull away and kick at the mare’s sides, but some power kept her there. The captain nodded his head quickly.

  “The eyes tell it all. You do not understand the power, and yet you would hand it over to a master of slaves.”

  “Lord Kaldred says they belong to us—that they were stolen by Dalians centuries past. They are ours!”

  “Then he has lied to you, and not for the first time. It will be the last.” The captain began to scream out in agony. Twisted shadows came from the fingertips of the stranger, suffusing the captain’s body in darkness. Then he went silent.

  That—is that what Rafael saw, what he is so scared of? It is—

  Ashleigh’s thoughts trailed off as the vagrant turned towards her. He placed the crystal back in his coat pocket, and it went dormant. “You need not fear me, Ashleigh Coburn. It has no desire for your death.”

  “It?” Ashleigh was confused and afraid.

  “The Animus Stone. It has a will of its own, but every will can be controlled when bonded to the spirit. I gained mastery over it, though it was a burden. You see, I was meant to have It. To become a keeper, though it speaks of a rite far greater. As are you. Now come down from your mount, and let us speak.”

  Keeper? Ashleigh thought, stepping down. All her life she had seen what was real before her. Beneath the shade of this power, it was like the gods descended from the heavens.

  “You still have not told me who you are,” Ashleigh said flatly.

  “Sebastien Tiron.”

  “You!” Ashleigh proclaimed, drawing Retribution. The riddle was answered at last. “You destroyed Serenity, drove Ser Elin to madness. We stand little chance against him, but your head would do much to repair what you broke.”

  “Sheath your blade,” Sebastien commanded in a deep voice. “I did not do this thing to Serenity. I would not destroy my home, not even if It willed it. I had a small part to play, which I will take blame for. The Voice and I made a pact that I have come to regret.”

  “What pact?”

  Sebastien withdrew the red crystal from his pocket again, and Ashleigh backed away. Though seeing it dark and dormant, it calmed her in a strange and soothing way, like a mother’s warm embrace.

  “It concerns these relics,” Sebastien explained. “One was in my keeping, and I did not think it would rent the ruin that it did.”

  Ashleigh sheathed her sword, wanting to at least hear the account. “Tell your tale.”

  “It began in early spring. Ser Elin had come to my house with his eldest son in arms, barely alive. I looked the boy over. He had no fever, his muscles and bone were strong and healthy, but his veins were sable, and his eyes would not open. Weeks came and went, and I tried e
very herb concoction and brew that I knew, but the boy would not stir. I sent for my old friend, to tell him there was naught I could do.

  “He was enraged as I had come to expect. I did all that I could, but that was not enough. He vowed my own death if it came to pass that I had any part in this. It was his grief. I knew him well from the war with Trecht. He left, and I decided to give the boy one more night before I crunched Death Blossom into a hot tea.

  “That night I was visited by one of the Crimson Swords. His name was Luc Endrast. I had never seen a harder or crueller man, and he demanded to see the boy. I refused him. Yet I am but a mere healer, and to deny that man was not within my power.

  “I showed him a hidden passage in my home that lead beneath the ground. I kept the boy there, far away from suspicion. Luc pushed me into corner, told me to keep silent. From a pouch at his waist he withdrew an Animus Stone; he chanted, and I felt a hot wind and an unmistakeable presence. It formed beside him, shaded, human like, but I could not see much; nor did I hear that deep gravelly voice before.

  “The whole chamber shook, and shadows churned like a maelstrom in front of me. Hovering above the boy was the very relic the Voice asked me to keep in secret. It scintillated in Its power: tendrils of Darkness creeping down onto the lad. The boy’s chest heaved, and his whole body shook, until the Animus Stone rested in his hand. Then, he sat up.

  “The presence fled from the room, though the shadows lingered at the boy’s feet. I saw the eyes of the boy I once cared for, but that was so far gone from who walked by me. Luc remained in the chamber, sword on his knee. I heard it all above me: the screams, the terror. It was endless.

  “Exhaustion took me at some late hour, and when I awoke, Luc was gone. The hamlet was as you saw it.”

  “The relic was in Serenity, then,” Ashleigh said. “You had it?”

  “That is what I said,” Sebastien replied. “Before the last winter, the Voice sent it to me among a crate of herbs. I was to bury it as deeply as I could, and speak of it to no one. I believe that it was not buried deep enough, that it had chosen that poor boy, and the presence, whomsoever it was, bonded it with his spirit, and now has another thrall.”