by J. R. Castle
Fire burned in Kardia’s throat. “There has to be something I can do. I’ll not give up hope, Miltie. I won’t!”
The old woman’s grip tightened. Letting out a low whistle, she called the pig to follow. “Good. I will help you, dear. I’ll do my best to help you find a way to break this curse laid upon you. May Shaydon help us find a way.”
* * * *
A few days after they arrived, Fajer found Darnel napping beside the caravan. Pointing toward a narrow entrance into the fortress, he said in a low voice, “Go through that door. You’ll watch from the balcony with the other grunts like yourself. Follow the youngsters, they will show you the way.”
The moon was finally at it’s fullest and Darnel knew this was the night they’d conduct the ceremony on the Illuminate. So far, he’d stayed out of the fortress. The mark Fajer put on his hand only gave him entrance into certain places but kept him locked out of the innermost part of the fortress.
Darnel almost considered skipping the event. Despite his desire for answers, being inside the Brethren’s compound unnerved him. In the end, curiosity got the better of him. The golden girl from Goia would come to the end of her term in the next year or so. Would her fate be the same as the Illuminate boy?
Perhaps, he needed to find out what they did with these gifted children.
Entering the narrow passageway that led deep into the mountain, Darnel found a set of spiraling stairs. There was no other way to go, so he headed upward, following the sound of excited voices echoing over the vast stone walls. The stairs seemed they would never end until finally, he noticed a soft glow up ahead.
Panting and pulling himself up the last few steps, he came upon a to a balcony where several men and woman were gathered along the railing, cheering and calling out as if they were spectators at an arena.
Darnel stood between a young woman dressed in a dark red hooded cloak. On his other side was a young boy with pointed ears and yellow eyes like a cat. He couldn’t have been more than six years of age and had to hitch his feet on the railing of the balustrade to see over the top.
Below, ten hooded figures stood on a circle drawn around a star the size of their wagon. The same mark Fajer used. Candles burned at each point of the star. Inside the very center was a smaller circle. Darnel could lie in that circle with arms and legs outstretched and barely touch the edges.
The hooded figures chanted in unison, their strange words causing the candle’s flames to flicker and spark.
“Who are they?” He asked, trying to work out exactly what he was seeing.
The girl narrowed her deep green eyes, giving him a curious glance that turned suspicious. “The Brethren. Who are you?” She clutched a staff made of elm. The top began to glow. Interesting. What kind of sorcerer was she? Her slim build and sharp features reminded him of the elven folk.
“Darnel, apprentice to Fajer the Charmer. My apologies, I don’t mean to sound like a troll-brained dimwit. This is my first ceremony.”
“Ah, yes, we’ve heard about you. Watch yourself, um…Darnel. You wish to have answers, you must first prove yourself worthy of them. I’d suggest you watch and learn. And keep your mouth shut.”
Spunky thing, wasn’t she? He gave a nod and did what she said, kept quiet.
A low murmuring came from the area below as the Brethren swayed and chanted in an ancient language. Darnel gasped, then tried to cover it with a cough, when the female shot another glare at him. She was already suspicious enough, he didn’t wish to give her a real reason for her caution. If she knew he understood what they were chanting, she would call him out right there before the whole assembly.
He knew, without a doubt, the language was secret, and only those of the Order were taught the words. His Curian bloodline gave him an understanding of all languages, even those of creatures like the faeries and pixies who were still difficult to understand, even when they spoke in the common tongue.
His gloved hands gripped the railing as fear wrapped him in its cold fingers. Why would they call forth a…pit demon? Didn’t they know what they were dealing with? He almost laughed, wondering what the Light King would think of this. Would Issah bring his army to crush them in their mountain warren? How could he not know? Or did he know, but allowed it to continue?
If so, why?
So many questions.
The chanting grew louder. The robed figures raised their hands into the air. One of them, wearing a red and black covering, stepped forward and began lighting more candles set around the inner circle. Darnel’s throat went dry. The demon would come up through that star, he feared. What would stop it from going past the candles?
How would they keep it contained?
Part of him wanted to flee this place and never return. Another part had to remain to see what would happen. Hopefully, if it went wrong, he’d still have time to flee.
Fajer had said the boy would give him more power. This must be something they did often, then. Were the other members going out and making the same contracts as Fajer?
Too many questions. His head was beginning to pound. He rubbed at his forehead, trying to ease the tension, but the air had grown heavy and filled with the stench of fire and burning rock. And something else, like rotting corpses. He wanted to gag but fought it down.
Two more men entered the arena, dragging someone between them. Fajer threw his hood back and held up his hands before the assembly. In a loud voice he said, “Today, we will reap this Illuminate’s light power. Prepare yourselves, all of you,” His dark eyes traveled along the line of onlookers gathered on the balcony. His gaze paused a moment on Darnel as his smile widened, then he moved on. “Prepare yourselves to accept the residual energy.”
Darnel shook his head. “What does he mean? What residual….”
The elf’s mocking smile started to annoy him, until she said, “The Elder circle shares the Illuminate’s powers, once they are dispelled. But some energy escapes, and we are allowed to gather it into our beings. All you need to do is open your mind, think of drawing it in.” She winked. “You’ll see.”
A cheer went up all around the room. Darnel looked up to see the ceilings towered hundreds of feet above them, ending in a narrow opening where a shaft of light entered. As it moved down the wall and across the floor, the chanting grew louder. The candles flickered, casting dancing lights on the stone walls and upon the circle. The air grew thicker by the moment until Darnel was left gasping. What did all this mean? How was he to accept whatever gift Master referred to and why should he?
He glanced at the elf-girl. She stood with her hands outstretched and face tilted upward. Others were doing the same. Even the little boy on his other side. Slowly, Darnel extended his arms, but he had to watch, had to see what was happening.
The lines of the star glowed brighter. The young man on the floor screamed and began to struggle against his bindings. A white light emanated from his chest, growing brighter and wider until he was encircled by a ball of shimmering light. He was a shield Illuminate. Darnel could cast a shield, but only over one person at a time. He normally used it only for himself when faced with a scuffle. Easier to throw up a shield and block their blows until he could manage to escape or disappear than to stand and have to fight the worthless scum.
The boy on the floor wiggled and kicked, trying to move as far away from the glowing circle within the star. Someone’s boot kicked out and knocked him back inside. Flames flared along the black lines etched into the stone floor.
Somehow the boy managed to get one hand free. A collective gasp went around the balcony section. The Illuminate struggled to get back on his feet moments before a fiery billow of smoke poured up from the floor with an earsplitting screech. The cloud rose higher and higher. The Brethren chanted louder and louder. Each one held a staff, and the tips began to glow with a blinding light.
Darnel had to shield his eyes. The girl beside him kept her face turned upward and eyes closed. She must have known this would happen. Her lips formed silent word
s. Blast it all, he would like to know if she spoke a protective spell over herself.
Below, the chant that had been calling forth the pit-demon changed to a spell of containment and then to a plea to accept their gift. The boy stood frozen, his light shield beginning to flicker, most likely from his own fears. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a white, round object. Dropping it into a slingshot, he wound up and sent the glowing stone flying toward the monster’s head.
It reached up and swatted the stone away, but something happened. When the stone hit the demon’s hand, a loud pop sounded, and its hand disintegrated up to the elbow. A furious roar shook the walls. The elf-girl finally opened her eyes as she staggered, trying to keep her balance. Darnel had to reach for a post to keep from being tossed aside.
The Brethren shouted a warning. Darnel’s stomach sank. He would be blamed for not checking the boy for weapons. He’d seen the pouch hanging from the Illuminate’s belt but hadn’t given it a second thought. Neither had Fajer. He was sure it wouldn’t be Master who accepted the blame for the prisoner having a means to fight back.
When the boy reached for a second stone, Fajer stepped forward, raising his staff and bringing it down on the boy’s head. He fell forward, landing on his face. Fajer quickly stepped back into his position. The chanting resumed. The injured pit-demon bent low over the prostrate body and bellowed again.
Darnel hung onto to the post tighter.
The monster opened its fiery mouth and dove toward the boy, consuming his body and turning them both into molten flames. A wave of power flowed out like ripples from a stone dropped into a still pool. The wizards surrounding the outer circle stumbled backward.
The chants grew louder. As the boy’s body turned into ash, the demon returned to its realm, leaving a cloud of glittering dust behind. The dust floated upward and began to be taken in by all the bystanders. He almost flinched away when it came near, but then stopped himself. The moment it hit his skin, heat seeped through his body, filling him with a vigor unlike he ever felt before. A charge of electricity danced over the tips of his fingers. For a moment, he felt as if he were invincible.
He stepped away from the post, away from the group, but watched as they began laughing and casting about balls of light and creating shields around themselves. He gave it a try and found what he was able to do before was intensified. Nothing would ever get past the barrier he’d wrapped himself in.
Amazing.
He turned and ran for the cart where he’d left his journal. He’d need to write down every bit of information, the words they’d spoken, the things he’d observed. The Illuminate had been able to repel the demon for a short while. He had no medallion, but if he did… what then? Would it have protected him? The pit-demon had to be the vilest evil being in existence.
So many questions. Darnel needed to hurry and write down what he could before Fajer came to find him.
Darnel had made a vow to not join any Order. However, if the Brethren could help him increase his powers as they’d done today, nothing would be able to stop him. Why he might one day be as powerful as the Light King.
A smile lit up his face. He’d do anything to gain such powers. That would show them. That would show every last one of them who’d ever shunned him.
The only question remained was if the Brethren would do the same, or had he finally found a group that would welcome him in? Perhaps if he gave them a little taste of what powers he did have…then maybe. Maybe he’d climb through the ranks quickly.
Unless they decided to do to him what they’d done to that boy.
No, perhaps it was better to wait. Take whatever Fajer and the Brethren offered. Grow stronger in his powers. Strong enough to finally be able to protect himself.
Maybe things were finally turning in his favor. He could only hope.
Chapter Eight
Leonard rode upon his white stallion named Stormbolt, following the line of wagons marked with his family’s symbol, a shield adorned with a lion’s head. Sparse flakes of snow drifted down between the towering pines and spruce.
The narrow road they followed wound through the thickest woods Leon had encountered, yet. The map showed they traveled along the outer regions of Wilderland.
During his tour, Leon had come to the realization that only a few towns and none of the connecting roads were paved with the protective white stones. Did Issah know? Without the White Path running through his Province, people would have a more difficult time making the journey to Aloblase, or even Radiance, for that matter.
Leon shifted on the saddle, wishing they’d call a halt soon. Though he was weary and a little grumpy over how long this tour was taking. He should have been home by now. Unfortunately, they’d only reached the halfway point. Soon, they’d need to find somewhere to settle for the winter.
His last letter from Mother assured him everything was running smoothly, and that he needed to be patient and make the most of this time meeting his people.
Leon hated to complain. The majority of towns they’d visited so far had welcomed him with much celebration. Despite his plans to only tarry no longer than a week, the leaders urged him to stay longer. The larger cities wished to hold festivals in his honor and begged him for speeches and council meetings so they could update him on their progress and other matters.
Everywhere they stopped, they ended up leaving with extra wagons laden with gifts and goods to take back to Rodon.
Leon certainly couldn’t refuse their generous offerings, but the added wagons slowed his progress even more. Eventually, Koloman, his father’s adviser who’d come along on their tour, suggested that Leon send the donations back to Rodon. Riyah, his prime adviser, had suggested he share the gifts with the towns they’d yet to visit. To appease both of them, Leon agreed to send a small portion back to Rodon, though he hated losing a third of his guards in the process.
Koloman insisted that he not be hasty in leaving each town so as not to insult any of the town’s leaders. But Koloman also enjoyed all the fanfare and parties they were invited to.
Riyah would only suggest that it wouldn’t hurt to establish a solid relationship while he was present with them.
So, Leon resolved himself to the fact that this tour would take double, if not triple, the time he’d planned for. Now with the first snows beginning to fall, he feared that whatever town they came upon next, would be his shelter during the harsher snow months. He’d so hoped to be back in Rodon in his comfortable little cottage.
Shaking his head, he reminded himself for the hundredth time to stop moaning. This was now his profession, his responsibility. He had been free to tell Issah that he wasn’t interested in the Regent position. Except he truly did love the idea of reviving the Province of Rodonal. Of course, in his mind, he would be conducting his leadership from Rodon. Not out on the road where they risked running into thieves or had to deal with broken wagon wheels, pouring rain, or other mishaps that had come their way.
One of the warriors traveling with him pulled his horse off the path and waited for Leon to catch up.
“Sire,” General Gailid said as he bowed his head in greeting, despite Leon’s ardent claims about hating that title. “The Messenger we sent ahead to Tarest has not returned. I’m starting to grow concerned. May I suggest we make camp at the stream ahead and wait for his report? The men are tired, and I believe that will be a good place to rest the horses.”
Leon really didn’t want to camp out in the woods again. Not with the increasing snowflakes falling upon their heads. However, he trusted the general’s intuition and agreed that he could order a stop. “Any idea on how much farther to Tarest?”
“We are still a day’s journey, Sire. I expected Baren to return with a report hours ago. I’ve considered sending a couple more scouts ahead to make sure the lad didn’t fall into any trouble.
“Good idea. I will help you pass the word that we will stop at the stream. The woods will provide decent shelter and enough wood to keep us warm.”
>
By the time the wagons were circled around their campsite and the horses tethered beside the stream, Leon started to become concerned about the messenger’s delay, too. Hopefully, the scouts would return soon with news. He clutched his medallion and sent up a petition to Shaydon to keep them all safe. Riyah had warned him that some of the outlying towns may have turned disloyal during the years of neglect.
That was another reason Leon hated himself for complaining. His father had done the people of Rodonal a grave disservice. Leon determined to find a way to make amends to those who’d suffered the most. Which was another reason that he’d agreed to send only a small portion of the gifts back home. Those neglected towns along the border might appreciate the goods filling his wagons more than Rodon who already had in abundance.
The guardsmen made quick work of setting up tents and preparing the evening meal. Leon helped to cut the potatoes, despite his men telling him to relax and let them tend to the stew.
No, he wouldn’t allow himself to grow accustomed to being waited on like his father had.
The moment they’d stopped, Koloman had ordered his tent be prepared right away, and his horse tended to instead of taking care of his mount himself. When they did finally return home, Leon would find the old fellow a new position, that’s all there was to it.
Once the stew was simmering, Leon decided to take a stroll around the camp and check on his men, while stretching his legs. Riding all day wore on him.
“Has anyone seen Riyah?” He asked one group of men who’d just returned from collecting wood for fires.
One of them pointed toward the stream. “Ov’r there talkin’ to hisself. As usual, Sire.”