Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  Two weeks of running and hiding. They have not seen anything since that night. Anything real that is; both have seen monsters leaping out of the darkness, only to find it is a swaying branch or a deer. Tarfleam has been worse than him, yet that has not surprised him. Tarfleam has always been a spineless wimp, hiding behind Tye and a club. He glances over at the gibbering wreck and shakes his head. His guilt for thinking bad of Tarfleam fading fast in the light of his constant moaning and bitter remarks. He has openly said he wishes it was Danlynn or Derry’n or anyone besides Tye who had died. Now though, while sitting on his horse only another day’s travel from Doeia Harbor, he changes his mind again. Tarfleam is clearly the weakest of the group and will need protection. Besides, he has had the dreams too and so makes him apart of the Prophecy and important in some way. He cannot see how.

  “Come on Tarfleam,” he calls and turns his horse west in the direction of the harbor. “If we ride hard we will be there by tonight.”

  Tarfleam mutters something inaudible before turning to follow. The rain begins again, and his moan can be heard above the first crack of thunder.

  Two hours into the ride and they pull over into a patch of trees to wait out the storm. The sky, now almost jet black despite it only being noon, lights up with multiple lightning strikes. Tarfleam shrinks into himself and cowers close to the tree. He begins to sob again. Darwin’t goes to keep him warm, but stops, staring out into the rain. Something is moving towards them.

  Moving fast.

  Danlynn spurns his horse to ride faster. The clouds overhead are now thick and dark; the first few spots of rain are starting to fall. His tightly curled blond hair soaks up the mist of rain and soon is stuck fast to his head. He wipes his face to clear his vision. It should not take more than another few hours to reach the harbor if he keeps up this pace. It seems that this grey horse he stole has some talent for speed and stamina. He has been urging it to go full speed for well over an hour and it does not seem to be tiring. He will have to stop soon, though, to stretch his legs.

  From the corner of his eye, just as a bolt of lightning crashes right overhead, he sees a small figure running towards him. He reins up hard just in time to stop the horse from trampling the man. He stares at him in surprise before jumping down from his shadow and flinging his arms around the man’s shoulders. Not so small close up, he notices as he has to reach upwards to pull the man into him.

  “Derry’n, you made it!”

  “It would seem so,” the quite tall man says, pushing Danlynn away from him. A broad smile cracking his face. “It is good to see you, Danlynn. Have you seen any of the others?”

  Danlynn shakes his head, the mirth leaving him. “No. However it’s possible that I’m being followed. We should move.” He looks about him. “Do you have a horse?”

  The big man shakes his head.

  “That could be a problem. Maybe we could share this saddle.” He shifts backwards to make room in front of him. “Hop up.”

  The huge powerful shoulders hunch and Derry’n’s face scrunches up. Taking a deep breath he clambers onto the horse, crushing Danlynn as he sits back. “Is this comfortable?” He asks.

  “No no. This is good,” Danlynn replies, a little strained.

  “I could sit at the back.”

  “That would be good too.”

  After they have switched places they start to move off in the direction of the harbor. Luckily the stretch of road goes through a small wood, and the thick canopy stops most of the rain from finding the ground and the two riders. Danlynn lets his mind wander back to better times. Drinking with Darwin’t at the Inn’s garden shows. Playing as children, all the pranks and tricks. They had played just as many on each other as they had on the village folk. He thinks about the girls and then about Canace, his long-time friend and bonded to be to his best friend. He even has time to smile about the folded arms and stern face of Riochald.

  Good times.

  All gone now, he supposes. His dreams are now controlling his life, telling him what to do and where to go. He knows they come from Darwin’t or even the mysterious girl with wings of light, but he also knows they are meant for him. They are always the same. They always start on a tower with the others, including Canace and Riochald, and end with him standing face to face with an enormous beast, only a bow and one arrow to protect him. It will happen. He knows that to be the truth.

  “Derry’n,” he says softly.

  “Yes.”

  “What are your dreams about?”

  The big man sighs and takes a deep breath. He begins to tell his story.

  His eyes have always been sharp, but since hearing Buddy talk, or was it the attack under the waves, they seem to have improved twofold. He watches the rider approach and takes a step into the road to make sure he is seen. Danlynn instantly grins and jumps down from the horse. He throws his weight into Derry’n and tries to hug his wide shoulders. Uncomfortable with the show of affection, he pushes the man away. Danlynn still grins and Derry’n finds himself smiling back.

  He asks if Danlynn has seen anyone else and the answer is no. His stomach turns over and he can feel his palms becoming sweaty. Danlynn offers him a ride to the harbor and shifts to let Derry’n climb up. He suddenly recalls his last time on a horse and dread floods into his mind. He lowers his face and hunches his shoulders. After taking a deep breath he puts his foot into the stirrup and hauls himself up. He feels Danlynn’s body behind him and feels the rush of breath on his neck as he settles back and crushes Danlynn’s lungs. He asks if he is alright and he says he is, but when he offers to switch places Danlynn nods urgently and almost pushes the big man from the saddle.

  That had been just over an hour ago, and they are now back on the road, traveling through a dense wood. He is thankful that the rain is unable to penetrate more than a light drizzle falling from over heavy leave.

  Then Danlynn asks. “What are your dreams about?”

  Derry’n knew this would come up but was hoping that he would be by a fire gulping down ale or maybe sipping a nice red wine. He sighs to himself and takes a deep breath. “They always start on a tower.”

  “So do mine,” Danlynn blurts out.

  “It is not my dream though. Or yours for that matter. You know that, do you not?” He stares straight ahead but can still see Danlynn shake his head. “The way I see it is that we always start in his dream because it is he who pulls us in. It was a tower he said he had been dreaming of for a while. Do you understand?”

  “Erm, not really, but go on.”

  Derry’n sighs again and goes on in his slow, deep voice. “Once we leave the tower we then enter the part of the dream which is ours. I go to a cliff and look over the ocean. I thought I had found the spot by the Needles, but it was not so.” He casts his mind back and shudders at the memory of the white, snake like spirit. “Anyway,” he says continuing. “Once I am on the cliff I forget seeing all of you and I just stare at the waves crashing below me. Water begins to fall on me and when I look up there is a dark shape floating above me. I cannot see it properly.

  Then I am running through a castle. Much newer then the tower, with lush carpets and soft armchairs. I run into a large ballroom and stop in front of a very powerful man. I do not know who he is but he has incredible power. A dark mass circles him.”

  “What happens then?” asks Danlynn, almost exploding with expectation.

  “We fight and I get stabbed in the chest.” He does not take his eyes away from the road ahead. He knows deep down that this dream will come to pass and that he will end up on the blade of that man. Only he does not know if he survives the attack or winds up dead on the ballroom floor. He swallows hard and tries to forget it. “What do you dream about?”

  “Oh it’s really similar. But I end up in a burning city with this giant monster the size of a house with only an old bow and one arrow to kill the thing. Some future huh?”

  Derry’n pats him on the shoulder. It seems that all of their futures are going to end
the same way.

  Death.

  The sun begins to fall behind the trees and it soon becomes dark within the wood.

  Time is moving on so quickly, and he wishes it would slow down. The longer before his dream becomes a reality, the better.

  The first blow takes Darwin’t across the side of the head. The second into his stomach, doubling him over, the wind knocked out of him. Tarfleam’s shriek indicates he will not be of any use in this matter. He raises a hand to defend himself but it is knocked aside, and another fist lands upon his cheek.

  He rushes into his attacker, trying to get a grip of the powerful arms in an attempt to restrain them, but he only grabs the left, and the right swings in for another strike. It does not land.

  “Enough, Riochald!” Canace screams. “Leave him be.”

  The stern face moves to glare at Canace before swinging back to stare Darwin’t in the eyes. “I’ll be waiting just over there,” she says shoving the weaver away from her.

  “Thanks,” Darwin’t begins. Canace backhands him across his face and sends him sprawling into the mud. An instant later she is covering him with her body, arms crushing him in her embrace. Her raking sobs tickling within his ears.

  “I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. You left me to believe you were killed. Why?” The last is a question Darwin’t is not sure he is meant to answer. He eases the sobbing girl from his back and crawls into a sitting position in the mud. He thinks about moving from the rain, but he is already soaked through. What use will it be? At least the cold water is stopping his face from hurting which it surely will be tonight. Canace stares at him, a mix of happiness and confusion reflecting in her red-rimmed green eyes. He has never seen her looking so tired.

  He reaches up, but she backs away. She shakes her head once.

  “I have been having these dreams,” he says.

  “About the Prophecy of the Last Princess. I know.”

  “H-how?” he stutters.

  “We have both had them, too.” She indicates Riochald, who paces a few feet behind her. She glares a little bit harder if that is possible. “As I believe Danlynn and Derry’n have, too.”

  “And Tarfleam,” Darwin’t says. He notices the tiny frown which appears on her face and the scowl which Riochald pulls in the direction of the crying huddle of skinny limbs.

  “Tarfleam,” Canace glances at Riochald, who just stares. “I did not see him in my dreams. I did not know. Then we are all here—the six of us. Like the Prophecy says. It is really true?”

  “No it is not!” Darwin’t yells, fear and anger exploding within him. “This is all a mistake! We are farmers and weavers from a small village. How can we be the six who will bring peace back to Atlantia? I did not even know there was not peace.” He shakes his head and clambers to his feet. “I am going to see the Princess so she can know what I have dreamt, and then we are all going home.” He throws his own glare at Riochald, who smiles at him in surprise before stalking over to Tarfleam.

  “We cannot run from this, Darwin’t,” Canace approaches him and it is his turn to back away. A burning begins in his gut and a frustration born out of helplessness. He tries to speak, but his own sobs finally are released and he drops to the ground, allowing Canace to envelop him in her embrace once again. This time it is welcome. He feels a tiny piece of normality in her touch, and he grabs hold of it with both hands. If he can just keep her, then things will not change too much. If only he could say he did not care and walk away. She whispers sweet, calming things in his ears and slowly he stops his crying. Before he can speak words of thanks Riochald stalks over and nudges them with her booted foot.

  “We have to get Tarfleam into a warm bed. He is going into shock, and by what you say we need him.” She turns and walks back to the crumpled man. “Now,” she calls.

  Darwin’t and Canace jump to their feet and run to their horses. When Riochald says now, she means now, and Darwin’t does not need any more lumps and bruises on his face. He clambers onto his horse and kicks it into a trot; Tarfleam and the two girls following a few yards behind.

  He crosses his fingers that the other two are waiting for them when they reach the harbor. If they are to do this, then they all need to be there. It seems the fate of Atlantia really does rest in their hands. He swallows hard.

  13

  A MOVEMENT of DARKNESS

  Maddox’est snaps open his eyes. It is there again, this time he is sure it had been there. A slick of darkness moving across the Mana Fold, the world between Atlantia and the demon world of Gelast. It must have been a powerful spell to be felt all the way from the southernmost city of Atlant, and one surely created from a pure dark source. It could have been one of the other five, yet Maddox’est does not think so. They would have informed him if they were moving into his country and using magic. Well, he would hope at least they would.

  No, it was not one of them. They all have their own problems and assignments to concern themselves with. Besides he knows their Mana-signatures well and what he had felt did not match any of them. This is something new and at the same time something rooted in the very old. He is sure he felt it a long time ago.

  He climbs from the hot bath, flicking a rose petal from his shoulder and makes his way out of the steamy bathroom and into the soft, plush living area of his chambers. Beautiful sunlight filters through two round stained-glass windows, engulfing the room with a rainbow infusion and warming this sometimes chilly space. This is one of his favorite rooms. Dark woods and pale fabrics contrast with each other and give the room its comfortable but uplifting feel. A towel hangs close to the large open fire and he dries himself off before grabbing a dressing gown and wrapping it around him.

  He stops in front of a floor mirror and stares at his true appearance. Old and bent with near transparent skin. His bald head and loose hanging flesh, dark sunken eyes in a face covered with liver spots. He grimaces and switches to his mask. The face and body the world knows and trusts, the magic taking it out of him, but he does not care. He smiles at himself now, younger and healthy-looking. He stands now around six foot four and has a skinny build. He has given himself slightly thinning hair, turning from jet black to pure white—a touch he likes very much. The caring grandfather touch. He now has narrow eyes, a thin mouth set within a sharp jaw and angular eyebrows. He has put a few lines around his eyes and on his face. He sighs heavily at the huge hooked nose and shakes his head. Why had he ever chosen such an awful feature? Twenty odd suns ago when he had first created this face he wanted it to be a one-off and did not intend the character he was playing to be very nice. However, he had fallen into circumstances he could not get out of and they fitted his long-term plans. So he kept the face, including the nose, and carried on playing his game. If he had known how big he would become, he would have made sure he was younger and more attractive, yet he had to work with what he had. He strolls away from the mirror and drops onto the couch, lifting his tired feet onto a stool. He closes his eyes and rests his aging mind.

  Noon passes and the sun begins its slow decent towards the ground. He waits. Night fills the world—and still nothing. Someone moves around the room, lighting his oil lamps but he ignores them and concentrates on the Mana Fold.

  There it is again.

  Maddox’est grasps hold of the slick weaving with his tuned mind and follows it until it fades, his focus holding until it finds the caster. He jumps to his feet, flinging his hands out in front of him, lips moving as he utters an incantation and launches an icy wind across the room, destroying several vases and an old picture of a folk legend. “Wizo’d Fallharis!” Maddox’est screams the name. He returns to his chair and rests, the spell having taken away his strength. Anger floods his every pore and he has to force his breathing into a slow steady comfortable rate. He fails and lashes out again. The frozen wind ripping across the hall, ripping apart sofa and dining area. He shakes and then falls calm. He sighs at the mess and calls for a maid.

  He will have to bring his pla
ns forward.

  The woman drops to the floor with a formal low curtsey, her flowing pale green dress spreading around her like a vast ocean. Her head bowed and face lowered. It does not last, and she flicks her face upwards. She locks eyes with him for an instant, and from that one look he knows she does not believe herself to be the lesser of the two. He almost chuckles.

  King Garnock Cowl VI of the House of Winforn nods his head and smiles at the woman to rise. She has been waiting for the best part of the morning, and he has purposely kept her so. This is her third visit to the castle in so many days, and he is beginning to tire of her and her claims that his daughter will become The Last Princess of Atlantia. A claim which is not only impossible but ridiculous. The very thought that his nine-sun-old daughter would become the Princess of legend. He smiles to himself.

  “Is there something funny, my lord?” The woman drools. She remains on the floor, knelling.

  “Oh, no more than usual, my dear Katilena.” He removes the smile from his face and turns it back on the young woman. She is of average height and build with a stunning figure and alluring blue eyes. A dark energy burns within her which only heightens her beauty. Her large breasts almost falling from her dress and tiny waist, kept that way with a tight corset. Her long, wavy blond hair is loose around her shoulders. She looks up at him with her seductive heavy eyelids and smiles.

  “Shall we continue?” She does not wait for an answer. “As I have told you in the last few days, your daughter is the one who will become The Last. I have foreseen it in dreams.”

  “Yes yes, I have heard all this rubbish before. Katilena, as I told you already. I am not interested by your claims. I am not King of Atlant and so my daughter has no claim to the throne. It is not possible.”