Darkness Rising (Ancient Vestiges Book 1)

by Brenden Gardner

  “Cravens deserve to die,” Lord Luc declared.

  The daemon ran towards Brayan; his sword was held out like a spear. Daniel wanted to call out, distract his foe, anything to get the monster to stop. His words were faint and worthless. He tried to get up on one knee, couch his sword and thrust it at the cloaked man. Naught came of it. He could not throw it more than a metre.

  “The father is as useless as the son,” Lord Luc sneered as he skewered Brayan through the gut. Tears welled in Daniel’s eyes as blood poured from his brother’s mouth. The daemon slashed and tore at the helpless body. The monster only stopped when there was naught left to flay.

  “Luc!” Daniel screamed. The daemon turned, sniggering. “Come and meet the god you worship so much!”

  Wordless, Lord Luc leapt, and Daniel realized his sword was on the ground, and not in his hand. He groped for it, but saw that Lord Luc was close, too close. Daniel gave into fear and despair. He knew this was the end. He closed his eyes.

  “Open your eyes, my lord,” a voice plead. “Take it. Take your sword. Take it while—”

  Daniel did not want to, but he placed a shaking hand on the blade, and looked up. Jaremy was impaled by Lord Luc, raised five feet from the ground. Life flickered from the boy’s eyes, and his lips moved to speak, but no words came out, as the monster flashed the twisted blade in an arc, sending Jaremy tumbling across the chamber.

  Lord Luc’s blade came down over his head, and Daniel put his up to parry, slowly rising, not knowing where such strength came from. He looked beyond, and saw that Ser Johnathan and Ashleigh were staggering to their feet, weak and bloodied.

  “My brother,” Daniel screamed. “He was my brother, Luc! I have never forgotten him. I never will. And Jaremy. Loyal. Stalwart. He was your brother in arms once. Now he is dead. I will not suffer you to live!”

  “Then fall and join them,” the daemon hissed.

  Daniel, wracked by pain and sorrow, felt his muscles turn to jelly and his bones cracked. Still he held on, looking towards his inner strength.

  Vain… I cannot… He is too strong.

  Suddenly a flash of light that seemed so pure and welcoming, called out to him, easing all the pain and hurt that his life had wrought.

  Brother, did you see this? It is so beautiful.

  He stumbled back, uncaring, and then the light was gone. Ser Johnathan and Ashleigh still breathed, but the blood of family and comrades still puddled on the floor. Lord Luc was a crumpled heap in the corner, not five feet from him.

  “You are not supposed to be here!” the daemon screamed defiantly, staggering. “I will—”

  “Flee to your dark god.”

  A woman stood near the entrance, hand extended, fully armoured in red-hued plate, and a score of knights behind.

  “Darkness has come, and not even your Light can consume it!” Lord Luc screamed and dispersed in a wisp of shadow.

  “The vault!” another of them yelled. “See that they are still there. Dach, Yun, see to their wounded.”

  The woman knelt beside him. Daniel looked at the eyes of the Harpy.

  “Bastard slew my brother,” he explained. “Jaremy gave his life for me. I was not strong enough. Aerona, he slew—”

  The Harpy looked askance and said naught.

  “Aerona!”

  A long-haired man came into the chamber. “Do they remain?”

  “Yeuil is seeing to that now, Elder Reuven,” Aerona replied.

  “You left me for dead,” Daniel shouted, rising to face the long-haired knight he never forgot. “If you had but listened, we could have done some good. Now my brother is dead!”

  “There is little you could have done, Lord Daniel Baccan,” Elder Reuven replied coldly. “A time will come when we make a stand against the Dark Brotherhood, and you will be glad for my delay when it arrives.”

  Daniel hacked and coughed. He wanted to say much, but he felt his strength fleeing.

  “They are gone. All of them,” a woman’s voice proclaimed returning from the inner vaults. “There is naught to halt the Time of Ascension.”

  Reuven sighed. “Take them to the narthecal. We must have words with the emperor.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Of Gods and Mortals

  Aerona changed back into her old boiled leather.

  She tossed aside her stave-sword, cinched a leathern sword belt around her waist, and slid Vindication into a plain scabbard.

  She exited her quarters, and emerged into a hall of silver walls with strange runic symbols upon the ceiling that emitted an odd, prescient glow. Reuven had told her this was a ship called a narthecal, and that it would take them to Edren—the heart of the Mazain Empire. She stared in disbelief when she first glimpsed it from afar: it looked to be carved from a mountain with hard ridges at the corners and at the peak, impenetrable as a sheer rock wall, fatter than a trading cog, and more immense than the greatest dromonds, even if there were no masts or cloth sails. Inside was little different. No brick or stone or mortar: just the odd silver, hardened furniture with soft cushions, doors that receded upwards when approached, and blinking lights from strange desks. When the ship moved, it did not rock and sway, nor was there any above decks to take in the smell of salt and sea. It thrust upwards in jolts—climbing higher and higher, until it steadied and calmly pushed forward. Aerona did not care to ask how it worked or where she was.

  She wandered towards the south-west hallways and could not help but ponder of how much she changed, and what her companions may think of her once they awoke. The Heart of the Sand has changed me.

  She felt considerable power in the heart of the palm-sized crystal. Yet it did not influence her like an Animus Stone. There was no voice, no compulsion. Just serenity and peace. It still gave her some disquiet. Even if it meant life and death, she would not forget its destructive power.

  She entered a wide chamber, and her companions were still asleep, with women in red dresses looking at what seemed to be glass windows with writing, others checking bandages and dressings. One came up to her, imploring silence. Aerona waved her hand dismissively.

  Ser Johnathan. I never doubted that if you could, you would have slain me. I never told you, but I did not blame you for that. It was a dark and dangerous road I walked then, blindly following Damian. In arrogance, I strove to right the wrongs. We both made the same mistake. I will remedy that.

  Ashleigh. You and I suffer the same pain. I could not imagine your loss, not until Damian’s blood dripped over my own hands. It was then I understood you. What you were going through. What we all have to do. We will do it, I swear it.

  Daniel. You and I were responsible for so much blood. We bled the isles dry over petty grievances. It was not until Damian fell that we saw each other as allies, not enemies. It was too late then, it is not now. I followed you, not out of obligation, but that of choice. I see now why Damian brought you close all those years ago. You are my last reminder of him.

  Ser Johnathan. Ashleigh. Daniel. Whatever Reuven may have me believe, it is as one that we will see the dawn. I do not know what will come next, but I will need your strength. Rest. Recover. Please.

  “Aerona.” Reuven’s hushed voice snapped her out of memories. “They need time. When the Time of Ascendance comes, they will be ready.”

  But will I? “We should not have left them alone,” she whispered back. “If they do not recover, their blood is on your hands.”

  “Come with me,” he said softly.

  Aerona followed reluctantly, doubt and sadness still close to her heart. Reuven lead her towards the northern end of the narthecal. It no longer seemed to move. Whatever the Mazain Empire was, she was sure she would see it soon. It is still so surreal, interwoven with more questions than answers.

  Reuven spoke before long. “Little has gone as expected. Amos’ influence has never waned, and your father will not bestir himself.”

  Reuven was always like this. Amos and Archelaus was never far from his mind, if they ever left at
all. Aerona did not understand it. “What did leaving them alone accomplish?”

  “That is a question that—”

  “No,” Aerona interrupted, uncaring who heard her raised voice. “You left them to die in the rocks. They walked on a road searching for me, looking for answers. What they found was the Dark Brotherhood, and if I did not embrace the Heart of the Sand, I would be standing vigil for more than two nights. Jaremy Dahk is dead. Brayan Baccan is dead. Does your cold heart not stir?”

  Reuven stared back listlessly. “I am not accountable for the sins of those taken by Darkness. Many more will meet a like fate if Amos is not countered. Put your mind upon that Aerona, as I have.”

  “Did it ever occur to you,” she began venomously, “that if we lose ourselves while vanquishing our foes, that we become no better than them?”

  “When you look upon Sariel as he ravages this realm, you will understand why Amos must be stopped at any cost.”

  Useless, as it always is. “Is he here, in Edren?”

  “No,” Reuven declared flatly as he stopped before a double pair of doors that shot upwards. “There are few who remain.”

  Aerona stepped out of the narthecal and out onto a narrow platform that stretched towards the west, widening in the distance, met by towering stone doors at its end. All around her seemed like an immense dome with openings on either side, but she saw no stretches of grass, dirt roads or even mountain ranges—only an endless blue. She looked down and buckled, though she felt Reuven’s iron grip upon her arm, steadying her.

  “Steady. Do not look down,” he reprimanded.

  Aerona frantically gripped Reuven’s back cursing, not believing her own eyes, wrestling with the improbability of it all. She dared not let go. Eyes forward, she nudged him on, remaining within arm’s reach. “How are we—where are we?”

  “Edren,” he replied dismissively. “Keep your mind on what lies before us.”

  She did not see the sense to argue. Each step terrified her, and she feared that she would fall to the ground in a split moment. It went on for a hundred feet. The path then widened, and she was grateful for the stone beneath her feet, and the endless blue left behind.

  “We are here,” Reuven intoned.

  The stone doors were tall, stretching endlessly, symbols fluttering to and fro.

  “It is but language, naught to fear,” he said coldly, as if sensing her trepidation. “Maznach, is what we called it. Emperor Archelaus was fluent upon the day I was brought to be. It did not take us long to master it ourselves. Language of the gods we thought it: for the presence in the Animus Stones spoke it as well.”

  “I heard my father once. In common,” Aerona protested, settling herself. “How can it—”

  “Do not remind him of that. See, the signs,” Reuven pointed towards them clockwise. The symbols were meaningless to her. “Those who come must serve the will of the Father Above. All others be sent below.”

  “A password?” Aerona offered, incredulous. “In the skies above?”

  “You have seen their power, and still you wonder?”

  She knew it was a foolish question.

  “I will but speak the words,” Reuven declared. “Commit it to memory, and—”

  “Minlel Avdtoch,” Aerona pronounced and the symbols flashed and faded as the stone doors receded.

  “Day’s Dawn,” Reuven repeated in common. “You no longer doubt.”

  I do not know what I just said. Was it simply—

  Aerona felt the Heart of the Sand glow in the pouch on her hip. It spoke for me.

  “Father awaits,” Aerona said, feeling the elder’s gaze upon her.

  Reuven nodded and led her through the doors.

  She ascended the darkened, twisting stairs. A light seemed to come from above: no more than symbols from Maznach, illuminating a beige glow. It seemed to be no different from the Overlord’s Seat, but she knew that was just a childish fancy.

  Reuven lead her into a long hall that seemed much like the stair, but a deep red carpet lay from wall to wall. It did not take long for her to lose all sense of direction through the twists and turns of a labyrinth lit only by a pale illumination. Much like the narthecal, there were breaks within the walls, though they never went into the adjoining chambers.

  Aerona came to an immense, dome-like chamber, and what seemed like an immense tower at the northern wall, fronted by tall double doors with curving stairs that wrapped around on either end. In the centre seemed to be more of the language of Maznach, faded and hard to read, but she repeated them aloud, “Sovereignty, Sky, Pyre, Cognizance, Faith, Entropy, Dominion, Subversion, Plague, Lucidity, Salvation, Twilight, and Artifact.”

  “No longer guarded,” Reuven intoned.

  “Is that why we have come?”

  He turned and faced Aerona, talking slowly and sternly. “We have come upon the summons of Emperor Archelaus. Your father has summoned us on account of the recurrence at hand. Fifteen thousand years since the Time of Ascendance. When it came once, he led us, guided us. What he knows will help you, Aerona. That is why we have come.”

  “You do not believe he will help us.”

  “Fear is a terrible weapon.”

  “Reuven, is he—”

  “No. You will see it for yourself.”

  Aerona looked upon the floor at the symbols Lucidity and then Artifact. Why does that draw me so? She raised her eyes and walked towards the tower. Reuven’s footsteps echoed behind.

  “Far enough, Elder Reuven,” a voice called out. It came from near the stone tower. Five Deathsworn stood at the door; visors down, stave-swords drawn but shuttered. “You shall remain. Aerona shall go alone.”

  “There is much that I—”

  “It will wait,” a Deathsworn interrupted curtly. “That is his will.”

  Reuven turned towards Aerona and stared, lips unmoving. She did not know what he expected her to say. The Deathsworn parted as she passed through the towering doors.

  The chamber inside was immense. She thought it like the base of a wide tower with no floors or stairs winding above. Then she saw the twelve balconies that wrapped around the chamber high above. This is… where my visions were. Did my father always know? Did he see from some unseen seat?

  She looked upwards and saw the chamber was lit only the faintest of lights, and swirling shadows danced beyond. At the far northern end of the chamber, atop three steep, stone steps was an old, hardened man sitting upon an ornate throne. She could not see much, but the man’s face was stern and implacable, though there was a warm familiarity that she could not help but feel.

  “It has been ten years, Aerona,” Emperor Archelaus said suddenly, sending a thousand questions through her mind. “You have grown into a beautiful young woman.”

  That is my… father’s voice. “I cried for you,” she blurted out. “I mourned you.” I will not show him my tears! “You abandoned me with a lie!” she screamed. “And here you sit on your perch in the sky whilst the realm burns!”

  “There is much you do not understand. My life is to the Adtier. Not just you.”

  “I am your issue!”

  Her father’s expression did not change. She thought she was being weighed and judged, as a lord is wont to do with vassals who had broken the law of the land.

  “I have never left you,” he declared. “Amos watched over you while I could not.”

  Amos. She learned much and more about Amos from Reuven, whose loyalty she long since ceased to doubt, even if he infuriated her so. Gregory Tanev was Amos, then. The Gregory Tanev who saved my life, but who brought ruination to my home. “He is not my father. You are,” she paused, thinking hard about what to say. “You left me in the care of a monster!”

  “Daughter or no, I will not hear a word of that venom!” her father shouted. “Much you have learned from Reuven, I do not doubt. His words are laced with venom and jealousy. He does not understand Amos, nor will he ever. Do not forget that Amos preserved you not once, but twice!”

 
Lanan once, but the second? She groped her memory for the answer, seeking, searching. She recalled the Calamity, and her survival that remained so inexplicable.

  There was a man in white. “Help me,” I croaked. Then, the man kneeled, hand extended his hand, and said, “As I always have.” Was there more? There was another. They were arguing, one called another the Betrayer. That was… Reuven.

  “Reuven was there too,” Aerona said aloud.

  “He was. Reuven has charge of the Deathsworn, all but those I claim for my own. Souls were salvaged—yours among them. Those who would stand against the Darkness and push Him back. Amos kept you from the dark, and to speak ill of him so.”

  Aerona pressed what Reuven discussed with her, trusting his judgment, even if her own heart bled. “You know what is to befall the realm?”

  “More than you know. I lived through it once. I shall live to see it again. There is naught we can do but bear witness to the end.”

  “And yet you sit here and do naught! I do not recall cowardice from you.”

  It was some time before her father stirred. Aerona felt his impenetrable gaze, and a stone-faced emotionless disposition. “Did Reuven not tell you of the Fall?”

  “He barely spoke of it.”

  “As do all of us who lived through it,” her father said, leaning forward. “The Animus Stones were much a gift as a curse. Contained within them is the power to summon Sariel into this realm. Whence the Bringer of Dusk channels their twisted umbral forces, the dark god will transcend with the chosen vestige, heralding the Time of Ascendance.

  “We had leaned too much upon the stones, relied far too heavily. Whence Sariel came, we were not ready. Many died in the old land, and I did what only I could do. Vindication was in my hand, and I crushed the Heart of the Sand into the blade itself, and challenged the dark god on the snow swept fields of Old Mazain.

  “I thought that I had ended the first Time of Ascendance. I hoped that I did. For the Heart of the Sand was destroyed in the battle, and so ended the era of the Bringer of Dawn. When Sariel returned, weakened but still formidable, we lost too much.