by Chris Miller
“Precisely,” Bledynn agreed, unsheathing his curved sword and taking a menacing step forward to make an example of the creature. “So let me make certain it doesn’t.”
There was nothing the helpless first officer could do to defend himself against the swift, powerful down-stroke of Bledynn’s blade. Using a clawed foot, Bledynn pushed the still kneeling, now headless, body to the ground. Hooking the former first officer’s medallion by its neck strap with the tip of his sullied sword, he flicked it unceremoniously toward the terrified second officer. “Consider yourself promoted.”
The trembling goblin accepted the ribbon, stumbling awkwardly down to one knee. “I l-live to serve you, L-lord Bledynn. Whatever you command, I will….”
“You will return to the tunnels,” Bledynn interrupted, not wasting time. “Continue to await my signal and relay my expectations of unwavering confidence throughout the ranks. There must be no weak links, first officer…” Bledynn’s red eyes squinted down at the stocky goblin, trying unsuccessfully to remember his name.
“Zeeb, your greatness.”
“Of course,” Bledynn said with a grunt and waved his dismissal.
Zeeb sprang quickly to his feet, stepping over his fallen comrade, and hurried out on his assigned task, glad to finally be out of Bledynn’s presence.
The advisor, Tonomis, was the first to speak into the ensuing silence. “Might I remind you, Lord Bledynn, that you are not the first to wield the power of the Eye? As you know full well, many have killed to obtain what you hold. You would be wise to guard its secrets more judiciously.”
Bledynn growled, clutching protectively at a leather pouch strapped to his breastplate. He shot an angry look over his shoulder at his advisor. “Keep your lectures, old one, unless it is your intent to outlive your usefulness,” he said threateningly, turning to impose his intimidating frame on the much smaller, feeble man.
Tonomis did not flinch. Nor did he give even a hint of concern as he observed a flicker of movement from somewhere in the shadows of the room behind Bledynn.
“Perhaps it is not I who have outlived my purpose,” replied the aged advisor, letting Bledynn’s precious drawings drop carelessly to the ground and lifting his eyes to meet his lord’s in defiance, “but you.”
The enraged Vulvynn took another step forward, raising his clawed hand to strike. Without warning, a sudden flash of green light shot straight out from Bledynn’s chest as a sword’s blade ran him through. He arched his back and roared in pain, his stunned face awash in the unexpected glow. Just as quickly, the blade of light disappeared and the once proud leader fell forward, landing amidst the pile of his haphazard drawings, now greedily soaking up his blood.
“How…” he asked, “did I not see?” As the life slowly drained from his angry, confused eyes, he searched the lines one last time for an answer that would never come.
His master vanquished, Tonomis now found himself face-to-face with the Codebearer assassin, his Veritas Sword lit and aimed to strike him down with its next stroke.
“Tell me where these tunnels are that Bledynn spoke of,” the warrior demanded.
Tonomis remained calm, studying his attacker carefully before answering. “Bledynn may have acted like a blind fool at times, but his drawings have always tracked the Resistance flawlessly. This can only mean one thing: you are not here as part of the Resistance attack. On whose authority did you come?”
“I ask the questions,” the warrior deflected, though his worried expression was answer enough. Thrusting his sword blade short of the old man’s neck, he again demanded, “The tunnels—where are they?”
Directing the warrior with his eyes toward a map hanging from a nearby wall, Tonomis replied, “You’ll find them marked on the map, but that is not what you are truly looking for.”
Ignoring the comment, the warrior moved to the map, all the while keeping his sword tip trained on the old man. He quickly noted the tunnel exits Bledynn had identified, then tore the map from the wall and stuffed it into his belt.
Tonomis made no move to flee, but watched patiently with great interest as the rogue warrior strode back toward him.
Holding his hands peacefully out at his sides, Tonomis said, “Permit me to offer some helpful advice before you kill me.”
“Why should you?”
“I have lived long enough to recognize greatness when I see it.”
This interested the warrior who chose to momentarily stay his attack. “Speak,” he said, pointing the sword near Tonomis’ throat.
“It is clear to me that you are both foolish and impulsive.”
Irritated by his words, the warrior started to object, but Tonomis raised his hand and continued, “Yet, what you lack in knowledge, you make up for in zeal. You had ambition, took a great risk, and tonight you proved to be the right man for the job. Whether sanctioned or not, your actions have single-handedly eliminated a powerful Shadow lord and now the intelligence you have gained will undoubtedly deliver the Resistance from the Shadow’s deadly ambush. A sure promotion is in order, if ever one was.” The crafty old man watched with a suppressed smile as he hinted at the hero’s true motivation. “You have done well for yourself,” Tonomis continued, “but you can do better—much better. And I can show you how...if you would allow yourself to learn from me.”
“Learn from you?” the Codebearer said with disgust. “You are one of them! A Shadow. I should not even let you live.”
Tonomis smiled. He knew the Codebearer’s threat was hollow. “I am not Shadow; however, even if I were, you have already determined not to kill me. Why?”
Unsettled, the warrior looked away, allowing his Veritas blade to fade as he did. “Because, it is my choice,” he said.
“So it is,” Tonomis replied. “And that is why you and I are very much the same.”
The warrior cast him a wary look. “In what way?”
“We are both men who reserve the right to carve our own destinies. After all, why should anyone command your fate, especially when it is yours to control?” At this, Tonomis directed the warrior’s eyes to the lifeless body of Bledynn, pointing to the peculiar leather pouch the Shadow lord had strapped to his breastplate, the better to guard it. “The Eye of Ends. As you have killed Bledynn, you are now its rightful master.”
The warrior stared questioningly at Tonomis, then back down at the common-looking pouch, imagining what must be inside, debating his decision. Before he could decide, the sound of approaching footsteps caused him to spin around. He turned just in time to see the surprised face of First Officer Zeeb, as he entered the room. Shocked to see his lord sprawled out on the ground in front of him, the stout goblin could not decide fast enough what to do—attack the intruder or run for help.
Seeing the Codebearer’s Veritas Sword flash to life, he made the decision to run. It was too late. A brilliant arc of green light sliced through the air from the Veritas Sword and caught him in his retreat. Zeeb tumbled forward, bouncing down the flight of stairs that curled from the tower room. When he came to a stop ten steps later, he groped at his left leg and howled in pain. Horrified to see his leg was no longer with him, the squealing goblin fainted. Even so, the damage had been done. Shouts from Shadow guards who had heard the commotion came from the corridor below.
Realizing he had let the old man intefere with the immediacy of his mission, the Codebearer strode back to where Tonomis still stood. “Clever game, old one. You almost had me, didn’t you? But tonight, the victory belongs to the Resistance.”
He turned quickly and walked over to the window, whistling for his ride, the Thunderbird Nowaii. As he climbed up to the windowsill, he faltered, looking back toward Bledynn and his pouch. Jumping down, he raced back and sliced the pouch free with his sword.
“I’ll take it,” he offered in explanation, “but only because the Resistance cannot afford to have it in the wrong hands.”
/> “Certainly,” Tonomis said with a slow nod.
Leaping back to the windowsill, the warrior quickly dropped out of sight only to rise up and away on the invisible wings of his Thunderbird.
From the tower’s highest window, the old man watched his unassuming protégé race against time to save the Resistance. He smiled. Everything was going according to plan.
Chapter 2
A Spark of Hope
At first, there was nothing. I was alone, surrounded by a deep and impenetrable blackness. Whether awake or asleep, I could not say. The only thing I knew for certain was that I was alive. I had a presence in this space, as empty as it was, and for that I was grateful. But I could not feel my own form, let alone see it.
No memory…no sounds…only darkness, complete and terrifying. For what seemed to be an eternity, I waited for something…anything…to happen. Eventually, something did.
A tiny spark of light appeared, piercing the heart of the blackness like a distant star in an endless midnight. It began as the smallest of specks, drifting haphazardly through the air like an ember carried by the winds of a raging fire. Gliding back and forth, the glowing speck found its way closer to the center of my vision. I could not look away. All I could think of was the spark. There was nothing else.
“Hunter, can you hear me?” the spark whispered. The voice was sweet and feminine, a warm blanket in the emptiness of space. There was something familiar about it as well, something I couldn’t quite recognize, but knew that I should.
“Can you hear me?” it asked again.
I wanted to say “yes” but no words formed. I had no voice. For that matter, I couldn’t tell if I even had a mouth—a fact that suddenly caused me to wonder. What had I become? Where had I gone?
“Don’t worry. You can’t speak here,” said the ember, confirming what I had already discovered. “But I can hear you just the same,” it added, as if reading my mind.
Where am I? I thought, strangely at ease with the speck that could read my mind.
“You have been taken by the Shadow; you are in hibernation. When you wake, things will be different. You have to remember how it was before.”
Before what?
“Remember the Fire. Remember the marks. Remember…me.”
What fire? Who are you? How do you know my name?
The ember flashed in response, spinning itself into a small flame, which quickly grew and stretched into a raging cyclone of fire. The heat from the inferno blasted through my unseen skin. I wanted to run but there was nowhere to go. The spinning cyclone slowed itself and began to settle into the shape of a person. It was the form of a girl, the figure of someone I recognized immediately, even through the flame.
Hope!
“Yes, it’s me,” she answered. “I’ve come to set you free.”
As she spoke, Hope moved closer, becoming less flame and more flesh with every step, until at last her metamorphosis was complete. It was Hope all right, though I had never seen her look quite like this before—regal and majestic, a princess of light. She was wrapped in a long, flowing silk gown that faded from bright red to light orange at the hem. A golden band rested on her head like a crown, holding her wavy brown hair in place. Though she was no longer flame, her presence still glowed in a way that warmed the deepest parts of my being. I felt at peace as long as she was near. I wanted to reach out…to touch her…to see if she was for real. But without form I was helpless to even smile back. Somehow, she knew this and smiled in return.
“It’s okay, it’s really me. I’m alive, Hunter. The Author saved me. The Shadow want you to forget, you know.”
Forget what?
She pointed near her heart, where the mark of the three-tongued flame glowed just above the neckline of her gown.
“The Fire has fallen. Its power is for all who call on the Author’s name. Do you remember?”
I…don’t know, I thought, staring blankly at the mark.
“Yes, you do. You must. It is what unites us—all of us, Hunter. It is the Author’s spirit, his breath of life.”
Hope reached out and took my unseen hands in her own. I had held her hand once before, but this felt different. Her touch was full of a deep and wonderful magic that ignited my very soul. Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how cold I was. Compared to her warmth, I felt as though I were frozen solid. Now my chilled heart began to melt. I was winter and she was the spring.
Slowly, one by one, my senses began to return and with them my form appeared as well. But even as my own body began to appear, Hope’s began to fade away in an invisible exchange.
Remember me. Remember the marks. Remember the Fire. Her voice echoed through my mind, repeating her warning. The sound grew fainter until she vanished from sight. My heart began to beat, pounding in my chest like a caged animal looking for a way to escape.
“Hope, don’t go!” I shouted out loud, hearing myself for the first time. It was no use; she was already gone. Nothing more than a memory—a memory I was determined not to forget, no matter what.
A moment later, I would.
Chapter 3
Forgotten Things
“Ithink he’s waking up. Hurry!” shouted a voice that sounded vaguely like Emily, my sister. The only difference was this one sounded eager, almost excited to see me, which meant it couldn’t possibly be her. Could it? I cracked open my eyes and found that surprisingly, it was. Before I could ask what planet I was on, Mom pounced into view.
“Hunter, sweetie, you are awake! How are you feeling? Are you all right?” Her voice was frantic; her eyes, blackened with tear-streaked mascara, searched my own for the answers. She brushed my shaggy blond hair out of my eyes and clutched tightly to one of my hands.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. A little dizzy but….” My gaze shifted across an unfamiliar room. I was tucked in a slim bed with an oxygen mask strapped uncomfortably to my face. The walls were a horrid shade of drab pink and a small TV, tuned to the evening news, hung from the ceiling just over the foot of the bed.
“Where am I?” I asked.
“You’re in the hospital, honey. You were rushed here by ambulance about an hour ago, remember?”
“Ambulance?” I asked, searching my mind for any sliver of memory that matched her description. Nothing came up.
Keep in mind that I’ve never been good at waking up quickly. Even under normal circumstances, I have difficulty remembering basic things in the morning. But this wasn’t morning, and I wasn’t anywhere that I was supposed to be.
Strangely, I felt as though I had just awakened, like a bear, from a deep hibernation. I had absolutely no idea what day it was or how long I had been sleeping.
“What happened? Why am I here?”
“You were in a…” Emily started to say, but Mom jumped in over her with a stern look.
“The doctor said we shouldn’t tell you. He wants you to remember on your own.”
Sitting up, I closed my eyes and gave my head a good shake in hopes of clearing space for my absent memories to reappear. It didn’t work; all I got was a headache. My balance was off.
“You better lie down,” said Mom gently, noticing my unsteadiness. “The nurse should be here any minute.”
As if on cue, a nurse scurried into the room. She said nothing at all but went straight to work, checking my vitals in preparation for the doctor’s arrival, which came only a moment later. He was a rather stout man with thick black eyebrows and a mustache to match. His whiskers, as thick as a hairbrush, were the kind meant to be noticed first.
There was nothing tidy about the man. His tie hung loose, his collar was unbuttoned, and his face looked like it hadn’t been shaved in several days. In one hand he carried a clipboard of curled up, mismatched papers; in the other he held a tall cup of coffee, which he sipped mid-stride. The white jacket he wore was speckled with coffee stains, evidence that he w
asn’t particularly good at multi-tasking.
He swished his most recent sip around in his mouth for a moment, wiggling his eyebrows up and down in delight before swallowing. When at last he arrived at my bedside, he set the cup down on a tray table and the mustache began to talk.
“Well now, if it isn’t our little sleeping beauty. How are you feeling, young sir?” he asked, extending his free hand in an awkward greeting. His voice was a bit crackly and low, but loaded with charisma and seemed friendly enough. I could tell he was the kind of guy that rarely slowed down, even without coffee. The night shift caffeine had clearly put him into overdrive.
“Fine, I guess,” I answered, accepting his firm handshake, which was much stronger than necessary.
“Good, good,” said the man. “I’m Dr. Trent by the way, but you can call me Dr. T. Everyone else does.”
I managed to catch a glimpse of the nurse, rolling her eyes as she moved toward the door. Clearly the nickname was one he had chosen for himself.
“So what’s your name, son?” he continued.
“You mean you don’t know my name?” I asked warily, a bit shocked that a doctor wouldn’t know such things about his patient.
“Don’t be silly. Of course I know your name. Says it right here on the chart. The question is, do you know it?”
“Hunter,” I said, deciding that he meant it as a test of my memory and not really a question after all. “My name is Hunter.”
“And is there a last name with that, Mr. Hunter?”
“Brown.”
“That’s the right answer, all right,” the doctor said with a satisfied smile. He pulled a pencil from behind his ear and marked something on his clipboard. “High-five!” he shouted, raising his hand for a celebratory slap. I obliged him, but couldn’t help but wonder if he treated all his patients like this during the night shift. His reaction was equally troubling.
“Whoa, easy there, kiddo. I need that hand for your surgery, you know.”