Overture

by K R Schultz

  Who is this Nameless One? If I play along, I might satisfy my curiosity. “How will you and your fellow Odium members carry out such an ambitious goal, friend Dreynar?” Rehaak asked, hoping his sarcasm did not show through his words.

  “We will send our brothers, gathered here, to inform our people of our god’s return,” he said, pointing to the men behind him. “Our apostle has made inroads in Baradon. I told you, my master has gone ahead of us to complete the arrangements to spread the word further still.”

  “And if the Eniila will not listen to reason?” Rehaak asked.

  “Then we shall compel them by every means at our disposal, friend Rehaak. This mission is far too important to allow a few stubborn, misguided men to frustrate us.”

  “You said ‘every means.’ What methods of persuasion will work against the Eniila?”

  “What does that matter, once mankind unites and gains freedom from the Nameless One’s oppression?”

  “Do you mean the Creator?” Rehaak asked. “Where does He fit into your plans?”

  The Nethera hissed and spat like water dropped onto hot iron at the mention of the Creator’s name.

  “The Nameless One deserted mankind and left Ashd’eravaak and his kind in charge of Aarda. They are few, and their strength has ebbed because the task is far too massive for them alone. That is why they have enlisted our aid to help them reunite the species. We, the members of Odium, help them to become dominant again, so we might profit from their benevolence and leadership.

  “Do you not wish for mankind to rediscover the knowledge it lost in the Sundering? Do you, a scholar, not value, even long for such knowledge? Is knowledge not the reason you seek The Aetheriad?” Dreynar prodded Rehaak’s chest with the forefinger.

  “I value knowledge a great deal,” Rehaak replied, shaken to the core. They know everything about my desires and my quest.

  “Then join with us, and Ashd’eravaak will give you all the knowledge you seek and much more.”

  “Friend Dreynar, what will such profound knowledge cost?”

  “It costs you nothing but allegiance to our true god, the only god with the power and determination to act on our behalf. Ashd’eravaak and his kind require that all men serve them so that their strength is enough for the task. The followers of the Nameless One, who remain, hinder their efforts.”

  Rehaak struggled to his feet. “A true god does not need power from its creations; it supplies power to them instead. What true god would need our pathetic help? You must see…and smell…that this vile creature you worship is no god. Tell me, Drey, how the few remaining followers of the Creator can thwart your plans. You boast that you have far greater numbers. If your god is so powerful, he should easily triumph over so few.”

  Drey’s nostrils flared, and his eyes blazed, incensed by Rehaak’s comments. “The Nameless One’s followers received jurisdiction over Aarda by decree. If a single follower remains, that decree is in effect, and our gods cannot exercise complete and proper control over the world, so chaos reigns among us.”

  Aha. At last, we come to the meat of Odium’s problem. The Creator ceded control to us by divine fiat. It has stymied their efforts and explains why they try to eradicate the Creator’s followers. He omitted who issued that decree. Maybe Ashd’eravaak has not seen fit to share this information with them. Only the Creator could issue such a declaration. Rehaak remained silent. I could never convert these fanatics by pointing out Ashd’eravaak’s fundamental weakness.

  “Now that I have answered your question, join us and rule Aarda with—”

  “And if I decline this beneficent offer?”

  “We cannot allow it. If you are stubborn and resist, it puts Aarda’s reunification at risk. We have endeavored to convince you of the nobility and correctness of our path, but if you persist in your rebellion, our relationship will end unpleasantly for you. However, you will reap enormous benefits if you accept our offer.

  “Look around you, Rehaak; this is the best way for us. We know how many times you have compromised your so-called principles for far less value. Are you foolish enough to believe you can resist our methods of persuasion?”

  Rehaak shouted, “I am sure of one thing. I cannot abide the stench of your pathetic false god any longer.” He spat in the cave's dusty floor to emphasize his disgust.

  I will not capitulate. The consequences of taking this stand will cost me my life, but death has not claimed me yet. Rehaak quoted Laakea to his captors, “Better to fight and die with dignity than to live on in disgrace.”

  “Take him, and teach him the error of his choice,” Dreynar snarled.

  Two men rose and dragged Rehaak down a dark passageway. “You will beg for death to embrace you and end your suffering,” Dreynar shouted as Rehaak, pulled forward between Odium’s thugs, disappeared into the darkness.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Torture

  Rehaak writhed and fought his captors, but his efforts only exhausted him. The journey ended in a torch-lit cavern beneath the earth. They dragged him kicking and cursing to a stone slab set atop a truncated stalagmite, which formed a table in the grotto’s center. The men tore off Rehaak’s clothing and tied him, spread-eagled, to four steel rings pinned to the corners of the slab. Once they tightened the ropes around his wrists and ankles, they began their bloody work.

  Bathed in flickering torchlight, Rehaak’s tormentors took him to new heights and depths of pain. Time passed slowly on the table. The length of each heartbeat became an eternity of agony. The smell of his blood mingled with the musty odors of the cavern floor and walls. Rehaak focused his thoughts on the torches and tried to ignore the pain. He fought the urge to scream. He failed, and his throat grew as raw as the rest of his body until he lost consciousness.

  Odium’s torturers were masters of their craft. Each time Rehaak passed out, he believed it was the end. Then he awakened again to an ocean of agony so deep, he thought he would never break the surface again. Only death’s merciful hands could end his torment, so Rehaak proved the truth of Dreynar’s words and prayed for death to release him.

  When Rehaak thought he could endure no more, he slipped free of his body. He hovered above the mangled mess of his mortal shell in a cloud of light, and the pain vanished. Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? Have I suffered enough to earn my release? He reached out to the Faithful One. A blinding brilliance enfolded him. Power flowed like a river around him and through him.

  Whenever Rehaak fainted before, he had escaped into the black well of unconsciousness, but this was different. Disconnected from the brutality they inflicted on his flesh, Rehaak watched his tormentors mutilate his body while the loving presence of his god surrounded and sustained him. I will die from the abuse if it continues. I have always considered death a problem, but now I see death is the solution. Life is the problem—I have not learned how to live.

  The Creator’s whispered encouragement permeated the glowing fog surrounding him. “Every man dies. Isil and Laakea will die someday. You cannot prevent their demise any more than you can prevent your own, but I can save you if you surrender to me. I can convert horror into beauty if you trust me. Your choices have brought you to this place, but my plan for you remains in effect. The life you live matters more than your death. Wouldn’t you rather come to death nobly having accomplished everything I chose for you? Few people can change the world through their choices. You are one of those few. Instead of a humiliating death, at the hands of your persecutors, wouldn’t you rather save your world?”

  Rehaak looked at the bloody mess below him. I have nothing left to lose. Both my friends are ready to give up their lives for me and my quest. It is their choice, not mine to make. In cowardice, I convinced myself that running away was a noble act of self-sacrifice, but that decision dishonors their choice and their gift of friendship. I was ready to desert them, but I came to my senses before Drey’s henchmen captured me. I wish I could tell Isil and Laakea I have not abandoned them. Since childhood, I have run
from the things I feared. I fled my duty to my family, forsook my obligation to You, my god, and deserted the only people who loved me. I will run no farther.

  He surrendered himself to his duty, and in surrender, he found peace and freedom amid the bondage and pain. His soul returned to his body. Cuts and burns marked his flesh, but cuts did not excise his faith, and burns did not obliterate it. Instead, they inscribed faith deep into his soul, and the burns ignited a fire inside him. The pain engulfed him again, but now every shriek of Rehaak’s agony declared, “I will not give in to evil! Not this time!”

  The torment stopped.

  Dreynar arrived and asked, “Have you repented of your foolishness?”

  “I have repented entirely of all my foolishness,” Rehaak slurred through the spittle and blood in his broken mouth and swollen lips.

  “Excellent. Release Rehaak from his bonds.”

  Rehaak laughed. Pain shot through his chest from broken ribs. He said, “I have repented of abandoning my Creator and my mission to end your influence. No matter what you do to me, I will never surrender. Whether the Creator delivers me from your clutches, or I die here, I will not follow your perverted ways or worship your false god. You have broken my body, but you cannot conquer my spirit. So yes, I have repented of the foolishness of running from my destiny and the Creator’s purposes for me.”

  Drey spat in Rehaak’s face and snarled, “Bring him to the great hall. We will remove his skin, one piece at a time, as an offering to our god since he refuses to listen to reason.”

  I will die now, and failure to complete my mission is my only regret.

  They dragged his mutilated body down the rocky passageway to the main cavern toward their blood-soaked altar.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Bad News

  The door to the house burst open and interrupted Isil and Laakea’s morning meal. Laakea leaped from the chair, snatched his weapons from the sideboard, and in an eyeblink, he held them to the neck of a breathless villager.

  “Don’t slay me, young sir,” he panted. “I brings you a word ’bout your friend.”

  “What word?” Laakea glared at the fellow, swords in hand.

  “Easy, lad.” Isil stepped between Laakea and the villager and put her hands on Laakea’s forearms. “This be Arak from Dun Dale. I knows him. You can see he be frightened out o’ his wits.”

  Laakea bit his lip, red-faced at the violent image he projected to the little Abrhaani villager, and lowered his weapons.

  “That I is, and the whole village is too,” Arak admitted. “I brings news about your friend. He were took prisoner by them vile men what has been hangin’ about of late. They calls themselves the Odium.”

  Laakea returned the swords to the sideboard and listened.

  “Tell us what you knows. We be mighty interested if you can tell us where Odium took Rehaak,” Isil said, inviting the man to sit.

  “That I can, ’cause Aert’s little ’un spied on ’em and followed ’em to their lair. Soon as she tol’ us, I come straight here to tell you, ’cause it near scared the liver out o’ her and ever’one else. Breisha were gettin’ leather for him from Ebrill, the tanner’s daughter. Breisha were just about to give Rehaak the leather when ’em fellas whacked him on the head and drug him away.

  “Them fellas carried Rehaak to a cave near the waterfall on the crick what runs out o’ the mountains just this side o’ Dun Dale. I can lead you there if’n you needs a guide.”

  Laakea shook his head. “I’ve been fishing there many times, so I know where it is. We can get there on our own. No need for you to risk your life.”

  The fellow breathed a relieved sigh.

  Isil scooped up the remnants of their meal from the table and bundled it in a cloth. “Here, take these vittles for your trip home. I don’t ’spect you had time for a decent meal afore you came a-runnin' to warn us.”

  “I thanks you mightily.” Arak bowed and hustled out the door leaving it swinging open in his rush to depart.

  Laakea gathered up the rest of his gear. “We had best move quickly if we want to reach Rehaak before dark.”

  Isil, already busy stowing food, dressings, and medicines into packs, merely nodded.

  Laakea paced around the room. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t sent Rehaak to fetch the leather, Odium wouldn’t have caught him.”

  “That be utter nonsense. You has no control over Rehaak. He can’t hardly control hisself. Like as not, he got hisself into this fix by doin’ somethin’ stupid. It ain't the first time neither.”

  Laakea put on his breastplate, fastening it with rope instead of the leather straps Rehaak had gone to buy. “I can’t help feeling responsible.” Laakea smacked the tabletop with his fist.

  “Ready when you is.” Isil held out a pack to Laakea.

  Laakea took it, slipped the swords into the carry loops on the pack’s sides, then slung it over his shoulder.

  “Let’s go.”

  The sun was high above the western treetops when they set out, but Laakea assumed they could reach the cavern before nightfall if they jogged double-time and followed the trail Laakea knew well. When Isil became winded, they slowed to a walk along the path.

  Isil had recovered her breath, and they were about to resume their pace when men leaped from the shadows of the forest. They encircled Isil and Laakea, and a contorted shadowy entity emerged from the woodland behind the men.

  Laakea drew both swords, the Battlefury coursing through his veins again. The black thing behind them must be a Nethera. That was Laakea’s last coherent thought before the Battlefury took control of his body.

  Laakea skewered the first man as the hideous shape closed in on him. He disemboweled a second man, spitted a third, and hamstrung the fourth combatant before the Dark One sank its misshapen claws into his back. The Nethera’s touch paralyzed him and pulled at his soul like someone sucking an egg through a hole in its shell. His swords fell from his nerveless fingers. He knew he must break free or become an empty husk like the miller’s son. The pain of the spiritual attack burned in his blood like molten metal, but he couldn’t scream. Colors faded from his vision as Laakea mentally defended himself against the assault.

  As consciousness began slipping away, the creature turned him around so he was facing it. It drew Laakea’s life force up from the center of his being and out through his mouth. Laakea had lost sight of Isil and didn’t know if she still fought on or if she had fallen to their attackers.

  This was his battle to fight alone. Laakea stared into the bottomless darkness of the Nethera’s soul and heard its voice boast in his mind, “You are mine. You are young and strong. Your soul will satisfy my hunger for many days to come.”

  Nothing prepared Laakea for this. His father’s drills, Rehaak’s knowledge, and Isil’s wisdom were no help in this battle. If he lost this fight, there would never be another. Laakea refused to surrender. His spirit rallied, fought back, and clung to consciousness while he dangled over the edge of a spiritual precipice.

  Laakea summoned his outrage at the injustice of the Nethera’s attack and used his anger as a shield. This is a different sort of battle than the kind my father prepared me for. Skill at arms can’t save me. Although my will to live keeps the malevolent creature at bay, I can’t survive by determination alone. This is a spiritual battle. My resolve and anger, as potent as they are, cannot confound this hate-filled horror forever. I need help. Rehaak and Isil told me that the Creator responds if those in need call upon Him, and my need is dire. His shield of righteous anger buckled and warped from the Nethera’s assault as he composed his prayer to the Creator.

  Laakea was desperate, not eloquent; his fear and panic formed a single word plea. “Help!” he prayed toward the place where he imagined his god lived. The prayer traveled upward like a shaft of light, a beacon of desperate need streaked up from him into the bright and infinite sky. Calm and peace shielded him where before there was anger, pain, and terror.

  In a heartbeat, his p
lea for help opened a conduit to the heavens. Laakea sensed divine energy flowing down that channel, a trickle in a streambed that grew to a raging torrent. A barrier exploded inside Laakea, and a brilliant pillar of power extended downward to him and increased to blinding brightness. If he had looked directly at the light with his eyes, it would have left charred cinders in his eye sockets.

  The energy surged brighter still and flowed into his anger. Laakea’s shield of rage thickened and flared more glorious than the sun. It exploded outward, and the melodic words that formed the explosion had the power to shatter mountains and kindle forests into flame. The authority in those words humbled him. Laakea recognized the golden voice, but it didn’t speak to reassure him. It spoke through him with a mountainous anger that dwarfed his own.

  “Let my servant be!”

  The words blasted his attacker backward, and the thunderous voice left Laakea and his assailant both stunned. The sound slammed the Nethera onto the forest floor so hard that the ground beneath it cracked and shuddered. Laakea recovered before the Nethera since he was the channel of the power and not its target. Color returned to his sight, and his limbs regained their strength. Laakea recovered one of his swords from where it lay beside him and advanced toward the demon crumpled on the ground. Holy rage burned within him as he raised his weapon.

  “You have overstepped your bounds, Ak’eldemea, brother to Ashd’eravaak,” Laakea thundered in a voice that shook the creature like a leaf in the wind. “I know your name and your deeds. You and two more of your kind tried to butcher my servant Rehaak at his cabin, and when you failed, you fled and took the life of an innocent child to feed your hunger. Your wickedness ends today!”

  Once Laakea raised his swords, he and his weapons blazed fury-bright. The thing cringed until Laakea plunged his swords into the center of the ugly evil form. Power flowed through Laakea and surrounded him in an explosion of brilliance as the incandescent sword pierced the demon. The Nethera hissed, shrieked, and writhed like a worm stuck on a fishhook.