Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “Elder Amos and Lord Luc were there, waiting. High Servitor Jophiel thought that his movements were a secret known only to the most trusted in the Order: myself, Hamad, and Inman. You saw the other two, though they did not speak. They will not survive the elder, no more than I did. All the desert dweller’s plans have come undone. The Dark Brotherhood hath returned.”

  “The Dark Brotherhood?”

  “We are the disciples of the one who will be called the Fell Sorcerer. The Herald birthed from the Awakening. The mortal vestige of the Darkness Rising.”

  “Madness. Lord Gareth, this is madness,” Johnathan paused, realizing he could not move. “Release me!”

  “Command is no longer yours to give, but mine and my brethren! You were kept within this realm for due course. Do not sully it now with prattling ignorance.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I told you once, twice, thrice, did I not? This war was naught but a quest for the vessels. The mortal vestige has need of tempering, but what you have left to us must suffice for the nonce. Others have come and gone unto his affairs and to play their part, and you have grown quite useful to that end.”

  “I am no puppet, curse you Gareth!” Johnathan screamed and writhed against bonds he did not see. “When I am free from these we will…”

  Words trailed off in the bleak realm, and he saw that he was utterly alone. “Where are they?”

  “Your knights and the Harpy?” Lord Gareth laughed. “Bound by my brethren, succumbing to the Dream. You will come to it too. The dark god wills it.”

  “When I—”

  “Droll and witless you are, Lord Protector,” Lord Gareth sneered, and tendrils of sable formed at his finger tips, and it slithered towards Johnathan. He pushed against it, but could not move, and he felt every bone in his body splintering. “He hath come, Ser Johnathan Falenir, and you have brought him to the precipice. Together we shall…”

  The pain suddenly stopped. Johnathan could move again. The light faded. He swiveled his head and saw his knights, Aerona and the Brood on their knees, hands upon their heads, writhing in pain. Lord Gareth stepped back, but there was a figure cloaked in sable, holding aloft a crystalline stone: its light bent towards the Harpy.

  Johnathan leapt at the cloaked man, but he was suddenly grabbed and thrown against the wall. Anguish roiled through him, and he dropped his sword. He wanted to stand, but the attempt bogged him down. He looked up and saw a tall, broad man that stood at the fore. “Long have I been told I cannot slay you. Do not press your luck, old man. Your tricks shall not avail you ‘gainst me.”

  “That remains the will of Elder Amos, Lord Luc,” a voice commanded, and not that of Lord Gareth. “The Awakening is at hand. The Darkness Rising shall command the realm be bathed in fire and ash—thence you shall excise your strength, not before.”

  Lord Luc guffawed. “As you wish, Lord Aleksander.”

  Johnathan pushed himself to a knee, and every bone in his legs seemed to scream out. “You are Aleksander Avrill? Son of Malcom Avrill?”

  “That was a life long ago. Your tale will be as mine: eviscerated before the reign of the dark god.”

  Johnathan looked to his knights, and then to Aerona. The Harpy struggled to rise, fighting against the incandescent light, but she steadily rose. If we are to fight against this, I will need her. “That—is that the relics that the imperator has been so obsessed with? That he would wantonly slaughter for!?”

  Lord Aleksander grinned mischievously. “The ancients called them Animus Stones. Your wretched dogma named them Spherules of Divinity. They are gifts from the Pantheon, marked by Sariel Himself. We shall witness His Ascension, grasping their power!”

  Suddenly the darkened chamber churned with lights darting to and fro. Johnathan saw the lights emanate from the breasts of the Dark Brotherhood, spiraling into coalesced streams above. It seemed to churn unto a great mass, flecked by shadows and dark tendrils. Then he heard the distinct wails of men, women, and children, echoing all at once.

  “That is…” he stammered. “You took them all?”

  “Sacrifices must be made!” Lord Aleksander roared, his voice crackling through the air. “You and others were sent to discover the Animus Stones and bring them hither: their dark will breaking the plains of the Unseen, bridging our realm to Sariel. The unworthy failed in their charge, and thus we must take life to give life anew. The dead wandering in torment rests upon your shoulders Lord Protector!”

  A voice loud and thunderous crashed inside Johnathan’s skull, pushing him down. His knights were prone upon the ground, plate stripped away, their flesh melting off them. Aerona rose to a knee, flailing against it, but her Brood languished against the fell power.

  Through the torment of death, the strength of the dark god was near.

  Johnathan writhed in anguish.

  “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.”

  The words cut through the agony, voices, and the swirling lights. Johnathan knew it as a passage from the Book of Faith. He pulled his eyes from the ground and saw a figure in plate, cutting through to Lord Aleksander.

  “Dawn shall not come however much you prattle!” Lord Aleksander screeched.

  “It has come for you—and the fell sorcerer.”

  It all seemed like some half-remembered dream to Johnathan, but the figure was a man, and not a Dalian. Lord Commander Rafael Azail stood there, breaking through the power of the spherules.

  It is not through Darkness that you shall be bound, a voice echoed through his head, pushing away the thunderous voice that was once there. He rose to his feet without effort, grasping his discarded sword. “Rafael. Is this—”

  “This is Her will, and he has need of you.”

  Johnathan bound towards the passage, and Lord Aleksander cried out shrilly.

  The cries of death below did not halt his ascent.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Awakening

  Elin walked deeper into the darkness.

  Pillars rose from either side, and the light from the brand revealed torn and ripped banners that fluttered from near the roof. He knew that the Mountain was not far off—no further than the end of the narrow hallway, and the man who ordered the deaths of Alicia, Joshua, and Timothy.

  He waved the brand down and saw plate-clad bodies lumped together. Ser Geoffrey knelt, pushed a corpse over, revealing a long black cloak with a brown trim. “Black Guard,” he declared, rising to his feet. “No blood matting the cloth. Nor is the plate dented. Dead though, plain as it is.”

  Elin was not concerned with the manner of their deaths. He held the brand aloft and saw two tall oaken doors just past the spread of bodies. He stepped over the dead men and pulled open the doors. The wood creaked loudly against the coarse stone.

  He emerged into a chamber that was wide and round. There were rows of dark marble benches curving out from the left and right, stretching in wide arcs. The dark seemed impenetrable. “There will be sconces along the walls. I would look upon the imperator’s face in the light.”

  The knights scurried off to either side while he walked forward. The torch’s glower revealed more of the benches, and a wide-open space. He saw that some of the dark marble was cracked and streaked. He followed the lines in the stone, and it led further west towards faint outlines of mortared and chiseled rock, stretching out and ascending. The Mountain towered high above; the summit wreathed in darkness.

  Light stretched out from the sides of the room, and Elin beheld the throne: a dark chair atop the Mountain with crevices cut upon either side. The steps seemed endless, and near the bottom was a great gap; shadows crawled out, leading to a passage beyond.

  He looked further down and saw an old, weathered body splayed upon the bottom step, and a long sword skewering the corpse. He knelt and grasped the spindly white hair; the head came loose, and looked into the eyes of Imperator Argath Di
omedes.

  Elin threw the head away in frustration.

  All the sacrifices, all the death and pain, and for what?

  “What we crossed the sea to do, we have done,” Lady Deborah intoned. “The imperator has fallen. We will search the keep and find whomsoever remains.”

  “There is naught more to do here,” Ser Geoffrey concurred. “Rest, Knight-Commander. We will return home as victors. The dead have been avenged. This war is over.”

  Elin knew the words were false. The imperator may have escaped Judgment, but the Faceless Shadow will not. He stared into the passage just above the corpse of the imperator. The shadows seemed to grow and slither. Altier. “It has not yet ended. He lurks in the depths still.”

  “Knight-Commander, allow us to search before—”

  “No,” Elin cut the knight-captain off sharply. “I will descend that passage. The creature who slew the imperator is deeper within. This is an affair that I must see to—alone.” He turned and looked at the assembled knights. They all stared back gravely. “None shall enter the passage lest I return from it. Not the Harpy or Ser Johnathan, should they return.”

  “If the lord protector should insist?” Lady Deborah asked plaintively.

  “Cut his throat.”

  He did not expect defiance. The knight captains nodded their heads, and they stood in an arc ‘round the throne, drawing steel, looking outward. He ascended the throne and braved the passage.

  Pebbles crunched beneath his boots, and more fell to the ground as he placed a hand upon the wall. It slanted downwards slightly, but straight. The air seemed to thicken and stifle. The darkness grew, and a thin layer of shadow rolled against his feet.

  The glower from the Mountain all but faded, the path twisted and turned, slanting ever down towards an endless dark. He knew where he was. The Faceless Shadow was not Lord Kaldred, but Altier, the man from his nightmares; the presence that haunted his every step, who had been absent e’er since the battle for Isil began.

  Elin seethed, striding down the darkened path. Altier was the daemon who ensnared Alicia, Timothy, and Joshua and took them away. It was more than a dream; no simple nightmare. Altier was a shadow that cascaded all o’er the realm; and none would be safe lest he was dead.

  The path kept twisting and turning, ever downwards. On and on it went.

  He resolved that he would not be subservient as he was in the dream. His legs did not ache, nor did he slow down and stumble from the oppressive heat.

  On and on it went.

  He felt as if the darkness tried to push against him, turn him from the path to its master. He would not, could not. The realm would not know peace whilst the marauder lingered.

  He thundered down the passage until a grey light broke through the impassive dark, and he halted, looking down at a long set of old, worn stairs, and a dimmer grey emptiness on either side. He had descended them countlessly, chasing his little Joshua down, trying to ward him against Altier. It was a futile chase, but it would all come to an end.

  Step after step came and went. The grey became denser, and the dark almost all but faded. Elin felt a presence from somewhere, a voice upon the edge of hearing. He pushed it aside and tread down the steps.

  He leapt down upon an empty, grey platform. He swiveled his head to and fro, though there was naught but a lingering grey, like a mist, and the faint traces of the dark from above, as if it tried to push through. “Altier! Show yourself!”

  His voice echoed through the hollow of the mountain.

  He threw the torch at the centre of the platform, clasped Judgment with both hands and called out again. “Altier!”

  “Altier? Who is that, Father?” a soft voice spoke.

  “Joshua?” Elin exclaimed. “Where are you? Joshua!”

  “I am here, Father,” the soft voice replied.

  The grey seemed to dissipate, and Elin saw a shade of his son: what the dream foretold. Grief and misery overwhelmed him.

  “You took it from us.”

  It was another voice, clear and beautiful. Beside his son stood a tall, slender figure, grey in the dark, and he knew it to be his wife. “Alicia. Are you… are you free of him?”

  “Free of you?” Alicia asked coldly. “We were never free of you. No hand but yours wields Judgment, you always told me. I did not recognize you, but I knew the steel. I warded our son but your wrath could not be stilled.”

  His heart ached. “Lies. Illusions, all of it.”

  “Are we no different from those children in Zelen?” Joshua asked, clutching Alicia’s skirts. “The priests, they hated you, and you hated us. Is that why I was covered in mother’s blood? Why did you do that father?”

  “I did… not. No… I would not,” Elin stammered. His knees buckled, and his hands gripped the hard stone. “You and your brother. Your mother. You were everything to me.”

  “Then why turn Timothy into a monster?”

  “I do not know what came of dear Timothy. I awoke one day and he was sick and…” His words trailed off and his eyes widened in alarm as a wind burst through, and they were gone. “No, come back. I did not do it.”

  “We did it,” a coarse, raspy voice declared.

  At the foot of a far stair stood man in a dark green cloak, face shadowed. The man rested a protective hand on another: shorter and cloaked.

  “Altier,” Elin seethed, tightening his grip on Judgment. He was e’er powerless in the dream, but in the flesh a man would bleed, even one so depraved as Altier. “Cast aside your illusions,” the word was harder to say than he thought, tears welling in his eyes. “I am not your puppet. Your death will mark an end, and then my work is done, and I can rest.”

  “It only begins.”

  Shadows swirled at their feet, and they re-appeared a foot away. The other was unhooded, grey light illuminated the face of a boy. Elin stumbled back, fearful, disbelieving it, and crawling to the edge. “No. That cannot be.”

  “You recognize our son. He has changed much. All of our designs.”

  “Madness. Madness. Rank madness!”

  “Madness was whence you spurned the Voice’s gift, after you had become intoxicated by it. Yes, you recall the Animus Stone whence the Cleaver Prince beached our homeland? It gave you strength and wisdom. It gave birth to me—to do what you were afraid to do. You thought that you did not need me anymore, but I lingered, I called out, and even when the whole realm pushed you away, the Voice set it near you, unbeknownst, for the day had come when she needed you again; and I had become known as Lord Kaldred, though we were always one.”

  “I am not you!” Elin protested, screaming out. “Animus Stones are a fantasy. My son died to sickness and disease, what he is now, I do not know.”

  “I am a keeper,” Timothy replied, withdrawing a palm-sized crystalline stone. It was bright yellow, and threaded lines of sable were woven upon its face. “Did you deny it to push down what you wrought? How do you look your knights in the eye? You butchered their families.”

  “No—I,” Elin stumbled and stammered, incredulous at his son, and the corruption Altier wrought. “Do not cast me in this. Away! Away with you!”

  “A part of you recognizes it—and me,” Altier declared harshly, his voice rising tremulously. “You are a coward at heart, Ser Elin Durand. You throw yourself upon the ground, beg for resolution, and when I come to you—emerge from your depths—you wish naught to do with it, though it tears you apart. You submit to and give birth unto me. I come to you and guide you. Do what you could never fathom, and thus you spurn me, but no longer. We are bound to the Great Fate, you and I. No sacrifice is too great for those in service of the dark god. We will endure, and give the realm the rebirth it cries for.”

  “Illusion, cursed illusions!” Elin cried, looking askance. He knew it had to be some terrible nightmare.

  “Look upon me!” Altier roared.

  Elin did not want to look upon the face of the daemon; he would not give credence to the twisting words. He was suddenly bathed in a yel
low light, and his will and strength weakened. Familiar brown eyes looked out to him. Altier’s skin was stretched and pock marked, and scars ran up and down, criss-crossing. His lips were like two worms, scarred and slimy. The realization was sudden, gazing into his eyes once more: the eyes, the eyes were his.

  “I am the voice that you begged for,” Altier declared. “The salve for the wounds that you could not bear. I picked up the sword whence you could not. The anguish, the misery, the sorrow, I took it all upon myself to spare you. You are the mortal vestige of the Darkness Rising, and we are His Herald!”

  “I wanted naught but vengeance when my boy was lost!” Elin screamed. “What you wanted to do, I would have no part of.”

  “I always did what you were too weak to do.”

  Elin no longer fought. Not with his eyes staring back at him. “I did this to my boy… I… we… slew Alicia and Joshua, and all those people in Serenity. You wanted me here… all those dead for that wish. I shall not grant it to you!”

  Elin clasped Judgment, put it to his throat, the blood dripping down.

  “Do not be a fool!” Altier seethed.

  “I have committed… so many sins. I would have torn down the realm, to purge it of the sin that consumed it, but the villain is… me. I am unworthy of life. Whence I die, so shall you, and my son will be free. I go to Mother God. Stand before her judgment and…”

  “THE GREAT FATE CHURNS TO MY WILL—NOT YOURS!”

  Elin lost all feeling in his hand and dropped the blade; he stumbled backward over the edge. Altier grabbed Elin’s hand; he wanted to loose himself from it, but he could not. His mind was seared and wrought with anguish. Altier pulled him up.

  Elin looked ahead to the centre of the platform. The grey was gone. He only saw a cloud of darkness and shadow, endlessly churning, shutting out all light. He knew the thunderous voice came from it.

  “Keeper,” Altier decreed. “Perform the ritual ere you return to the Unseen Realm.”