A Single Candle

by S. J. Varengo

  A Single Candle

  Cerah of Quadar, Book Three

  S. J. Varengo

  Copyright © 2018 by S. J. Varengo

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1720627746

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018908142

  Published by Northern Lake Publishing LLC

  Cover Design: Craig A. Hart

  Dedicated to the CNY Writers Group and, as always, to Littlewing.

  Contents

  Part I

  1. Confronting a Goddess

  2. Therra

  3. Ban

  4. Stowaway

  5. Face to Face

  6. Return to the Frozen South

  7. Stygian Raiders

  8. An Auspicious Meeting

  9. Purpose Revealed

  10. The Spy

  11. Visiting Melissa

  12. Sneak Attack

  13. Brothers

  14. The Miscalculation

  Part II

  15. The General’s Despair

  16. Clouds on the Horizon

  17. Heartbeats

  18. Forever Marching

  19. Too Slow!

  20. Light

  21. The Final Sacrifice

  22. Going Home

  23. A New Generation

  Also by S. J. Varengo

  Part I

  By the Under Plane!

  1

  Confronting a Goddess

  Slurr had been chasing after Cerah. Now he stopped dead in his tracks. He stood next to Cerah’s fallen weapon, even as the pale, slightly sulfur-smelling mist dissipated, taken away by the same cold wind that had blown over the battleground. His mouth hung open in terror. As Kern and Parnasus ran alongside him, the general turned to his oldest friend, tears streaming down his dirty face.

  “Kern, what…what has happened? Where is she? Where is my wife? What did he do to my Cerah?”

  Kern immediately reached out to the young man, grabbing his arm. It was not merely a gesture of moral support; Slurr’s knees were buckling. “I…I do not know. Elder, where is the Chosen One?”

  Parnasus looked down at the gorrium staff-blade, then, with his head still bent, he closed his eyes. “We have again failed to anticipate the power of Surok. This enchanted likeness was imbued with more dark magic than I could have believed.” He paused for a moment. Slurr turned to look at the First Elder, who finally continued. “She has been taken.”

  “Taken where? And how?” Slurr screamed. “She was the Chosen One, the one sent by the creator God for the sole purpose of destroying Surok! How could he do this to her? How, damn it?”

  Kern tightened his grasp on his friend’s arm. “Now is not the hour of despair,” he told him in a stern voice.

  “No? Then what is it? The Savior of Quadar is gone!” Then, breaking down completely he sobbed, “The light of my life is dead!”

  Parnasus lifted his head and moved to face Slurr. He reached up and put a hand on each of the grieving lad’s shoulders and shook him gently. “General Slurr, Cerah is not dead. It is true we…no I…have failed miserably in my estimation of Surok’s abilities. I have provided flawed counsel. But I promise you, with the fullness of the spark within me, she is not dead. Surok may be able to spirit her away somehow, but he cannot, I believe, destroy her. His malevolent magic has already failed once in his effort to do away with her. Every citizen of Kamara save Kern, deep in a cave, and the three of you were taken when he destroyed the city. Indeed, it was the cave that spared Kern, but it was Cerah herself that kept Beru and yourself safe. His magic, formidable as it clearly is, cannot annihilate the Chosen One.”

  “How do you know?” the lad asked, misery filling his voice.

  “I have told you before, a wizard can feel the icy hand of death grasp his heart. Every warrior that was lost in battle today left a mark upon my spark.”

  “I felt it as well,” said Yarren who had come forward to support his friend. “Each time a soldier fell I felt the passing of his spark. Cerah is not dead, brother.”

  The young wizard’s use of the word “brother,“ touched Slurr deeply, breaking through his despair, for a wizard did not lightly refer to a human in such a manner. He fell into Yarren’s arms, still weeping, and there remained for a very long time. Finally, however, he pulled himself straight. He clapped Yarren on the arm warmly. Though his eyes were still filled with tears he turned back to the elder wizards.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked bravely, though his voice still waivered.

  “Hmm. That is a much more difficult question to answer,” said Parnasus. As they had been standing near the rubble that had been Surok’s image, the sky had cleared, every bit as quickly as it had clouded when the battle was beginning. “Let’s get away from this place. Even as rubble, the filth clouds my soul.”

  As the three wizards and Slurr turned to walk away, the sound of the karvat’s laughter returned behind them. The creature was standing once more, its beady eyes gazing directly at the general as it guffawed wickedly through its sealed lips. Slurr’s face at once became a mask of rage. With a roar of furor, he dashed to the rolling cage and tore open the door. Reaching in, he wrapped his bare hands around the squat vermin’s thick neck, lifting the heavy creature until its feet rose off the ground as he strangled it. Through its choking last breaths, the foul thing continued to laugh. Only when it fell limp in Slurr’s grasp was it silenced. Parnasus stole a glance at Kern, who returned a look of concern, but neither said a word. Kern had seen the lad fueled by rage twice before; first when dispatching the leader of the brigands hired by the Silestra to help search for Cerah shortly after the destruction of Kamara, and then when the giant blacksmith Baldor had hinted that after he finished killing Slurr he’d have his way with Cerah. But this went beyond anything the wizard had thought his friend capable. Slurr continued to squeeze the monster’s thick neck, grating his teeth, until Yarren stepped to him and said, “The beast is dead, Slurr.”

  The lad released his grasp, letting the karvat fall in a heap upon the ground. He turned to Yarren, his eyes still ablaze with hatred. The wizard simply nodded his head. Together they rejoined the elders and walked out of the square.

  Parnasus led them back to the harbor, where most of the wizards waited with their match mates. He walked directly to Tressida, who was clearly in distress. Although she did not wail as a dragon does when its match-mate is killed, when Cerah had vanished Tressida had felt their bond quickly diminish, until she could no longer feel the Chosen One’s presence in her mind. Reaching out to gently stroke the golden queen’s side, the First Elder said, “Great queen, do not despair. Your rider is not currently with us, but she is not lost. I would be lying if I told you I knew exactly how, but it is my fervent belief she will return to us. Neither do I know when, but she will be back.”

  Tressida, hearing the wizard’s words, became visibly calmer. Slurr, too, spoke soothingly, in spite of his own inner turmoil. “It’s alright, Tress. We will get her back.” At the sound of his voice she turned her head, resting it gently upon his broad shoulder. Although she could not speak to him as she could Cerah, he knew that she was offering him solace as well.

  Parnasus’s role in this conflict had been primarily as Cerah’s chief counselor. He fought alongside the others, but she had looked to him for his wisdom and guidance. Now, however he realized that although Slurr would still lead the army and Kern the wizards, he must step into the sudden void that evil had brought to bear upon them.

  “Slurr, call your capta
ins together,” he said finally. Although he could have easily projected a call to the wizards, the First Elder turned to Kern, recognizing the authority that Cerah had placed upon him to direct them. “Gather the lead riders. It is time for us to consider… everything.”

  Cerah could not see. She felt nothing, as though she was floating in the air, or perhaps as though she had no body at all. There was no sound. There was nothing, and yet despite the absence of any physical sensation, she was somehow certain that she still was. For what seemed like an eternity she existed thus. There, but nowhere. Aware of her being, but not sure what form that being now took, Cerah struggled to form a cogent thought. Finally, with a feeling somewhat like shaking herself without moving, she forced her mind to focus. I am, she thought. I still am. I am thinking; therefore, I must still be. Surok did not destroy me. Encouraged by this realization she attempted to ascertain her surroundings, or more accurately to determine if there were surroundings at all.

  Although this sort of being, this manner of existence, was foreign to her, there was something, some aspect of this place, wherever and whatever it was, that was not new. She had been here before. Not in this way, and not alone, she realized, but here nonetheless. The realization perplexed her. How can I know a place that I cannot see? she asked herself. A portion of her consciousness was tempted to panic. She did not like this, not one bit.

  But she realized that her only hope was to remain in control of whatever remained of Cerah Jacasta. She drew in a deep breath, as she had trained herself to do, to center herself. An instant later her heart leapt with joy with sudden comprehension. She was breathing! Surely a spirit has no need of breath! So, I cannot see or hear or move, but I can draw breath. The thought flooded her with cold comfort. For several moments she fixated totally upon moving air in and out.

  Then a new thought occurred to her. Perhaps my eyes cannot see, but the Greater Spark is never blinded. And as she continued to breathe, she reached within herself, feeling for her spark in hopes in might provide her with inner sight, and that she might find a way to turn that outward. Instantly she found herself surrounded by an uncountable mass of beings, all characterized by the same thing: a deep and abiding sorrow. And at once she knew where she was.

  It is the Under Plane, she thought.

  Many months ago, while Parnasus was still actively training Cerah, he had taken her to a chamber in the sacred cave, Onesperus, which was called “The Cavern of Sighs.” He had explained to her that this was a place that intersected with the Under Plane, and when he exposed her to it she was introduced to several of the wretched souls who dwelt there. She learned much about the nature of the eternity which faced them, an eternity of separation from the love of Ma’uzzi.

  But that place, though not to be entered heedlessly, was even so still a zone of training. It touched the Under Plane in such a way that the spirits could come forth, and the wizard could learn how to protect herself from the clamoring shades who would desire to feast upon the light she carried. This was something altogether different. This was a vast plane, endless in every direction. Her inner vision could see for what seemed like leagues, and every inch of the space was replete with spirits drenched in sorrow.

  Going Within was a practice well known to wizards who had reached a certain level of experience. Generally, when a mage had been training for at least a hundred years, the time was reached when he would begin the inner journey through connecting with the mysterious Sarquahn, a talent he would nurture and continue to develop for as much as another hundred years. Usually the skill was used to view places far away. Cerah had fully developed the gift in a matter of months, her attainment of all aspects of the craft were so accelerated. Once she had mastered Going Within, she learned that her own Greater Spark allowed her the same vision formerly only attainable through the Sarquahn.

  She now found herself seeing through the Spark in a way both deeper and more complete than ever before. This was not Going Within, it was Going Beyond. She was using it to see where she was, rather than some distant vista, though where she found herself was beyond any remote location she could imagine. Though the Under Plane was utterly devoid of light, she now saw it all in a hazy glow. The brokenhearted shades appeared outlined in the effulgence. As she watched them sway in their misery, she began also to hear their wretched sighs.

  With each moment that passed she felt more of herself returning as the Greater Spark illuminated the abject region, faintly but clearly. Her breathing became regular and deep. She felt a tingle where it seemed her fingers should be, and as the feeling intensified she turned her vision toward herself. Her body seemed to be lying prone on the ground, though ground was not the right word. There was no true terrain here, but she was resting upon something she had to call “ground,” for she knew no other term. There was up and down, and she was stretched supine upon the down. She could make out her hands, her twittering fingers. Further down she saw her legs. They were protruding from what looked like a long black dress. The material fluttered in a faint, dry wind that she could also now feel. As her Spark grew brighter and stronger, she felt more and more solid, more and more fully Cerah.

  At last she could stand to her feet. As she did she felt the spirits which encircled her try to push themselves closer.

  “No! Back!” she said, even before it occurred to her that she would be able to speak. Immediately the shades shrank back, recognizing her authority. Each spirit could feel, taste even, the burning fire of the creator God within her. They wanted it, to touch it, to be engulfed in it, to pull it within themselves. It was the absence of this very presence that was their abiding punishment. To be this close, yet still totally separated, was even deeper torture, and their sighs became wailing moans.

  In the Cavern of Sighs, Parnasus had used his staff to shine a clear, pure light, in which Cerah could make out the features of the flickering spirits. As she thought she might do the same now, Cerah realized for the first time that she was not holding Isurra. For the briefest instant, she felt a tickle of fear at being unarmed, but then the Spark reassured her. She held her hands forward, and using a much stronger version of away, the first spell she had ever learned, pushed the ghosts back further still. They whimpered pitifully as they were propelled out of the way. “I am in control,” she whispered.

  “No, you are not,” came a voice in answer. She recognized it at once. The deep, booming, fractured sound left no room for confusion.

  “Surok,” Cerah hissed. She searched in every direction, but saw no trace of the demon. “Why don’t you show yourself, coward!”

  The voice laughed cruelly. “I no longer dwell on this plane,” he said. “It is my privilege to tread feely upon your beloved Green Lands. You, on the other hand, are most definitely…below.”

  “Kvarna!” she spit, knowing as she did that Surok was far fouler than the mud-grubbing porcine creature. “How is it that I am here, and you, who should be cast here forever, are not?”

  Again, his wicked laughter filled her ears. “For that I can only partially claim credit. It was my black craft which formed my craven image, but your own assault upon it awoke another even greater than myself. She dwells with you now.”

  Despite the Spark which still warmed her, Cerah felt a chill approach from all sides. The spirits of the damned now willingly moved away from her, falling away and forming a wide swath in their midst. Cerah looked into the gulf and in the distance, saw a point of brightness which gradually grew as it approached. As she watched the light resolved itself into a form which her inner vision recognized as being female. It was a creature of greater beauty than anything she had ever witnessed on any plane, yet at the same time it projected from within itself an aura of absolute ugliness. Finally, the being stood directly before her. It did not speak, but Cerah could feel unrelenting waves of an emotion she now knew only in a detached, analytical way. It was anger. Not the anger that Cerah remembered feeling so strongly as she grew into the fullness of her role as Chosen One, but rather the
essence of anger. All the ire she had ever experienced was a mere, unsubstantial shadow of the vehemence that was cascading upon her now. And she knew, it was the goddess Pilka herself.

  She found herself unsure of what she should do or how she should react. Even in the face of such total hatred she felt no reciprocal acrimony. Ma’uzzi’s hand was still upon her heart. She found herself able to meet the burning gaze of Pilka, but she said nothing. She simply waited.

  Finally, in a voice that was both completely alluring and wholly malignant, Pilka began to rain every vile name Cerah had ever heard, and a good many she hadn’t. “Bitch, whore, filth, tramp, dirt…” she went on for so long that she eventually exhausted every curse in the common tongue, and had to continue in languages Cerah did not recognize. “Ugatha! Keertal! Veesh!” Although the words were foreign, their meaning was clear. But Cerah did not respond. At last Pilka, almost out of breath, ceased her tirade.

  “Well, that was rather rude,” Cerah said, causing Pilka’s face to contort into an even deeper shade of rage. As much as the response enraged Pilka, it startled Cerah in equal measure. Had she actually spoken to a goddess in such a manner?

  “How dare you, insect! Do you not know that which stands before you?”

  “Oh, I know exactly who you are. You are Ma’uzzi’s sister, and bastard daughter!” What am I doing? she asked herself.

  Pilka cringed visibly at the name of the creator. “Do not speak that name in my presence!”