Rise of the Red Harbinger

by Khalid Uddin

  Now he was angry. He turned to her. “If you speak of my past again, my future will not be the only future for which you will be concerned. I am going. It is final.” He sat up at the side of the bed.

  “And what would you have me do while you are gone, my love.”

  Garrison’s eyebrows shot up. My love? That was a new trick. “Vanna, between the two of us, I cannot be certain that I shall return.” That was a lie, but a necessary one. Garrison could not have her know the truth. She would have to move on. If she didn’t, all of Cerysia would expect a betrothal between them once he returned. And Garrison could not bear to think of Vanna Wynchester as his future wife and queen.

  Although a nice girl, beautiful, and sinfully seductive behind closed doors, Vanna was at best completely shallow. She slept with Garrison because he was a prince, not because he was Garrison. Garrison had enjoyed her as a young man. But he could no longer think like a young man. Now he must think like a prince…a future king. Only those decisions that would prepare him to become a great king to the entire continent of Ashur were the right decisions. Vanna was no longer the right decision.

  “Tell me you love me, my Prince. Tell me that you shall marry me as soon as you return. I shall give you all the heirs that you desire. I shall bear you an army of sons.” When all other reason failed, Vanna resorted to seduction. Quite often it worked.

  No. Not this time. “I will not say nor promise any of that. None if it is true or possible.” Garrison arose from the bed and walked to his closet against the stone wall to find undergarments.

  A candle crashed into his back, the flame and wick burrowing into his flesh while the hot wax seared down his back, slowly hardening. Garrison had a habit of being too honest with Vanna. Quite often he went unpunished; the burning candle was a first. Although annoying, Vanna still had feelings. Garrison only now realized the difficulty of the situation for her. Not many people knew of her exploits, but those who did were the wrong people. If Garrison cast her off, her prospects would be few.

  “I apologize. My words were harsh,” Garrison grimaced as burnt, raw flesh stretched while he picked up the candle and blew it out. “Truthfully, Vanna, it is more likely that Donovan will become king. I cannot guarantee that I shall return.” The lies we tell just to achieve truth.

  “Are you suggesting that I am only interested in your title? Or that I marry your brother?” Vanna let the sheet fall and walked over to him, her slender golden-brown body beckoning with every step. “I am not as stupid as you think I am, my Prince,” she kissed the red flesh of his back where the candle had burned. “I can make a good wife. A good queen. I would be whatever you require me to be.” Her lips had reached his shoulders and neck. “Your partner. Your confidant. Your support. Your whore.” The last work lingered in Garrison’s mind longer than he would have liked. Her hands pressed his chest and slowly slid down his body. Perhaps I can make this decision when I return.

  Garrison turned around and roughly kissed Vanna’s moist lips. He lifted her by her hips and tossed her back onto the bed. “You need to convince me better than that. Remind me of how you would ease my troubles as a queen would for her king.” Garrison crawled onto the bed and pulled her close from her waist. With a seductive grin, she straddled him.

  ***

  A loud and impatient knock sounded at the door. Garrison’s eye shot open. Donovan! Garrison’s guards would have been more considerate. He peered out the tower window. The sun still hung low over the amalgamated orange and purple horizon. Vanna lay next to him, snoring softly. Even her snoring makes my blood race. Would this be the worst thing to get used to? Garrison donned a robe from the closet and opened his chamber door.

  “You are still planning to do it today?” Donovan, Garrison’s younger brother by a year, glared into his eyes. Donovan was a hair taller than Garrison and kept his hair cropped short, as opposed to Garrison’s cleanly shaved head. Their skin tone was near identical, the golden-brown hue natural to Cerysians.

  “What would have changed my mind?” The moment he heard the knock, Garrison knew that Donovan would make one final attempt to persuade him not to leave Cerysia for the House of Darian.

  “There are things that must be said. Brother, hear my words. Heed my advice.”

  “Not here, Donovan. There are too many ears. Wait downstairs while I get dressed.

  Donovan peeked into the large circular room and laughed, amused at the sight of Vanna sleeping on Garrison’s bed. “Ah, you have the orphan sleeping here again, do you? I suppose it is easy for a girl to spend her nights with a prince when she has no father or mother to answer to. And even Vanna could not sway you? Surely she does not want you to leave!”

  Garrison rolled his eyes at the accuracy of Donovan’s jests. “Just go downstairs and wait!” He returned to his room and quietly dressed himself. Vanna snored more loudly now; the last thing he needed was for her to wake and start asking questions. He met Donovan outside at the base of the tower.

  “Let us take a ride, Garrison. A final ride if you intend to be your normal, stubborn self.” Donovan smiled as they walked toward the stables.

  “Fine. The usual place then?” From the time they could barely ride, the two brothers and their best friend, Wendell Ravensdayle, were inseparable. They would take trips daily to The Stones of Gideon, an ancient battlefield, thousands of years old, from the time of the second set of Harbingers.

  The Orijin’s second wave of Harbingers, meant to rid the world of mankind’s corruption and evil, consisted of Gideon, Darian, Lionel, Abram, and Jahmash. According to legend, the Orijin had graced The Five with specific manifestations in order to bring mankind back to justice. Gideon had been graced with the ability to turn anything to indestructible stone. At the time that the Harbingers had developed these manifestations, the world had been at war for decades. A great battle threatened to plunge it into further chaos. No matter which side won, the victor would have continued on until the entire population of the losing side had been decimated.

  Gideon, barely Garrison’s age at the time, sacrificed himself to protect the innocents left in humanity. Before the battle began, Gideon positioned himself between the two sides and ordered them to stop fighting, to come to peace, and return home. Not a single soldier listened to the decree. As a result, Gideon used every ounce of life he had to turn the entire battlefield, including every soldier present, to stone. The battlefield spanned the size of a small village. The legends said that Gideon had tapped into so much of his power that it consumed him as well, turning him to stone in the middle of the battlefield.

  The grey stones had remained the same, perfectly preserved, for as long as Garrison could remember. He’d spent hours and hours studying the remains of the soldiers, Gideon especially. Gideon looked like a young boy, standing there between thousands of soldiers. The Harbinger stood with legs apart and arms raised to the sky. His head was tilted up with his eyes tightly shut and his mouth wide open in agony.

  Gideon looked so innocent to Garrison: shaggy haired and lanky with a boyish face. The Harbinger’s features shone quite clearly, despite being stone. In fact, all of the stone on the battlefield was incredibly smooth and preserved in minutest details, as if they’d been intricately sculpted.

  As a child, Garrison could never fathom why someone so young would give his life to so many people for nothing in return. His father, King Edmund, had never done much to ease Garrison’s wonderment. His father insisted firmly that the Stones of Gideon were not comprised of real people turned to stone, but instead a giant sculpture created over centuries. For years, Garrison swayed back and forth about whether he believed his father.

  It was easy as a child to believe the stones had been real people once. But growing up, it was also easy to follow his father’s teachings that they were no more than sculpture. Garrison decided on his own once King Edmund decided to build the Cerysian Wall. The king’s original plan, despite much opposition, was to use the rock from The Stones for the wall. However, once
the miners and soldiers began, not a man could chisel away even a scratch from anything. In fact, most men broke their tools trying. King Edmund rationalized it by explaining to everyone that the rock was not the correct type to be used for a wall. That was one of the many factors that prompted Garrison’s search for truth in the world.

  He and Donovan arrived at the center of The Stones, between the two sides of the battle. They’d always come straight to Gideon. Somehow, Garrison had always felt comfort in his presence.

  As always, they let the horses walk around on their own. The beasts never wandered too far and seemed equally amazed at the surroundings. Donovan broke the silence. “Garrison, if you leave, everything changes. Father will become more obsessed with wiping out the Descendants. He will feel betrayed. No matter what you tell him, he shall only see it one way.” Donovan no longer pleaded, but seemed forceful and insistent instead.

  “I cannot live for him any longer. I must go. I have lived with this manifestation for over ten years now, Donovan. Most Descendants would be at the House at my age, anyway.” Garrison could not back down. “I am doing this so that I can become a better king than he.”

  “Then wait until one of his enemies finally kills him and have Descendants come here to counsel and instruct you. I agree. He has turned this world to shit. But if you confront him, he will only make it worse.”

  “And if he lives for another thirty years? What then, Donovan? Am I to continue to waste my life away blindly following his ways? You have seen as much of the world as I have. People are poor. They suffer. They live in hiding and fear the throne. And they are correct in doing so because the throne has done nothing for them in over twenty years. The Descendants are a light in our world of darkness. They give people hope. Whether I become king one day or not, I would rather do some good with the House of Darian as a regular man, than sit here and do nothing as a spoiled prince.”

  Donovan sighed. He looked down, his countenance reflected defeat. “Your intentions are noble, brother. I truly believe they are. But be honest. What will the House of Darian do to you if you simply show up at their doors? Do you really think they will welcome you with warm smiles? For more than four years you have hunted them and killed them. Yes, you did so for your father, for the King. But that will not matter to them. They will not accept you, Garrison. You are a fool to go there. Up until about a year ago, you were never really a nice person either. You never granted mercy to your prey. You and your soldiers killed them openly and violently.”

  Garrison cheeks reddened. “What exactly are you saying?”

  “Do not be so sensitive or stubborn. You have always been a good brother and friend. But you are the one who sought truth. Perhaps you should accept the truth about yourself as well. I am not judging you, brother. But if you truly believe that you are a good person, or at least that you were a good person, in the eyes of Ashurians, then you are mistaken. You killed—massacred—people. And you enjoyed it. Regretting your actions now does not change that. You are…or at least were a murderer. I look past it because I am your brother. The rest of the world will not.”

  Anger flooded Garrison’s mind every time his actions were mentioned. He was angry with himself for the things he’d done. “I still must try. Our uncle Roland committed his services to them long ago. Perhaps he has some influence with them.” Garrison looked off into the distance for a few moments. Rows and rows of soldiers stood. So much anger in their eyes and faces. What was the point of all their anger? Garrison recognized the irony of the situation he was in. Like Gideon, he would have to make sacrifices. He was no Harbinger, but he had the power to change things. He was one of these very soldiers that Gideon was trying to convince.

  One day, he would come back to Cerysia and be king. One day the world would be fixed. But in order for that to happen, people would have to be willing to fix it. Just as Gideon had done. “I must go, Donovan. In my absence, I expect you and Wendell to do what is best for Cerysia. Do what you can to slow any plans father has. Father is hearing his subjects’ grievances later this morning. That is when I will tell him.”

  ***

  The throne room was filled with Cerysians of all classes. Garrison’s father, King Edmund, was entertaining his weekly hearing of requests. Most of the day would be spent listening to the problems of his subjects. Usually, the gigantic room, adorned with sculptures and tapestries, maintained a low rumble of numerous conversations. The morning had started that way. However, no one was accustomed to seeing the Prince standing publicly before the King with a request. Especially when that request was to leave the nation in order to pursue something King Edmund strongly opposed.

  “You have read a book. You are telling me you have read a book, Garrison, and so you no longer want to be a prince?” King Edmund projected so that every person of every class in the throne room could hear his words.

  King Edmund was a grey-bearded, skinny, sinewy man, so much so that the golden crown atop his head had been resized when he became king. He had the tendency to speak to people as if they were invalids when their ideas conflicted with his own. Garrison had seen it happen enough with his own mother. “No father. That is not what I said. I only stated that I wish to pursue an education from The House of Darian.”

  His father’s knuckles grew white around the golden armrest of the gilded throne. “You will address me as ‘Your Grace’ when in public! Or have you already denounced me as King as well?” Garrison’s mother, Queen Valencia, sat in her own throne next to the king, a beautiful sight with her long curly black hair and light golden skin tone. She’d been clenching her jaw since Garrison had announced he wished to leave.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

  “Are you a fool, Garrison?”

  Sometimes I do wonder on that, father. “No, Your Grace.”

  “Then why would I allow you to renounce your duties, especially to form an allegiance to the very people whom I have been trying to exterminate since before you were born?” Garrison had never met a different king, but from the time he was small, his instincts told him that his father did not act as a king should. King Edmund did speak properly and eloquently, but his language was not the issue. It was more how he spoke to his subjects, when he even spoke to them.

  “I do not wish to renounce my duties, Your Grace, only to take a short leave of them, with your and mother’s permission. Donovan would act in my place and I would resume my duties as Prince on my return. Of course, if any emergency were to arise, I would return immediately.” Donovan had chosen not to be present for Garrison’s plea, as he assumed the outcome would be negative. Garrison searched his father’s face for any sign of letting up, of giving in. However, King Edmund constantly frowned or grimaced, no matter his mood. This news, if anything, added genuineness to the scowl.

  “And a prince can do that? Simply decide to leave for a vacation and thrust his responsibilities upon others?”

  “This is not a vacation, Your Grace.”

  King Edmund shot up from the throne. “Cursed Stones it is not! You would leave for personal gain, defying me in the process! Defying your people! Your nation!”

  “No father…Your Grace. I have seen the truth. The words of Orijin. There is no reason why the House of Darian and the Descendants cannot coexist with this world.”

  King Edmund sat down again, “I am glad that you sought to discuss this in public, rather than in my chambers. Now all of Cerysia will know of your treason. That mark on your face is as meaningless as your mother’s love for me. The Descendants are nothing but criminals and infidels.”

  “Then you believe the same of me, Your Grace. And what of the occurrence two days ago? The whole world went black in the middle of the day. How would you explain that, if not by some Descendant’s manifestation?”

  “Is your head only filled with rubbish and dreams? The moon blocked out the sun, foolish boy! An eclipse! Have you not seen one before?”

  “You always have some stupid explanation for the miraculous things i
n this world.”

  The king surprisingly laughed at this accusation. “Garrison, you explain everything with magic and miracles, yet my explanations are being questioned? Enough!”

  “No! Father, you are wrong. You have seen firsthand what I can do. As has your army and your Royal Guard. I have invented weapon after weapon for the army, all because of the manifestation that comes with the black line on my face! Why would the Orijin give me these gifts if he intended for me not to use them. I have been blessed! Let me learn to harness this blessing to its full potential.”

  “If you leave this place, you will only return as an enemy. Your desires have been noted and I name you a criminal, an enemy to the nation of Cerysia, and the continent of Ashur. I will not do you the service of putting you in a cell, as we both know you will eventually find a way out. Guards! Kill him!” The entire throne room, full of peasants, city folk, servants, and knights, gasped at the King’s words.

  Garrison’s chest tightened. He barely got the words out. “What? Father, no! I am no criminal!”

  “Edmund, no!” the Queen interrupted. “He is our son; you cannot do this!” Queen Valencia rarely spoke a word in public and, in the rare cases in which she did, it was to agree with the King. The room had been deathly silent. Now, maids and servants dropped trays; others in the room cowered behind pillars, froze, or crept toward the doors at the Queen’s outburst.

  King Edmund’s eyes bulged from his face. “Woman, you dare question my decisions? I am King! This criminal is no longer our son!” He stretched out his arm and swung at her, the back of his hand crunching into her cheek and jaw. The blow flung her so violently that she hung limply over the side of her throne. “Maids, take her away and clean her up. The Queen’s services are no longer required here.” Two maids rushed up the steps and helped the Queen rise from her throne. A red lump covered her cheek while blood flowed from her nose and mouth. The maids covered her face and rushed her from the room.