The Forging of Dawn

by Jacob Peppers

  “Such men and women of whom Ulem speaks…they are the likeliest to fall prey to the nightlings, whether voluntarily or not. After all, the homeless have no place to give them shelter, no walls between them and the night. And those without ties, without connections, are also the most likely to give themselves to the Night, as some do.”

  Torrik felt a cold dread, for he was familiar with that of which his wife spoke. His time as a spy had educated him on it more than he would have liked. At the end of the Night War, it had been believed that Olliman and the rest of Amedan’s Chosen had conquered the nightlings once and for all, that the threat they represented had been dealt with for good. When the creatures began to show up once more, their presence unmistakable as more and more bodies were discovered ravaged in the woods, many men and women who had lived through the first war simply decided to end it, traveling into the darkness with no light to guide them, giving it, in their despair, that which they believed it would take by force, sooner or later. It was the wrong choice—for when all the lights go out, darkness rules—but it was one that had been growing increasingly common among the citizens of Entarna since the creatures’ return.

  “As you say,” Ulem said, inclining his head to Elayna, “the poor suffer most in times of trouble, and those without family or close friends are most often the ones who give themselves to the darkness. Bishop Deckard has, on more than one occasion, pointed out as much to me, telling me that I am worrying over nothing.”

  “It’s true,” Elayna said, studying the priest, “but you don’t believe that’s what’s happening here.”

  He sighed heavily, hesitated, then finally shook his head. “No.”

  “Then what do you believe?”

  Ulem shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to believe. But I will tell you one more thing—so you will know all of it. Since he has become bishop, Deckard has increased the number of acolytes within the church sevenfold. Now, he has nearly one hundred men and women serving him, and their faces are all unfamiliar to me.”

  Torrik’s mind might not be as sharp as his wife’s, but he was no fool, and he saw the message hidden in his old friend’s words clearly enough. “And you believe he’s up to something.”

  Ulem winced. “These new acolytes…there is something strange about them.”

  “Strange?”

  The old man made a frustrated sound. “I am not sure how to describe it to you, and perhaps it is nothing but an old man’s fears stirring my heart. They are doing nothing so obvious as drowning puppies or throwing rocks at children, and the truth is that none of them have uttered a single angry word, at least of which I am aware. It’s only…”

  “That they don’t act like acolytes training to become priests?” Elayna asked.

  “Yes,” Ulem said, relieved. “Yes, that’s it exactly. And the drastic increase in acolytes since Bishop Deckard has taken over…it seems odd to me.”

  Elayna nodded. “I understand. Though, I suspect that, given the recent disappearances you’ve mentioned, the inflation in numbers of priests in the town might be no more than the Church’s reaction, sending more of its followers in the hopes of protecting the people. Still…there’s something bothering me.”

  “Oh?”

  “If the Church is as short-handed as you say—and I do not doubt it—then such a dramatic increase in numbers seems odd, even without considering what you believe is unusual behavior by the new acolytes. After all, for all its troubles, Entin is a small place. It is strange that the Church would send so many to address such a problem when the problem itself—according to Bishop Deckard—is no more than the usual disappearances that might come to such a town and to such people.”

  Torrik considered his wife’s words and sighed. “What do you want us to do?” he asked, turning to the priest.

  Ulem winced again, obviously embarrassed. “I thought…perhaps…I know that what I ask is no small thing. But I thought that you might do as you have in the past…infiltrate the Church under some guise or another and discover what is happening. Deckard has little love for me, but I believe my influence is still great enough that I might have him take you on as an acolyte. Given the increase of numbers in the priesthood, it does not seem to me he could easily deny you. Amedan willing, you will discover that my concerns are nothing but the unfounded fears of an old man with too much time on his hands. I would be okay with that, I think. Better I am a fool than there is a conspiracy within the Church itself.”

  Conspiracy. It was the first time the word had been said, but Torrik did not like the sound of it, did not like the way it fell upon the room so heavily. For a time, the three only studied each other in silence. Torrik wanted to tell him that he could not help, that he was not the man he’d once been. His role as merchant might have started off as only a guise, a ruse to aid him in his role as an agent of the Light and to protect his identity, but in the time since Alesh’s birth he had become a merchant in truth.

  Long years lay stretched out between him and the man who had once slunk through alleyways, taking on one identity or another, saying what was expected when it was expected and all the while searching for those who hid within the shadows, plotting against the Light. He’d had a thousand false faces, a thousand false voices, each serving its own purpose. A merchant today, a clerk tomorrow, and, perhaps, next week, a cut-throat for hire. He had been them all, and he had been good, but he was not that man any longer. He had only one face, only one voice, and just then it was telling him to flee, to take his family and run as far from this as he could.

  “Is there not someone else you could call on?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper in the near-silence. “Surely, there must be others in the Church’s service who might help. Others who might serve the same role.”

  “There are,” Ulem said simply. “But I do not know them.”

  And there it was. Ulem did not have to know the men to seek their aid—in fact, the identity of the Light’s agents was jealously guarded, revealed only under great necessity. Should he wish it, the priest could communicate with the proper channels and someone would be sent—a person who he would most likely never be aware of would do the investigating. “You mean you don’t trust them.”

  “Yes.”

  Torrik shared a look with his wife, then turned to watch his son at play. Alesh was small now—five years only. Too young to do anything but trust the Light, to believe that it would be there, always. Young enough not to know the dangers the darkness held, not truly, just as he did not know that what security he had, what safety he had, had been bought at the cost of the lives of good men and women who had stood when others could—or would—not.

  We carry the Light. So others might see the truth.

  Simple words. But words that had brought him and his family to this town, words with the power to change the course of their lives forever. Conspiracy, too, was a simple word. But some words, once uttered, became bigger than the letters that formed them, bigger even than those who spoke them into the air. Sometimes, they took on a life of their own, setting in motion events affecting the lives of thousands. “Do you know what you ask of us?” Torrik said, his eyes never leaving his son.

  “Yes,” the priest answered, his voice low and pained. “And may the gods, major and minor both, forgive me for it. May you both forgive me for it, but…I did not know what else to do. If my suspicions are correct and there truly is a conspiracy…well, we have already acknowledged that Bishop Deckard was promoted to his role very quickly following Aberdine’s death. The fact that the Church is shorthanded and possessed of fewer resources than it once had is a good reason, but…”

  “But that doesn’t mean it is the real one,” Elayna finished. “Meaning that if this is a conspiracy, there is no telling how far it goes.”

  “But what would be their goal?” Torrik said. “If what you think is true, what would they be after?”

  Ulem shook his head slowly. “I do not know. But…there is no knowing what truths the dar
kness holds…”

  “…Until the light is shone onto it,” Torrik said, finishing the saying, a common one among the Church and those who served it. Once, such sayings had given him strength, had created within him a steady confidence, helping him believe no matter how bad things got, no matter what trials he faced, the Light would win out. For even the darkest night must be followed by the morning. Such words had been his shield and his sword once. But now they only left him feeling desperate and afraid.

  Ulem inclined his head, and in that simple gesture was an understanding of the decision Torrik and Elayna faced, of what they stood to lose should they choose to get involved. Torrik sighed. “We need time,” he said, glancing at his wife, “to discuss it. You know I would help you, we would help you, in any way we could, Ulem, if it were just us. But…”

  “But it is not,” the priest said, giving him a smile he clearly didn’t feel. “I understand, Torrik. I do. And, whatever your decision, I will understand. Your coming here has been a blessing to me either way, for it is good to see a familiar face, and I thank you for the dinner. It is better fare than an old man like me is accustomed to.” He rose then, and Torrik and Elayna rose with him.

  “Where will you go?” Elayna asked.

  He considered that. “I am not sure. In the morning, I may try to speak with some of these new acolytes again, and see if I can discover anything to put my worries to rest. After that, I suppose I will go home.”

  “And where is home?”

  The priest gave her a humorless smile. “A small house off the main thoroughfare, near the western gate. And yes, that is about as far as one can be from the church—a gift, or so the bishop tells me. He believes a man of my age should not be troubled with all of the day-to-day goings-on of the Church, and has decided—without my input, I might add—to give me a house far enough away that I might not be bothered unless, under the greatest extremity, he and the others of Entin’s priesthood might need my wisdom.” He gave a small chuckle. “So far, at least, they appear to have been managing well enough on their own, as I am at best forgotten, and at worst ignored. Anyway,” he went on after a moment, “it is the third house on the left, down Dawn Street. You can’t miss it—it’s the one smelling of age and worry.”

  He winked at that, giving them each a bow in turn. “I thank you again, for your kind hospitality. And whatever you decide, I thank you for taking the time to listen. You can find me there, in my home, tomorrow. I should be back by early afternoon, no later.”

  “It was a pleasure, having you, Ulem,” Elayna said, then she glanced at Torrik. Though her expression was controlled, he knew her well enough to see the worry there, and he answered it with the smallest of nods.

  “Come, Ulem,” he said, “I’ll walk you out.”

  He put his hand on the priest’s shoulder, and they started for the door. The older man stopped, glancing back at Torrik’s son. “It was good to see you again, Alesh,” Ulem said. “May the Light ever keep you in its embrace.”

  “You too,” Alesh said.

  The priest watched him for another moment, then another, before allowing himself to be led to the door. Outside, standing on the house’s small wooden porch, the two men silently gazed over the yard. Lanterns—seen to by a hired man each night—were hung from poles, spaced at regular intervals along the property, small housings built around them to shelter their flames from the elements.

  Yet for all the light, the shadows still lingered, and in that shifting illumination, they seemed, to Torrik, to dance and caper like demons, hungry and agitated. “Are you sure you’re alright to travel back to town?” he asked. “You could stay the night—there are far more rooms in this house than we can use.”

  Ulem shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the yard. “No, but that is kind of you. I have troubled you and your family enough, old friend—I fear too much. Besides, this close to the town, the roads will be well-lit, and I have my own light,” he finished, holding up the lantern in his hand.

  Torrik nodded reluctantly, a dread he couldn’t quite identify building in him. “Listen, Ulem…about you going to see the acolytes tomorrow…perhaps it would be better if you didn’t.”

  The priest did turn then, raising a questioning eyebrow, and Torrik shrugged. “It’s only…I hope that you’re right—that these…coincidences are only your imaginings. But, if they’re not, if there is some sort of conspiracy going on…well. You know as well as I that the night guards its secrets jealously. It could be dangerous.”

  Ulem smiled, and for the first time the expression touched his entire face, making him appear decades younger. “Oh, Torrik. ‘It could be dangerous.’ The same thing might be told to every child when he first opens his eyes and gazes out at this world he has been born into. I have thrust my troubles on your family have, by my words, brought you to a place that might well be dangerous, and you worry about my welfare.” He shook his head. “You are a good man, Torrik. A good friend. And you have a wonderful family…I am sorry I involved you in this.”

  “Ulem, you are my friend. Amedan knows that the life I’ve led—that we’ve both led—hasn’t left many of us around, and I’m asking you, as my friend, be careful. I don’t know whether your worries are unfounded or not, but I do know that, when a man ventures into the dark, there is no telling what dangers he might find.”

  The priest studied him for several seconds, his expression unreadable. Until, finally, he spoke. “We carry the Light, Torrik.”

  The spy turned merchant sighed heavily, nodding. “So others might see the truth.”

  “Still,” Ulem said, “I will be as careful as I can—I may be old, but I am not a complete fool.”

  The two men lapsed into silence, each thinking his own troubled thoughts as they watched the shadows shift and sway in the lantern light. Torrik noted the priest fingering an unadorned iron ring he wore. The simple gesture, a nervous tic the man had possessed since he’d known him, flooded Torrik with memories of his past. A thousand memories, and each painful to touch. “You still have it,” he said quietly.

  The priest realized he was toying with the ring, and grunted. A flood of emotion crossed his face for a moment, but it was gone the next, and he let his hand drop. “Of course,” he said, and in those two words was a world of pain, of grief.

  How is it, Torrik wondered, that so much of the path of our past lies in shadow, yet the Light chooses to always reveal those steps which were the most painful, those journeys which cost us the most?

  “She was the best of us,” he said, remembering the girl, Maline, barely a woman at all, who had insisted on joining the Church’s service, who had become, in so short a time, like a daughter to the priest.

  “Yes.” The word full of pain and loss, proof of a wound that would not, or could not, ever fully heal.

  “It was not your fault, Ulem,” Torrik said. “She knew the dangers, what could happen. You warned her of them a thousand times within my own hearing, yet still she chose to fight.” He sighed, his own emotions welling up as he remembered the young girl, so eager to help, still like a child in so many ways, with a child’s innocence. He felt an old, familiar anger rising in him, useless and impotent as all such anger must be. He took a slow, steadying breath. “It was war, Ulem. Never mind the fact that no armies marched and met on some great battlefield, that no generals commanded thousands into combat. It was a war just the same and there are casualties in war. It is the only guarantee war offers.”

  “Casualties, yes,” Ulem answered, and when he turned to look at Torrik his eyes were full of pain and grief, overlaid with a shame so great it seemed the man could barely stand under the weight of it. “I should have warned her better,” he hissed, “I should have made her understand the dangers. She…she was little more than a child, Torrik. She was my charge. She trusted me to protect her.”

  Torrik put a hand on his old friend’s shoulder, and the man seemed to cringe away from the offered comfort. And because he could think of nothing els
e to say, “She loved you, Ulem.”

  “Yes,” the priest rasped, “the poor fool.”

  Torrik winced at that, trying to think of something to say, words to soothe the naked grief on the other man’s face. He was still trying when the priest seemed to gather himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Never mind,” Ulem said, “and forgive me. Old wounds…sometimes they hurt the worst. And now, I will go, for I have bothered your family enough.”

  “Ulem,” Torrik said as the man began his way down the steps, “stay, we can—”

  The priest turned back, and standing there, at the foot of the steps, he seemed to be bathed in shadow, despite the lights all around them. “Watch after your son, Torrik. He is a light in a world growing ever darker, one that shines brighter, I think, than even I know. You remember the words I told you, long ago, when first he was born?”

  Torrik gave a single nod. “I remember.”

  “And yet, you do not believe.” Not a question, not really, only an observation.

  “You are my friend, and he is my son, Ulem. That is enough.”

  The older man suddenly broke into a grin. “It seems you are becoming as clever as your wife, though I notice you did not say whether or not you believe me.” He held up a hand, stopping the merchant from speaking. “I pray you are right, Torrik. Truly, I wish your family nothing but peace. But in the game of gods and mortals, it is not we who are left to decide what is ‘enough.’ Look after your son—keep him close. I fear that, in the days to come, the world will need him.”

  Torrik frowned. The priest had made such cryptic comments about his son before, but never so blatant. “Ulem, what do you mea—”

  “Not tonight,” the priest said, smiling. “I have overstayed my welcome and then some. We will speak more tomorrow, at my house.” He glanced around at the lights in the yard, past them, into the night that lay over the world like a death shroud. “It has been good to see you again, Torrik.”