“Formed?” Jarrod asked, astonished. “Into what?”
“Us. People, places, things,” Keegan said. “‘Life’ as we know it was formed from this dark mass.”
Jarrod blinked and a shape appeared beside him. The king! He was a glow – a distorted, ethereal being. Jarrod’s hand moved through him as if he passed his palm over campfire flames.
“What’s happened to you?” Jarrod asked, and then looked at himself. “To us?”
“Light and form do not exist here, Jarrod. This is the place of the beginning. Be careful and stay close. We must not allow ourselves to become lost among the others who inhabit this plane or we may never get home.”
“Can we? Go home? You said earlier no one returns from the dark place.” He felt himself shatter as he said those fretful words. His body began to lose its cohesiveness.
“Hold on!” Keegan said in a sharp tone. “Do not let despair take hold or you will be lost.”
Jarrod mentally pulled himself together and felt a whoosh as if what was left of his form mimicked his imagining. He glanced at the tome. It remained in his grip. “How is it I hold Falcon’s Tome when I have no hands.”
“Our thoughts and emotions control our actions here. Stay focused. I suspect the key to leaving lies within your unique book, Jarrod. Don’t lose it.”
Jarrod imagined himself gripping the book tighter and the book moved toward him as if he had clenched the hard-covered tome to his chest. “Why were we brought here, sir? Who did this to us?”
“No time for questions. I’ve no taste to remain where I was dropped. Follow me.”
“If we are still alive,” Jarrod muttered, but curbed his despair before it literally tore him apart. He hugged his tome and hurried after the floating version of the king.
For what seemed an eternity, they moved about in silence, yet it didn’t feel as if they went anywhere. This place had no landmarks, no points of reference that showed here was different from there. He doubted the king was any wiser about their whereabouts. Keegan, however, epitomized purpose and that produced a comforting presence. Jarrod blindly kept pace with him, intent on escaping whatever had delivered them into this insubstantial hell.
Jarrod didn’t know when he first perceived more of this world. One moment he was alone but for an eerie spark of light ahead that was Keegan. Next, he was one among millions.
He could no longer identify the king.
Keegan! he sent out a call coated in desperation.
Here, came the startlingly close answer. Ignore them.
Who are they?
Locals. The response was tinged with such dry humor, a hysterical laugh fought to burst out of Jarrod. The king’s warm touch now led him. He followed, feeling claustrophobic and in complete sympathy with Tamara’s qualms about closed-in places. Do they sense us? Hear my projected thoughts?
They’re a part of this darkness, more so than us, who should never have been brought here. As it was difficult for us to adjust to this realm, it might be hard for them to perceive us. That should work to our benefit.
How so?
Whoever brought us here might also be having difficulty detecting us.
Finally, Jarrod understood Keegan’s urgency to move away from where they’d been deposited. If he’d had shoulders, they would have collapsed in relief.
At least temporarily, Keegan amended his reassuring statement.
Jarrod’s tension spiked again. By Keegan’s erratic movement, he suspected the king wanted to not only lose their kidnapper, but this crowd too. Yet, the further they went, the more teeming the surroundings felt, as if he were in the midst of market day, with people bustling about, bumping each other from stall to stall.
This way. Keegan drew Jarrod in another direction.
The crowds didn’t thin out but Jarrod was glad simply to move about. Stillness felt akin to being buried alive. How do you know so much about this place, sir?
The dead are allowed to learn much, Keegan said as he wove among the crowd. The secret to life is written in the winds, Jarrod. This is true on Ryca as well as on Ashari. However, on Ryca, people are too distracted by the ‘things’ around us and our concerns about what we want, to pay attention to unseen truths. On Ashari, many focus on what we’ve lost instead of where we came from.
Not you? Jarrod asked.
Especially me. A moment does not go by when I do not reflect on all whom I lost so prematurely. I’m a determined man, Jarrod. It came to me one day that if I could study how life began, I might find a way to…
The abrupt end to the king’s speech provoked Jarrod’s curiosity. Find a way to do what, sir?
Keegan did not respond and Jarrod wondered if he’d been presumptuous in asking.
They continued on for a while in silence. Then the king spoke. I wanted to find a way to return to my Mamosia.
The answer, and the longing behind the words, touched Jarrod. He recognized the feeling, for he had sensed it often in the presence of the queen. Even so many years after the death of her husband, Queen Mamosia still grieved, and still hoped that one day she would see the love of her life again.
As an historian, it was his role to record events, and mark the reasons behind people’s actions. He had often thought that was why he, and other Erovians, had been given the gift of empathy – to intuitively read people’s emotions.
Yet, he’d never been able to entirely separate himself from the feelings he gained from his subjects. Other Erovians acknowledged those same passions and recorded the whys behind actions without becoming involved in people’s lives. Jarrod always felt the urge to help, to offer support, to ease people’s sorrows.
In truth, that had been why he became so involved with Saira’s quest. So much so, he had bowed to her demands that he help and had assisted her in rescuing her family instead of merely recording the event. Instead of regretting his part in that play, Jarrod secretly rejoiced in his role.
In your studies, did you discover any hint of how to get back to Ryca? he asked the king.
No, Keegan said in a regretful voice.
The answer crushed Jarrod’s slight hopes of them escaping this dark place.
There’s always a way, Keegan added, some of his redoubtable spirit returning. I simply haven’t discovered it yet. As for our current dilemma, why we were brought here might hold the clue to us gaining our freedom.
Please explain.
Nothing in life happens without a reason. It’s all about healing, either by soothing a scarred wound or burning a gaping one closed.
I hope it’s the former, Jarrod replied, not liking the sound of being an open wound that needed to be burned closed.
That remains to be seen, Keegan said. The trick is, why you’re here may be different from why I’m here.
How so?
The king paused and when he finally replied, he did so aloud. “Because you, Jarrod, are an Erovian.”
Jarrod drew back shocked that Keegan had given away their presence.
“Jarrod,” a nearby voice repeated.
“Erovian?” several others said, sounding surprised.
“Jarrod, Erovian, Jarrod, Erovian.” The chant spread.
The crowd closed about Jarrod, touching when there was nothing to touch, inciting his panic. Where Keegan’s touch had seemed warm, these beings felt icy cold.
Why did you do that? he asked the king. He felt as if Keegan had put a boot to his backside and shoved him into an arena of hungry lions. We’re never going to lose them now.
If anyone’s safe here, it’s you, Keegan calmly replied.
The more Jarrod pushed the spirits away, the closer they drew, as if they’d discovered a new toy that must be prodded and tested. How am I safer?
If I understand our history correctly, your ancestors, like mine, were once one of them. Unlike the rest of humanity, the first Erovian left of his own accord.
He wanted to shout at Keegan to stop speaking in riddles. It was as if in coming into this bizarre realm, the kin
g had learned a foreign tongue. Clutching the tome to his chest like a shield, Jarrod said, Speak plainly.
This is the place of Beginning, Jarrod. From which Ryca, and all the other worlds, were crafted. Where all people, all animals, all dragons even, were born.
Jarrod’s whole being vibrated with recognition of Keegan’s words as truth.
“The first Erovian, Falcon, stepped out of this dark mass to create life,” Keegan continued, but this time aloud, “and then he set up the inhabitants of Erov as life’s guardians.”
A shiver spun through Jarrod like a whirlwind.
“Falcon,” a local moaned, as if it, too, reacted to the king’s statement.
“One of us, gone, never to return,” another said.
“Not never,” a new voice, nearby, interjected. “Jarrod is here. He has brought Erov home.”
A collective sigh sounded and then a chant began. “Jarrod is here. Erov has returned.”
19
Open your book, Keegan said, and read. Start at the beginning. Time both you and these dark ones remembered the truth of what happened after your ancestor, Falcon, left this realm.
Jarrod opened Falcon’s Tome.
“Read!” The dark ones commanded.
Jarrod looked at the first page filled with words he’d never seen. “From Darkness came Light. From Light came Substance. From Substance came Flesh. Then Flesh was returned to Darkness and Light.”
Each word resounded like thunderbolts.
“Yes!” cried the dark ones. “We are darkness!”
“We were once Light!” the rest shouted and Jarrod heard astonishment in those voices.
Jarrod looked up. He had a rapt audience.
“We were darkness. We became Light!”
“There must be no Light,” a voice boomed in the distance. “Light is abomination. Light was crafted by twisting darkness. All light must be consumed…brought back into our dark fold.”
Jarrod hugged the book to his chest as if to protect the words. A band of Light shot out from inside the book and encircled him as if binding him to the tome. Then something sharp struck his chest, tumbling him backwards into the embrace of the cold dark ones that surrounded him. The book had acted as a shield, protecting him from the pounding he would have otherwise received.
“Who attacks Jarrod?” a dark one asked, sounding as shocked as Jarrod felt. “He must be protected.”
Where the book had shielded him with a band of light, now dark coldness surrounded him like an ice field. Bolt after bold struck at him. Each time the dark shielding grew thicker, as if these dark ones banded together to guard him.
Keegan? Jarrod murmured silently, afraid for the king, but also concerned he might bring attention to Keegan. What if he wasn’t equally shielded?
I’m fine, the king replied in the barest of whispers. Read on. You’ve struck a nerve. Don’t let go of it.
Jarrod tugged the book away from where it was plastered to his chest. The banding of Light tying him to the tome lengthened but did not break. He was about to carry on reading when he noticed something else odd. “Eyes are looking back at me from inside the book.”
“Eyes looking back!” the crowd repeated.
Don’t distract them, Keegan urged. Just read.
Ignoring the audience from inside the book was difficult, but Jarrod did his best to focus on the words. “Falcon crafted Light from Darkness. Falcon shifted Light and formed Substance. Falcon shaped Substance to bring forth Flesh. Falcon returned Flesh to Darkness and Light.”
“LIES!” The distant voice boomed.
“Truth!” The chorus replied. “We were once Light. We were once Flesh. We are returned to Darkness.”
Excellent, Keegan mind-whispered. There’s definitely discontent in the fold. We may yet be returned to our world.
“Falcon formed the Circle,” Jarrod read, as fascinated by the words in the tome as his audience. “From Falcon came the Erovians. The Erovians were made Guardians of the Light. Historians of the Circle. Restorers of Balance.”
Jarrod looked at Keegan, understanding and doubt fighting for supremacy. How could we have forgotten we are the Guardians of the Light? Is this true?
You are reading from Falcon’s Tome. Has it ever contained anything false? Is it capable of lies?
Questions crowded inside Jarrod. He could understand and accept the Erovians were meant to be Guardians of the Light. Restorers of Balance? That did not imply a hand’s-off approach to life.
Those words sounded as if Erov was meant to fix things when magic went wrong. As it had when Tamarisk used his influence on Keegan’s brother to ban magic on Ryca. It meant that in Jarrod helping Saira defeat Tamarisk, he hadn’t been going against the role of his people, he had been doing exactly what his people were meant to do.
“Guardians of the Light,” the dark ones intoned. “Historians of the Circle. Restorers of Balance. Why are you here? Why have you come home?”
“I summoned him,” the distant voice said. “Like Falcon, I formed flesh from darkness and set forth as Tamarisk to return all Light back to Darkness. The guardian interfered with my sacred mission. My Light was prematurely returned to Darkness. I have brought the guardian home to account for his actions. To receive retribution. Release him to face my justice!”
Who speaks? Jarrod whispered to Keegan.
Our kidnapper, Keegan replied, sounding shockingly gleeful. He seems unhappy with your role in helping my Saira stop him from ripping Light from Ryca. Serves him right, for if he is in some part Tamarisk, then he is responsible for sending me to Ashari, prematurely. Jarrod, this could work to our benefit. He added aloud, “Who are you to interfere with Falcon’s child?”
That was unhelpful! Jarrod said, alarmed by the way Keegan kept throwing him back into the lion’s den.
“Who interferes with Falcon’s child?” a dark one nearby asked.
“I did,” the distant voice replied. “I am your god.”
The silence following that proclamation was profound.
“We are Chaos,” a quiet voice then said tentatively from right beside Jarrod. “Chaos has no god.”
“Chaos has no God,” the chorus chanted.
“I am your God. I have been your god through all of time.”
Jarrod heard worry in that deep tone and felt a little encouraged. The fact the dark ones protecting him had not released their shield was even more comforting.
“I am your God,” the distant voice insisted. “From me you were torn by Falcon the damned. I know what we need.”
“Chaos has no need,” Jarrod’s dark neighbor replied.
“Chaos has no need,” the chorus chanted.
“We must be one again,” the distant voice insisted. “We must not be dispersed, divided, disconnected.”
“We are Chaos,” Jarrod’s neighbor argued. “We are dispersed. We are divided. We are disconnected.”
Jarrod wanted to clap him on his back in cheerful support but caution impeded.
“We are Light and we are Darkness,” the chorus added.
“We need no god,” his dark neighbor said.
“We need no god,” the chorus chanted. “We need you no more.”
“NO!” cried the lone voice in the distance, now sounding truly terrified.
Suddenly, the dark bands of coldness protecting Jarrod vanished. He was left with the Light of Falcon’s Tome holding him steady. A pregnant hush descended.
Jarrod sensed emptiness settle around him and Keegan. In one instant, all the dark ones had vanished, including his vocal dark neighbor.
He looked toward Keegan’s dim glow in worry. What’s happening?
For once, the king appeared speechless.
Then the dark beings returned, buzzing like locusts.
“Send the caretaker back.” His dark neighbor said. “Brought here in blunder. Debt yet to be repaid.”
“Send back the caretaker,” the chorus repeated.
“And my companion?” Jarrod asked quickly, w
orried Keegan would otherwise end up like the self-proclaimed God of Chaos.
“And his companion,” the locals replied and began to chant, speaking quicker and louder. “Flesh returned to Darkness. Darkness consumed Flesh. Flesh came from Substance. Now Darkness returns Substance to Flesh. Light once infused Substance. Light is put back into Substance.”
The voices paused as if for a collective breath.
Jarrod remembered the eyes watching him from inside Falcon’s Tome. His suspicions blossomed about whom those eyes might belong to.
He turned to Keegan. “I suppose this is a bad time to ask about the missing historians?”
“Let’s hope we’re not the ones missing by the time they’re finished with us. My only hope is that Tamara, Skye and Bevan are safe.” He gave a wistful sigh. “Just once, I’d have given anything to be the father Tamara wanted and go to her when she needs me.”
In a booming voice, the chorus interrupted. “Flesh begone from Darkness! For justice has been dispensed.”
“All this time, everyone could read my mind and I didn’t know it?” An intense feeling of imposition and horror waged war within Tamara.
“Just all dragons,” Fane said and then laughed. At her murderous look, he quickly swallowed the sound.
NOT POLITE TO SPEAK UNTIL SPOKEN TO, Kiron added with studied calm.
Tamara’s insides were a vice squeezing her guts. She lost herself, her aloneness. She had become accustomed to the sense of separateness that had cloaked her with during her years of confinement. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if the top of her skull had been ripped open so strangers could peer inside.
It was all too much. She ran into the clearing, allowing rain to pelt her head, face and shoulders. In moments, she was soaked. She stumbled to a halt in the muddy ground and fell to her knees.
Turning her face upward, she voiced her protest to the raping of her privacy. “Nooooo!” Her cry rang out in the night sky, a soulful counterpoint to Light’s fury.
Only after the grip on her insides loosened did her mind quiet. She felt no less violated, but was able to breathe again with ease. Feeling better for having released that built-up tension, shoulders down, head bowed, she stood and slowly returned to their shelter.
Magic and Shadows: A Collection of YA Fantasy and Paranormal Romances Page 169