Book of Dark #1: Always Stand Up

by Deepak Khanchandani

  Chapter 6

  The Knight and the Monk

  Voranng looked up at the skies above Zolshedak, which swirled with the blood red hue of the Aurora Shammis, and found himself reflecting on the wisdom of Grand Solarian Akuraah who had first sensed the strength with which Zol—the central star that was the source of their Powers—shone upon this particular Hidden World. Akuraah had known that to be even one step closer to the heavenly beacon of light translated into exponentially greater power, and it was for this reason that he had chosen this particular Hidden World to designate as home to the Solarians.

  The Solarian Temple, the steps of which Voranng now stood upon, reached heavenwards like a submissive hand paying dues to the sun above, thanking it for the gifts it bestowed daily upon Gaia and her beings. It had been built on the highest peak of Zolshedak so that it could fully absorb and, in turn, radiate the increased Power of Zol experienced by the Hidden World.

  Its pillars were made of pure gold. This metal, extracted from the depths of Gaia, magnified Zol’s powers like no other. The walls, on the other hand, had been crafted out of majjikally fortified clay. Their deep scarlet matched the sacred Aurora that wracked the skies above.

  Together, the pillars of gold and the walls of clay made up the central tower, which not only provided a place of peace and meditation for all those who hailed to Zol, but also a place of practice and exercise for the mighty Solarian PeaceKeepers. The body of the tower was inscribed with scripture in Farghamdohl—the Old Language—while the spire at the top of the structure formed a beacon which emulated the rays of the sun itself.

  Voranng now turned away from the ferocious overhead display to the more benign sight of Ghita, the eternally ruminating heifer. She idled by the side of her master, an old monk who was sat at the base of the Temple, his face plastered with the same ever-present, yet inscrutable smile it always wore. This was no ordinary monk, though. This was the Kahnomdaehi, Head Monk of the Kahnomstraahm—the Gaian monastery that stood at the very center of the High Realm.

  The Kahnomdaehi was not only a Grand Majjikon, but an Ancient one too; not only the oldest of his kind, but also, many believed, the last.

  As for the Kahnomstraahm, never having been to the High Realm, Voranng had never looked upon it with his own eyes, but he had heard plenty from others, of its magnificence and stature, of how it was a structure so enormous that it would dwarf even the vast Solarian Temple.

  And he did not need first-hand experience to comprehend the strength of the Gaians, the might of their High Realm, and the clout of the Council of Majjikons, which the monk sat before him now spoke for.

  Voranng bowed his head with respect, realizing that the monk had been waiting for a reply for some time now.

  “Revered Kahnomdaehi, I wish not to argue. Merely to inform. This was no isolated incident. Many have borne witness to recent Terralyte resurgence.”

  Even as he spoke, he mused on how opposite he and the Kahnomdaehi were in physical appearance. He stood at eight feet tall, and was almost as broad, possessing muscles and resolve that were hard as rock, every bit the Solarian PeaceKeeper. The monk, on the other hand, was broad, round and soft. The only common physical trait they shared were their shiny bald heads.

  Alas, my dear Voranng, came the monk’s answer, which seemed to originate from just behind his steadfast eyes and insinuated directly into Voranng’s thoughts. This is but hearsay. The Council has yet to see concrete evidence of this so-called resurgence.

  Prior to the Days of Inequity—a time of savage war raged by Hozar and his Terralytes—there had existed many Grand and Ancient Majjikons who had possessed such telepathic abilities, and had elected to communicate exclusively in this manner, extoling it as a more civilized, more efficient, and more accurate form. The Days of Inequity, though, had seen most of their lives claimed and left, in its wake, a scarcity of those that could perform such deeper, more ancient majjik.

  It is a time of peace, my dear PeaceKeeper, it has been the longest period of quiet and solace that Majjikons and humans have both enjoyed. In lieu of evidence, you know as well as I, that such rumors will inevitably be viewed as mere fearmongering; but a futile attempt to undermine the Council’s position and to create conflict where none exists.

  The Kahnomdaehi’s complex words took but the blink of an eye for Voranng to comprehend. It was, in fact, too quick for him, and he stumbled to find the words to reply. Before he could form a cohesive thought, though, a swift blur of movement erupted from the heavens above.

  The Peacekeeper instinctively reached for his weapon and his fist clamped onto the golden handle of his broadsword. Then he recognized the signature sound of air being rent asunder, as if by a swirling typhoon, and released his grip.

  Nehar and Rahin, the battle axes, fell from the red skies and swung toward the Temple. As often as he saw them, Voranng never ceased to be amazed by the spectacle of the twin weapons, unburdened by wielding hands, spinning in unison, carving elaborate shapes in the air.

  They now dove groundward, spinning like furious boomerangs, and came to a stop before the Kahnomdaehi, where they hung in the air, swirling gently, almost playfully.

  The monk acknowledged their greeting with a nod and returned their respect with a bow, upon which the battle axes once again took to the skies in a whirl of fury and, with a sharp swing, disappeared behind the Temple.

  Their appearance had allowed Voranng to regather his thoughts. He had to hand it to the Major who, even without being physically present, had perfectly anticipated the needs of the situation, and the shortcomings of his second-in-command, and had duly dispatched his faithful axes to provide distraction at just the right moment. He was truly worthy of the title of Rabat Zohai—the Axe Wielder.

  Prepared with his next argument, Voranng turned to the Kahnomdaehi. “And if rumors are true?” he asked. “Then Terralytes will come for Zolshedak. And we have not numbers we once did, Kahnomdaehi.”

  Still your mind, child. If the Terralyte threat you speak of does materialize, then I am positive a diplomatic solution shall be reached well before any blood is shed.

  “Terralytes seek but one thing, Kahnomdaehi. World domination. Your diplomacy is doomed to fail.”

  Somehow the rotund monk seemed to be able to beam even harder, his face splitting under the widening smile.

  My dear child. If diplomacy fails, the Council will follow its Protocols and dispatch the Gaian PeaceKeepers of the High Realm for Zolshedak.

  “Bah! History proves that PeaceKeepers promised by Council never show when needed most. And Zol forbid that Terralytes awaken sleeping dragons!”

  Don’t be absurd, child! The Farghamae are dead, came the Kahnomdaehi’s response, his smile unperturbed, though Voranng now detected that his thoughts betrayed anger and, as a result, grew infuriated himself.

  “Knight Supreme does not believe—” Voranng held his tongue. And his breath.

  He had just let the cat out of the bag.

  Knight? came the reproachful response. Voranng thought he saw the smile crack. Be serious, child. Do you and your regime honestly believe now to be the time for such archaic measures?

  Voranng feared that the Major would be annoyed by his blunder, but he found it difficult to drop the habit. And it was not just him who had become so accustomed to addressing the Major as Knight Supreme, either. It was Naddan and Bilzuun and Jarus and every single one of the Solarian warriors directly under the Major’s command.

  Taking solace in the fact that at least the true breadth and depth of the Major’s power over the PeaceKeeping force of Zolshedak still remained secret, Voranng attempted to shift the monk’s attention.

  “And what of Council and its archaic protocols?” he said. “What of Terralytes and their archaic Dark Majjik? Their petrifying incantations born of Kaos, breeding death and fear in their wake?”

  This time the Kahnomdaehi’s eyes seemed to sadden. Then, the monk’s smile finally dissolved. Seeing this, Voranng could not help but r
eciprocate the sentiment.

  He looked down at the PeaceKeeper emblem on his left breast as he ran a thumb along its breadth. The standard-issue metal disc, carefully threaded into the standard-issue black PeaceKeeper cloak, reminded him of the oath he had sworn upon enlistment, all those centuries ago.

  “We are PeaceKeepers, Kahnomdaehi,” he said. “For now. But when Terralyte warriors wrench souls from Solarian bodies, we will not stand by pretending to ‘keep peace’. Not for mere Protocol.”

  In that case, my dear boy, I must hasten to inform you that such vigilante activities are strictly against Council law.

  “Mark words herein spoken, Kahnomdaehi. If Council follows law to letter, Solarian Knights shall be all that remain standing between Terralytes and Gaia herself.”

  The Kahnomdaehi’s reply began to invade the Solarian’s mind once more, but Voranng, having grown weary of dancing around the true crux of the matter, elected to drown the monk’s cerebral utterances with his verbal ones.

  “Why not reveal to Council all you know, Kahnomdaehi? Of events passed. Of Prophecy… Of Rodukai!”

  The Kahnomdaehi fell silent. Voranng watched the rotund monk mull over the outburst. The monk knew exactly which divination he was referring to, of course. Every Majjikon did. The term ‘Prophecy’ had, since the end of the Days of Inequity at least, become synonymous with Grand Gaian Thuulmahr’s foretelling of the coming of Gaia’s Triumvirate—the Creator, the Destroyer, and the Guardian.

  What most concerned Voranng and the Major was the last of these—the Guardian of Gaia, the Protector of Earth, the Rodukai.

  They knew that the Head Monk, with his superior powers of foresight and intuition, comprehended far more about the Prophecy than any other Majjikon alive or dead, and it frustrated them to no end that he chose to keep his knowledge and his visions secret.

  Recalling that Thuulmahr had been good friends with the Kahnomdaehi before his demise at Hozar’s hands, Voranng recognized that it may have been a little insensitive to bring up the topic so abruptly, but it was not just him that needed answers. The Major did too. And the Major did not much care for such sentimentality, for he had not the time to waste. According to him—and Voranng had come to agree—the Rodukai had remained hidden for long enough, and now that Gaia was under threat, it was time to invoke the Prophecy and see him finally meet his destiny, and to see Terralytes meet theirs at his hands.

  Time Majjik is dangerous, my child, the Kahnomdaehi’s thoughts once again streamed into Voranng’s mind. Even I cannot see past all the chaos and distortions caused by such deep and ancient majjik. And, besides, the course of history must play out with no more interference from me. Indeed, the Council insists upon it.

  This subtle but unmistakable evasion, this resurrection of the detested veil of secrecy, was enough to push Voranng over the edge.

  “Of what use is Prophecy if not to be invoked? Tell me that, Kahnomdaehi?” raged the Solarian. Rare as it was for him to allow his temper to spill over in this manner, especially in the presence of a holy man, the pressure had been mounting on the Solarian race since the fateful day that they had learned of the Terralytes’ plans.

  But before any more of that repressed anger could spew out, Nehar and Rahin reappeared, cutting wildly through the atmosphere. They converged with such force upon where the Kahnomdaehi stood that when they landed, they ended up embedding themselves deep inside the ground before his feet with dull thunks.

  Voranng looked at the axes with disdain. Their message was clear; it was not just him the monk’s words had angered.

  He turned to the Head Monk and bowed. “Apologies, Kahnomdaehi. It would seem gracious welcome extended by Knight Supreme has been outstayed.” This time he did not hesitate while using the designation of Knight.

  It would seem so indeed. The Kahnomdaehi stood up. My dear PeaceKeeper, I urge you and your fellow Solarians to reconsider your plan of action. I also urge the Rabat Zohai to exercise the absolute control he wields over Solarian PeaceKeepers as carefully as he wields his axes. For he, of all Majjikons, should know better.

  Voranng’s heart sank.

  That a majority of the Solarian PeaceKeeping forces were under the Major’s command and not the Council’s was their ultimate secret, their final element of surprise. And the monk had so easily and so quickly unraveled it that Voranng had to believe that it had come to the holy man in a vision, for what other means could he have had of knowing…?

  Worry not, PeaceKeeper. The Kahnomdaehi seemed to have perceived Voranng’s despair. Your secret shall remain safe with me… As long as you and your fellow Solarians do not overstep the bounds of Council law. It would truly be a shame to see gracious PeaceKeeper cloaks dropped in favor of barbaric knight armor.

  With his piece said, the Kahnomdaehi gave Voranng a final bow before mounting the bare back of his loyal heifer and commencing his long journey back to the High Realm.

  As the Solarian warrior watched the slow and steady progress of the rotund monk and his ride, he found himself contemplating the horrors that would soon be headed their way, a prospect made all the more frightening by the fact that the Council was not with them. The meeting with the Kahnomdaehi had conveyed but one thing—that the Solarians would have to stand alone.

  It was only when the visitor and his ride were mere specks on the horizon that Voranng withdrew from his thoughts and realized just how still and silent he had been all the while, and just how much darker and angrier the skies above him had turned.