by C. A. Sabol
It was as though she was seeing things clearly for the first time. It was easy to recognize Aemon as Etoileon’s younger brother. Selene suddenly wondered if Cyerra was the older or the younger twin. Thinking about the night when she had first met him, Selene found it odd that she did not take to Aemon as much as she had to his other siblings ... he was closer to her age than Etoileon was. He and his brother, and even Cyerra when she thought about it, all shared similar features—the same dark hair, the same determination.
Looking down at her friend once more, she took his hand and said, “I found out that your father was Ammos, the rebel of the past, Etoileon. I do want you to know that my feelings are not altered in the slightest for this, because I believe in all the good I’ve seen come from this. It’s hard to be grateful at a time like this, but I am so thankful for you, and that you were given to me. I also know war almost seems to strengthen the instincts in us, the ones that tell us what we believe and why we believe in certain things. And that’s good, right? We all need to remember what we believe in a world like this, more than once, probably every day. Even love, we need to remember. If we can’t remember it, we could lose it. Sometimes I wish I could remember the good without the bad, but then there is no way to see past both the good and bad, to see the power in the hands of the one who controls it all.”
She watched as Etoileon continued to breath in and out. The sight of him at that moment filled Selene with an overwhelming sense of tenderness. There was something about Etoileon, she thought. Something in him, Selene also knew was present in herself; it was the capacity to dream, to hope for a better tomorrow.
She remained there by his side for some hours, talking to him off and on, as though he would awake if he listened to her long enough. She eventually dozed off, slumping over in her chair, still keeping his hand warm in hers.
IT WAS HOURS LATER when Dorian was finally all prepared for battle. Well, almost prepared.
The storm was over. Dorian looked over his shoulder at the faint tint of morning’s arrival on the horizon. He’d spent the night awake, listening to the silence of the approach of death.
There was no hope of seeing this day through without the shedding of blood, he thought as he turned around to face the light fully. He had been unable to rest, because he had been at the mercy of one of his greatest emotions. Relentlessly, he had been bombarded with his fears all night long.
Looking over at the gray sunlight, he had to almost smile. But his smile was stolen away by the cold shiver that had haunted him long before the war had begun. He looked down, away from the sunrise, and slumped down against the window seat of his private chamber. Sighing heavily, he put his head in his hands.
For a while, he let the silence surround him, as he tried to reach out and snatch up some peace, as though he could look up and grasp it in his hands. It did not come to him.
“What will I do, if I can’t win today?” he whispered to himself. “What if I am killed? Is Selene ready to be Queen? What if something happens to her? What will I do?” He looked up and sighed again, a stream of seemingly endless questions still echoing in his head. He could find no solution in his mind, or in all of his knowledge. And the only answer that would come into his thoughts was the one that Dorian least wanted to hear. At last he gave in, and allowed that thought to take over his thinking.
Dorian knew that he could no longer deny what he had been denying since Haiasi had died when he was little; there was a higher power in this world. He looked back up to the window and knew that there was somebody working all of this out for the good. There had to be. There was no other way that any of anything could have made any sense. He realized with a stunning clarity that having no purpose in such a meaningless existence, no one would have even thought that there would be a purpose in life if there really weren’t. There would be no searching for light if all they had known was darkness.
Dorian fell forward on his hands and knees, and said in a soft voice, “Guardian, I don’t really ever talk to you at all. I know that I’ve been reluctant to believe in you because Haiasi died just when the kingdom needed his help, and I had grown to view him as a father. Losing him meant losing my faith in you. But I do know that you are there. And I know you are here. Please let everything turn out for the good of my kingdom. If you help my forces win today, I will see to becoming more of a devout follower and believer in you. I promise.”
With that, Dorian stood up and brushed himself off, and felt a little better already. True, he shouldn’t offer an ultimatum to the Guardian, but Dorian was a proud man. He didn’t want to fall down on his knees quite so fast. He was still uncertain about many things, and even though he had no control over any of it anymore, he didn’t want do anything too drastic. He still doubted whether or not there was a Guardian, but he was bound to find out the truth one way or another. There was hope in that at least, Dorian thought.
As he walked out of the room, the sun could be seen coming up in the sky from behind the horizon. It was unusually bright for a typical sunrise.
IT WAS JUST AFTER THE rising of the sun when the armies of the Crown and the Rebels found themselves staring at each other. Dorian and Aemon both held their troops at the ready, their gazes fixed on each other as they waited for the opportune moment to send their troops forward, guns blazing, swords flashing, and fists punching.
The skyfighters were being freshly fueled and towed out of the hanger. There were armored cars and many equipped vehicles at both ends that prepared to be sent into battle.
The troops of the Crown had assembled and waiting a good ways away from the edge of the city, while the army of darkness was spread out among the desert hills. There was an eerie silence that descended on the plains as they waited.
Then Dorian waved his hand, and Aemon pointed forward. The time had come at last. The battle was to begin.
Chapter 14
The Seal of Blood
THE DAY OF DESTINY had arrived at last. The battle that would put all others behind it was underway. Since the Rebels had arrived in the city limits days before, everyone had known this fight would come.
The troops seemed to rush forward together, running at each other, swords blazing, spears thrusting out, and shields held up high. Mostly among the men were the foot soldiers, but there were also a couple of landrovers and other transports on both sides that were advancing. When the warriors collided, the rebels with the soldiers of the Crown, it was almost as if a stampede had run directly into another stampede. A cloud of dust from the desert rose up as the warriors rammed into each other and unleashed the full force of their attacks.
All pilots were ready in the palace hangar, waiting for the signal to be launched. A few were watching the battlefield on the viewscreens by the palace cameras. A small television had also been hooked up, in order for the crew workers to be given the signal to help the pilots get off the launch pad. The television news reporter was a pretty lady in her forties, who was giving the news from a special flight vehicle called a cloudskimmer.
Down on the ground, mines exploded, bombs were thrown and received equally on both sides; the battlefield was soon covered in debris and fallen soldiers. By mid-morning, there were several hundred men in the hospital transports headed to the palace.
Over the explosions and roar of land vehicles, Dorian’s voice was heard, directing his troops. High-tech communication systems had allowed him to call out his orders to all of his generals, who would redirect the information to the right parties. Dorian was not fighting with his troops; that would only be called for as a last line of defense. For now, he and his Second Chief Executive Officer Commander Rosemont, who had been a Major General in the time of Dorian’s father, King Lukiahs, were stationed at a temporary compound that had been set up in the earliest morning hours by some of his loyal supporters.
Dorian looked at the Computer readout charts and sighed. “Commander, what do you make of this?”
“Tell the northern hook to hold steady, and the western fron
t that they are clear to charge,” the Commander advised, studying the telecast satellite readouts. “See, if you do that, you’ll have a chance at surrounding the main flagship legions, and attacking from the middle. Once their forces are divided, there’ll be an easier battle for us all to fight.”
“I see your point,” Dorian agreed. He had chosen Commander Rosemont for his knowledge of rebel warfare, and he was glad that the Commander was proving himself and his talents to be most rewarding. Picking up the small microphone that allowed his commands to be broadcasted to all available Crown forces, he commenced the message: “Attention all Generals. Advance the western front, and hold steady the northern hook. Cut through the Rebels at midpoint!”
He was saluted over the radio waves with a “Yes, Sire!” from several of the generals.
Dorian relaxed for a moment, waiting for time to tell if he had made the right call on his battlefield positioning. Turning his attention to the live broadcast, he could see many of his men fall along with Aemon’s as they shot each other, fought each other with any weapons they could find. It was almost too tragic for him to watch, but he knew that they were all dying for him, and he could not look away.
EMANON STUDIED THE schematics of the battlefield and looked around at his notes. As he fiddled around with the papers and tried to think of the plan of dealing with the force of the King’s army, Obsidian leaned his hand on Emanon’s shoulder. Emanon, or anyone else for that matter, could not see Obsidian but he was there to ensure his victory over the Crown and the Guardian, once and for all.
He grinned and whispered softly into Emanon ear, his persistent voice full of passion and well-chosen words. “Go straight on through the troops, and loop around to surround and destroy the parties effectively,” Obsidian urged.
Emanon still was looking at his notes, busy looking at figures, numbers, and diagrams. Obsidian sighed and muttered to himself, “Wait for it, wait for it, come on ... ”
A moment later, he was gratified when Emanon snapped his fingers and looked up to Aemon, who was resting uncomfortable on a chair near the corner of the Headquarters’ Tent. “Sire Aemon!” Emanon cried out joyfully, “I have come up with a brilliant plan to counterattack the Crown forces.”
“Really? How wonderful,” Aemon scoffed. “Tell the generals to go for it, whatever it is.”
Emanon studied his nephew with a curious look. “Aren’t you feeling well?” he asked. “You do look a bit pale.”
Aemon’s hands were gripping the chair arms and his whole body seemed to be shaky. “Either I am having second thoughts,” he admitted, “Or else I am just getting sick from the putrid smell of blood that’s hanging in the air.”
“There’s no way to tell,” Emanon rustled his head affectionately, “But I do agree with you about the blood. Nasty, if you ask me.”
“Go get the generals informed,” Aemon scowled. “You’re wasting time.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’ll be off then.”
SELENE WAS NOT DREAMING as she lay there in the hospital room with Etoileon. She was sorely slumped over in her chair with her head propped up on his pillow when she was jostled out of her sleep.
“Huh?” She jumped up, almost falling out of her chair as she looked around to see what had caused her to get up. She was so preoccupied with determining what had awakened her that for the first couple of minutes, she did not notice just how much pain she was in. Selene looked down at Etoileon to see that he had turned around in his bed. Being a bit curious, she studied him a bit closer to see that he was sweating and red in the face. Reaching out, Selene realized that he had a fever all of a sudden.
She frowned, and that was when she came upon her own pain. Her hand flew up to her forehead as she felt a twinge of her nerves. Her head ached, and so did her stomach. Was it like this for Etoileon as well? Selene wondered. She figured that as warm as her head was to the touch, there was little doubt that she had a fever too.
Her hand left her head to lay itself over her heart; it was perhaps in the most pain of all her symptoms. She braced her elbows on her knees and leaned over, crying softly in pain. What had happened to her all of a sudden?
She felt dizzy and suddenly found herself on the floor, on her hands and knees. She sat back on her legs and held her head as her heart began to beat faster. She wept and her hand reached out for the nightstand, in an effort to get herself off the floor. But instead of grabbing onto a secure ledge, Selene felt a hand take hold of hers.
“What?” She gasped, as she looked up to see Adamas standing over her, a kind smile on his face as he knelt down and let her rest her head against him. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“I have come to do what needs to be done,” he told her gently. “I am going to fulfill the prophecy now. Look at me, Selene.”
She gazed up into his eyes with heavy lids. He leaned forward and said, “There is a reason you feel so sick right now,” he told her. “It is because there is a part of you that is fighting to take a hold of you; the evil that rests in you is trying to kill you.”
“What?” She was tired. “There is an evil power in me, trying to kill me?”
“Yes. To fulfill the prophecy of the Guardian, some part of you must die,” Adamas told her. “I want to ask you this. Selene ... do you believe in me? Do you believe that I have the power of the Guardian in me, to do what he commands?”
Selene nodded blankly. “Yes,” she whispered. “I believe.”
“Then you will feel better soon,” he promised her, as he picked her up and put her back on her chair. “I must go now. The time has come for the people of this world to see me, to hear my voice.”
“Okay,” Selene murmured listlessly. She was not feeling well at all. Beside her, in the bed, Etoileon was tossing and turning restlessly in his deep sleep.
THERE WAS A CALLING on the wind.
It came suddenly, almost too quietly. But Obsidian heard it. One moment he was triumphing in glory at filtering out Emanon’s decisions and polluting his mind with evil schemes, and the next the hair on the back of his neck was tingling, and the air all around him had changed from smelling like blood to rose petals.
There was no other explanation for it. He had arrived. The one that Obsidian despised and hated the most, he had come. He forgot his purpose in Aemon’s tent and hurried outside, in order to get his troops ready for the first great battle of eternity.
As Obsidian came outside, the sunlight seemed to dull almost. There was a great shining light coming from the entrance to the palace that was shimmering with an amount of light that made the sun look dark in comparison. Of course, Obsidian knew that the silly humans could not see the light as he could, but there was only one way to kill the light. He had to get his ghostly crew together to contaminate the minds of the soldiers, to convince them to kill.
Obsidian watched detestably as his greatest foe descended down the steps of the palace, walked down the hills of the Table, and headed for the battlefield. He was clothed in a pristine white outfit, which Obsidian longed to see covered in blood. Eyeing this, his mouth seemed to grow even hungrier for his victory.
“All right, spirits of war!” he yelled, his voice calling out to all the ghostly spirits of his demonic army. “Come to me, for the moment has arrived, where the Son of Crystallon shall die!”
AS SELENE FELT HER head start to clear up just a bit, a nurse came rushing in. “Oh, Princess!” she bowed as Selene looked up at her. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, I wasn’t aware that you were in here.”
“What’s wrong?” Selene asked in a hushed voice.
“I just saw the warning light go off in the doctor’s lounge,” the nurse explained. “Our patient is not doing very well, is he?”
“Etoileon? No,” Selene shook her head weakly. “I’m not feeling so well either. Adamas ... ” she trailed off, letting her sentence go as she slumped over. “Where is Adamas?” she asked.
“What? Who? Who are you talking about, Your Highness?”
; “Adamas! Where did he go?”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I do not know who you mean,” the nurse explained patiently as she started to gather up Etoileon’s medication. “I’m only in charge of this young man for now. I’ll try to look up your friend in a moment or two when I’m finished here, all right?”
Before Selene could shake her head and try to explain to this nurse just who it was that she wanted to see, the doors to Etoileon’s room burst open and Cyerra came bustling in. “Your Highness!” she said, her voice clearly telling anyone who heard her that she was quite relieved to see Selene alive. “There you are! We have been looking everywhere for you! The battle has turned bad, you must come and watch!” Cyerra took hold of Selene’s wrist and pulled on her gently. “Come quickly!”
Selene was still in half of a daze as she allowed herself to be escorted out of the room. “Is Etoileon going to be alright?” she asked the nurse on her way through the door.
The nurse gave her a reassuring look and said, “I’m doing my best,” she said. “I’m sure that we can take care of him.”
“Etoileon!” Selene called out as Cyerra hurried her along. Selene felt sick as she was led down the hallway. Ahead of her, Cyerra was talking about the battle and how Dorian had to lead his reserves into the fight now, that it was that bad. Selene could not concentrate on what her friend was saying; the words of Adamas kept coming back to her, his promises of the monarchy being maintained, and that he would be with her no matter what.
She was just going to tell Cyerra that she was not feeling so well when they arrived at the front balcony; Selene was practically pushed through the doors and shuffled away to the edge, in order that she is able to get the best look at the scene many yards away, down below the edge of the Table.