Here Shines the Sun

by M. David White

  Nuriel’s hands wrapped tightly around the handle of her sword, her knuckles turning white. “Shut up. What do you know? You’re nothing but a traitor. Nothing but an apostate to Holy Father.”

  More thunder. Rain came heavier now, the drops pattering off their armor.

  Erygion casually drew his star-metal broadsword from his side. “Tell me, Nuriel, has the Ev made you forget all the days you and Karinael spent in her room, talking and dreaming? Does the Ev now hug you warmer than your friend’s arms?”

  “Shut up,” spat Nuriel. “You don’t know anything.”

  “When you returned to Sanctuary you took the pictures from Karinael’s room. She was always quite the artist. You hung the painting she made of you and her standing on that rocky cliff in your room.” Through the rain Erygion held her with a steady gaze. “Tell me, has it now been replaced by one of you and Holy Father? Or, maybe you replaced it with a shelf full of Ev?”

  “I’m not going to ask you again,” said Nuriel, her voice low and menacing. The rain flattened her golden hair upon her head. Erygion could see her chest heaving. Her body began to glow with golden Caliber energy, diffusing in the rain that shattered into mist off her pauldrons and breastplate. “Where are they?”

  Erygion shined his Caliber and his body was enveloped by a sphere of radiant, white light. “Go to Hell, Nuriel.”

  In combat Nuriel was like some sort of giant cat predator. She sprang forward, her black sword like the storm’s fury. Star-metal clashed against star-metal as the rain danced upon Erygion and Nuriel, their Caliber light haunting the murky field. Erygion spun and twisted, his sword trading equally for each of Nuriel’s strikes. Their bodies glowed in spheres of blinding light as they stepped and moved in their deadly dance, their weapon strikes more thunderous than the angry heavens above them.

  Erygion pressed his advantage, stepping in close to her. His was a full suit of Star-Armor; no leather bodysuit exposed. Nuriel brought her sword in, holding it horizontally at her chest as she spun. Her sword cut across Erygion’s armored abdomen, sparking purple against his impenetrable armor. Now too close for her large claymore to be effective, Erygion brought his much nimbler broadsword up and straight down over his shoulder to sink the blade into the top of her skull. There was no way for Nuriel to get her own sword up in time, but rather than feel his sword plunge into her flesh, Erygion felt himself violently pushed back as Nuriel’s Caliber coalesced into a glowing shell around her, the falling rains lending it a hazy aura.

  Erygion stumbled back and now Nuriel had all the space she needed. Erygion raised his free hand, feeling the earth and stone of the ground collect within his Caliber as Nuriel’s sword whirled out high. The ground rumbled as a pillar of earth tore its way up, dragging with it tangled roots and a massive boulder. Nuriel’s claymore struck the enormous rock and with a crack more terrible than thunder and it splintered and rained down in chunks.

  Erygion pressed forward, his broadsword swooping like a hawk at Nuriel’s head. She rolled beneath it, her breastplate impacting Erygion’s legs like a tumbling boulder and he fell over her. Erygion spun on his back as Nuriel rolled up to her feet. She leapt into the air, her sword spinning into a deadly, downward stroke. Erygion rolled just as Nuriel’s claymore sunk deep into the earth where his head had been. Back on his feet, Erygion swept his sword out before Nuriel could pull her’s from the ground. She twisted and Erygion felt a powerful crack and was blinded by a flash of Caliber light as Nuriel blocked it with her bracer.

  She kicked, but Erygion grabbed her leg in his left arm and pulled. He felt her other foot slide on the wet grass and she fell upon her back, her breastplate thumping deeply into the earth. Still holding her one leg, Erygion brought his sword up to sever it at the joint between her knee and upper leg where her Star-Armor did not protect. Nuriel raised her hand and before he could land the blow he felt rock and stone pelt him from behind, knocking him to the side.

  Erygion rolled to gain some distance and got back to his feet just in time to see Nuriel scramble up and pull her sword from the earth. She spun, but he was now a good ten-yards away and her claymore cut only through the rain that fell in curtains around her. Lightning flashed. Her golden eyes focused on him. With a snarl she leapt toward him, her sword arcing through the air.

  With his left arm out, Erygion gathered a large willow at the river’s edge into his Caliber’s grasp. Massive roots snapped, dirt and stone crumbled as the tree was torn from its place and was hurled across the field. In mid-air and still on her deadly course for Erygion, Nuriel held out her right hand. Erygion felt the giant tree wrenched from his own Caliber. He turned and raised his arms defensively just as the enormous trunk impacted him head-on. He fell. Cold rain hit his face. Branches scratched at his eyes. The wind was knocked from his chest as the full weight of the tree broke over his breastplate.

  Nuriel landed just behind his head. He looked up and saw her face twisted in an ugly snarl that dripped with water. Her golden eyes burned. Her sword swept up, its deadly point now raised above his face. Erygion exploded his Caliber. A flash of white light drowned out the lightning overhead. The tree exploded into a million shards and Erygion rolled out and tumbled backward onto his feet.

  It took only a moment for his eyes to find Nuriel but she was already upon him, her giant sword sweeping toward him. It was all Erygion could do to raise his sword in a clumsy parry. He felt her blade knock against his, tossing it aside, and then her sword struck like thunder against his helmet. He felt it spin on his head briefly before it went flying across the field where it landed with a tremendous thud, tearing up the terrain as it tumbled in the wet grass.

  Erygion growled as he staggered to the side, Nuriel’s own momentum taking her past him. He turned and dashed toward her just as she came back at him. Their swords thundered and cracked, echoing the storm that raged in the heavens. Erygion pressed in, deflecting Nuriel’s sword strikes until he was inside of her range. He flourished his sword, knocking hers to the side, and then brought his blade up to take her arm off at the shoulder. Once again, however, his sword was deflected off her Caliber.

  Nuriel did a handspring backward, her boots hitting Erygion under the chin as she flipped, and he stumbled backward a step. Now on her feet with some distance, Nuriel shot in, whirling her sword about like a tornado.

  Erygion held his hands out. The earth was ripped upward like a carpet being shaken. Nuriel skidded to a halt, her sword up defensively as a wave of wet earth washed over her, then she barreled through it, encompassed by a shell of white Caliber energy.

  Erygion barely got his sword up in time to meet hers, but when he did, their strikes came like hailstones upon each other. Erygion cursed as he felt her blade narrowly miss his cheek. He pushed his arms out, shining his Caliber brightly. Nuriel grunted as she was thrown back. She landed on her back some few yards away, her breastplate tearing up the landscape as she slid.

  She kicked herself back up to her feet as Erygion charged like a raging bull toward her. She flared her Caliber and the earth around her sprang up like a stormy, ocean wave. Erygion slid to a halt, his broadsword before him shining with blinding light. Earth and stone broke over him, then he quickly rolled on his knees to the side just as Nuriel’s sword plunged into the spot he had been standing.

  Back on his feet, Erygion twisted around to meet her. Nuriel’s sword came quick and true. He fell to his knee as he knocked her sword up, then he sprang forward, bulldozing into her. He felt like a wrecking ball as he crashed into her, her glowing Caliber shell cracking against his massive armor. Her sword fell from her hand as she flew backward through the air, landing clumsily on her side. She snarled and rolled up to her feet and charged toward him, weaponless.

  Erygion quickly stepped on her fallen weapon and took an offensive stance. As she came in he struck out with his sword. She moved her arms up, blocking his blade upon her bracers. She spun in, catching him in th
e stomach with her boot. Erygion stepped back from the impact but pressed in quickly. Her fist found his face, but not before he felt his blade tear through something.

  Nuriel screamed as Erygion recovered from the blow to his face. She snarled, blood dripping from a gash in her leg just below her armored skirt. She dashed forward and he swung his sword out, but she tumbled beneath it, picking up her sword as she bounded back to her feet. She sprang over his head, her sword a spinning, black blade of death. Erygion ducked and spun around to meet her, but she was already upon him. Her sword moved up at his left arm and he couldn’t get his own blade up in time. Searing pain tore through his arm at the elbow and he howled in agony as he stumbled backward.

  His left arm hung limply now and his hand was numb. Her sword had found the chink at the join of his armor and he knew tendon and muscle had been severed. He moved his sword up as she came at him again, but she spun and kicked rather than strike with her sword, and her boot impacted him hard, square in the chest.

  Erygion felt his own sword fall from his hand as he fell backward onto his butt. He raised his right arm just in time to catch Nuriel’s sword upon it and the impact sent his own armored fist into his face. Then he felt cold star-metal upon his bare neck.

  “Where are they!” roared Nuriel, her chest heaving.

  Erygion swallowed. Nuriel’s claymore was pressed to the apple of his throat as she loomed over him, her soaked hair falling in ragged cords from her scalp. Rain fell on his face, making it hard to see. His left arm throbbed and he could feel warm blood creeping beneath his bracer.

  “Where are they!” she screamed again.

  “Fuck you, Nuriel.” said Erygion. Behind him he could hear the cold, dark river being slapped by rain.

  She pressed the blade upon his neck. He felt his skin begin to tear. And then there was a brief flash in the sky above, but it was not lightning. Erygion’s eyes flicked up. Burning through the stormy heavens shone the stars of Karinael and Hadraniel, as well as a number of dimmer points of light. Like lightning streaking from star to star the constellation was traced in a brilliant, white light, creating a picture of a serpent in the sky. And then it all faded away, leaving smokey, burnt clouds that lingered for a moment before being swept into a smear by the winds.

  Erygion began to chuckle. “They did it,” he said. “They figured it out.”

  Nuriel grabbed his sapphire hair, squeezing water from it as she pressed her black blade to his throat. “Where are they!”

  Erygion couldn’t help but smile as he chuckled again. “I was right. I knew I was right.”

  “Where! Are! They!” she screamed into his face.

  “It doesn’t matter now.” said Erygion, his chest bouncing as he laughed. He felt cold water gathering in his Caliber. It was hard to hold onto; painfully draining. He felt his strength waning. He turned his sapphire eyes up to her. “We’ve won, Nuriel.”

  “Won what?” she spat, pulling his hair tightly into her grip.

  “Karinael and Hadraniel have awoken something, and neither you nor Sanctuary can stop it now.” More cold water. Tons and tons of it. He could feel it flowing through his fingers. It had a terrible deepness to it; a blackness he could not decipher. He could feel the river’s very roots where cold mud lay. Corpses. Bones. Something loathsome slithered in its depths, shying from his Caliber. It was large and dreadful, but it slunk from the river. Fear rose in Erygion as he came to a dire realization. Karinael and Hadraniel—all the other Saints—they were in great danger. A foe beyond fathom was awakening in the ocean. Erygion tightened his fists, gathering all of the river he could muster.

  “Where are they.” growled Nuriel. Her blade on his throat was as cold as the river’s mud and its forgotten corpses. “This is the last time I ask.”

  Erygion chuckled. “Like I said, Nuriel, go to Hell.”

  Nuriel looked up. The river flowed from the bank like a cold, black serpent rising into the air. Her eyes went wide as a tremendous tidal wave swept forward. Erygion grabbed his sword into his hand just as the dark wave crested over him. Nuriel screamed as she was knocked backward, swept away with the waters that roared and spat like a wild, rabid animal tearing its way across the land. Erygion struggled to his feet as the last of the water broke over him. Beside him, the river seethed and drummed, spitting and foaming as its contents rolled back together in an explosive waterspout.

  Holding his injured arm close, Erygion ran down the riverbank. It was now more important than ever to get back to Karinael and Hadraniel. He took a last glance over his shoulder to see Nuriel swept off into the treeline. She struggled against the consuming, white currents. Trees swayed and cracked as the raging waters bulled their way into the forest. She clutched for a tree, dragging herself out of the torrent. He saw her fiery, golden eyes focus on him. She screamed her anger and rage.

  And then something wrapped itself around Erygion’s leg. He looked down to see a black, oily tentacle winding up his thigh. He screamed out as it yanked him into the river in a single, powerful motion. His breath bubbled as cold waters overtook him. He felt the currents rushing against him as he was dragged at incredible speed through the river. Past the murky water he could see light playing upon the ripples above him. He reached out but there was nothing to grab onto. He stabbed at the tentacle with his sword, but another oily tendril slithered over his wrist. He felt his arm twist and the sword fell from his fingers, sinking through the blackness until he could no longer see it. He felt pressure building upon his body. Darkness began to surround him. He looked up. He could no longer see the light upon the surface of the water. He was being pulled down and down and down. His lungs screamed for air. His limbs began to tingle with numbness. And then, as the cold water that surrounded him dilated into the blackness of unconsciousness, Adonael’s words played through his mind. Nobody deserves to die like this. Nobody deserves to be dragged into the abyss by Leviathan Hydra. Dragged into the blackness. Darkness all around, unknown depths beneath. Nothing to hold on to. Nobody to comfort them. Cold waters filling their lungs. Forgotten. Never to see the light again.

  — 15 —

  Starbreaker

  The Venzi’s property was nestled upon a hilltop overlooking Bellus. In front of the cottage, parked on Sierla’s well-kept lawn, was the King’s enormous carriage and his retinue of some one-hundred knights. Their plate armor gleamed in the bright summer sun as they stood at attention in small formations with swords and bolt-throwers at the ready while servants and squires milled about. A tall pike had been jammed into the yard and upon it flew the banner of Narbereth. Rook frowned. Sierla would not like the damage they were doing to her yard or the flowers along the road that they had trampled.

  Tracing the narrow, flagstone road that lazily wound its way from the cottage down to the city with his eyes, Rook could see people gathered in the streets looking up and wondering what was going on. There was no hustle and bustle, just crowds of on-lookers. The river was choked with boats but none of them were moving. The entire city seemed to be standing still, holding its breath.

  Rook’s smithy rested just next door to the cottage, across a cobblestone path lined with wildflowers planted by Sierla. There was a large garden of flowers in full bloom and a small pen with pigs, goats and a couple cows that bawled at their approach.

  “Come on,” said Saint Galavriel, pushing Rook on the shoulder. “Show us this Everlight stuff.”

  “I will,” said Rook. “You don’t have to push me. What do you have to prove?”

  Galavriel grabbed a handful of Rook’s hair, pulling him to a stop and forcing his head back to look into his silver eyes. “I can prove just how little I’m willing to let a slave talk back to me.”

  “Let him be.” said Saint Ertrael. “His renown deserves some respect.”

  Galavriel let Rook go and pushed him forward. Rook chanced a glance back at Ertrael. His hair was like strands of crystall
ine ruby and his eyes just as brilliant in the sunlight. Ertrael’s breastplate was slightly more angular than Galavriel’s, as were his bracers and leggings. Star-Armor, thought Rook. It was beautiful and menacing all at once. As black as night; as slick as glass. Impossibly heavy. Impenetrable, even to his Everlight. But to Starbreaker? Rook wondered.

  “You’ve been acting softer than ever since the night that constellation appeared.” said an annoyed Galavriel. “You better get your head in the game or you’ll end up like your predecessor. You know the Sisters are talking about having you replaced?”

  Ertrael shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Rook. “Maybe they’ll send me back to Jerusa.”

  Rook started. Jerusa? Was that how the Saint knew he was from Jerusa? Then his thoughts turned more dire. Does he suspect I’m the one who has been sending food into the kingdom all these years?

  “Not a chance.” laughed Galavriel. “They’ll tear you to ribbons and put your eyes in a box. You know how they like Saint eyes.” He pushed Rook on the shoulder. “Move it.”

  The smithy was a building much larger than the cottage Rook and his family lived in, made of cobblestone with a high, thatched roof. He unlocked the heavy, oaken door and pushed it open, revealing the workshop within. It was a cavernous room with high rafters of hefty timbers and a floor of expertly laid brick. There were a number of old tables, each permanently stained with its own unique pattern of oil, grease and soot. Callad’s side of the smithy was in neat order, every table clear and each tool polished and hung in proper fashion on the wall. Rook’s side was in a perpetual state of disarray (at least, according to Callad and Sierla) and his tools were well-used and strewn upon every table. His greasy, sooty, leather apron hung over a chair; his heavy leather gloves lay atop his anvil. Ingots of metal—mostly iron—were stacked next to the stone forge, and it was a giant, beastly furnace to say the least. There were a number of anvils in front of it and an alcove with a ton of coal next to it. Right now the forge lay dormant and cold, but when Rook was working it to make Everlight, it burned with white-hot heat and Callad often wondered how Rook could withstand the sweltering temperatures.