by T. D. Steitz
The hooded man staggered from it, exhausted and in pain. Tendrils of black smoke rose from the deep wound in his back. The forcefield around Alistair disappeared.
Alistair searched for Wybert and found him standing face-to-face with Alvah. “We have to save Wybert!” He shouted.
The hooded man spoke between deep breaths. “Your friend is gone. I’m sorry. There is nothing more I can do for him.”
Alistair turned to run towards Wybert anyway, but the hooded man threw him to the ground. Alistair tried to get up, but the hooded man held him down and Alistair didn’t have the strength to fight him. “Please!” He begged. “Let me go! Let me help him!”
“If you go, you will die as well!” The hooded man replied.
“Then let me die with him!”
The man’s voice softened. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. You are the reason I’m here. You have been chosen for something great, Alistair. You must live.”
Alistair ignored the man’s confusing words and lifted his head to see Wybert again. Alvah’s sword was raised above his arm. “There’s no time!” Alistair shouted. “Wybert! Wybert!”
Alvah’s sword came down and severed Wybert’s hand.
His legs trembled. Pain flooded his body, but Wybert stood strong through it. He groaned but didn’t cry out.
Alvah leaned in close and whispered in his ear. “You will wish I had killed you today. You go to a fate far worse.”
Alistair’s screams echoed inside his body as grief shredded his heart.
The hooded man knelt behind him and wrapped an arm around his chest. “Come.” He said gently. “We must go.”
Alistair had no strength left to defy him.
“It’s alright. Everything is going to be alright. You’ll see.”
Alistair’s tears soaked the man’s sleeve as he watched the Fallen bind Wybert in chains and drag him away.
Heat emitted from the hooded man’s embrace, but it didn’t burn Alistair. White flames surrounded him and rushed up his body. Alistair closed his eyes and felt weightless. When he opened them again, he was at the mouth of a small, mountain cave. The hooded man led him inside. Warm, white light shone from the back, but Alistair couldn’t see its source. Strange markings and symbols covered the cave walls.
The hooded man led Alistair to a smooth rock, invited him to sit, and brought him a water skin. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.” The man insisted.
Alistair took the water and gulped it down. His grief made him numb, and he couldn’t feel the tears dripping down his face.
The hooded man laid out an animal skin on the cave floor. “Try to get some rest, Alistair.” He encouraged. “I have much to tell you, but for now, just know that you are safe. May you find peace tonight.” Then the hooded man disappeared into the back of the cave.
Alistair was alone. He laid on his back and stared at the mysterious symbols above him. The images blurred together with his friends’ faces as they scrolled through his mind. He saw them vibrant and alive. Then he saw the dusty battlefield where they died. Their bodies littered the ground as far as he could see. Alistair felt it all and none of it at the same time. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he slept.
Chapter Eleven
Wymond’s Loss
Thunder clouds rolled across the night sky and lightning lit up the pouring rain. Huntress’s paw sank deep into the mud as she sniffed the ground. The storm tore open the sky and illuminated the mighty leader behind her.
Wet streaks glistened on Wymond’s sad face in the flame of the torch in his hand.
Huntress yipped when she found the scent she was searching for. Buddy, Huntress’s lanky, white pup ran after her, whimpering at the familiar scent.
“Hyah!” Wymond urged his horse forward and a small host of riders followed. They rode through the storm for hours, determined to find their missing companions.
Dalibor was among the riders. He shuddered on the back of his horse and coughed violently into a wet cloth.
“Are you alright?” Wymond asked with a concerned look.
“I’m fine.” Dalibor dismissed. “I just want to find Alistair.”
Wymond had always overlooked Alistair’s reckless behavior and defiant attitude as a kindness to Wybert and Dalibor. But this time was different. Alistair had gone too far. Right now, Wymond didn’t care much if they found him or not.
Huntress howled in the distance and Wymond pushed his horse to a gallop. Thunder boomed and shook the air as he caught up to her. Lightning cut through the darkness and revealed the bodies.
Wymond and his men were silent. Contorted bodies littered the ground as far as they could see.
“F- find… find my son.” Wymond whispered.
The men dismounted and walked slowly through the expanse of corpses. The ground was stained with black and red blood alike as they searched through the bodies of their enemies to find their friends.
Wymond and Dalibor waited on the outskirts of the search. They both wanted to search for their sons, but fear of what they might find stopped them. Wymond reached his hand out and gripped Dalibor’s shoulder. Regardless of his anger towards Alistair, Wymond knew Dalibor’s pain, and he didn’t want him to endure it alone.
Buddy’s sharp whimpers rose from the field.
Wymond spurred his horse through the sea of bodies to see what Buddy had found. Wymond found him in the torchlight pawing at the ground. Wymond slid off his horse and knelt beside the pup.
His heart sank.
Buddy was pawing at a large, red bloodstain in the dirt.
Wymond told himself that the blood wasn’t Wybert’s. Buddy was misinterpreting the scent. He turned away, but when he did, his torch lit up something in the dirt and all hope that the blood behind him didn’t belong to his son disappeared. Despair flooded Wymond’s heart as he dropped to his knees beside Wybert’s ax.
Wymond lost his composure and his massive shoulders heaved as his tears soaked the ground. He crawled to the ax and cradled it in his arms, weeping bitterly. He stroked the handle and thought of his son’s hands gripping the wood.
A huge gust of wind surrounded Wymond. He froze and listened to a cry of pain within it. The howling wind joined Wymond’s anguish as if the wind was mourning with him.
The wind grew to a roar and uncovered something buried in the dust.
Wymond lowered his torch to see the tattered pages of an old book poking out from the black earth as the wind faded away.
Wymond lifted the book from the dirt and flipped through the pages stained with blood and dust. He read the words scrawled across its cracked, leather cover, Long Live the King. His mind flashed to his last conversation with Wybert when he had mentioned a new book he was reading. It must have been this one. Wymond squeezed the book to his chest. These were the last words Wybert ever read. Grief gripped his heart. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to force the pain away, but it had taken root in his soul. He carried Wybert’s ax and book to his horse, and silently rode back through the sea of corpses as his men gathered the bodies of their fellow soldiers.
Soon, the grieving men began the long march home. They drug makeshift sleds loaded with the dead behind them.
As each sled passed, Dalibor searched for Alistair’s face. When he didn’t find him, Dalibor began to wonder if, somehow, he was still alive. Another violent coughing fit came over him as he fell in step with the somber procession.
Wymond had longed to bring Wybert and the others that left with Alistair home. But, not like this. Now, he wished they were still lost. As the burdened Forest Clan marched to their new colony, extreme darkness grew at their backs, in Malum.
Chapter Twelve
The Dungeons of Malum
The giant, steel doors of Calamity’s throne room creaked open and Alvah stepped inside. There were no torches in the chamber. The only light was a sickly glow with no obvious origin. The cold darkness was like a corpse’s embrace. The heavy doors slammed shut and the echo slowly faded into silence.
A voi
ce like a snake slithered from the empty darkness. “Who approaches the great Calamity?”
Alvah strained his clouded, gray eyes to see the man speaking for Calamity.
His breath turned to mist and drifted through the icy air. If he ever had a name, it was lost long ago. Now, he was known as the Right Hand.
“It is Alvah,” Alvah replied, “Commander of the Fallen.”
“Our Lord Calamity is the Commander of all!” the Right Hand hissed. “You are nothing.”
Alvah lowered his head. “Of course.”
The Right Hand sneered. “You may approach.”
Alvah shuffled forward and knelt at the bottom of the cold, stone steps leading to Calamity’s high throne. His voice trembled. “My Lord, they have been dealt with.”
“What have I told you about kneeling before me?” Calamity’s voice was deep and disorienting; like boulders being crushed.
“My Lord… I…”
“Down!” Calamity shouted.
Alvah lowered himself down on all fours like a dog.
“Lower!” Calamity demanded.
Alvah forced his battered face flat against the cold stone. “That’s better.” Calamity said. “Now, you may speak.”
“The attack has been handled,” Alvah grunted.
“Who was it who dared march into my kingdom?” Calamity asked slowly.
“It was a band of soldiers from the forest, my Lord,” Alvah replied.
“Did they pay the price for their insolence?”
“Yes, Almighty. They suffered.”
“All of them?!” Calamity’s voice echoed through the dark, icy chamber.
Alvah felt a tug around his neck as a long, shadowy tendril reached down from the heights of Calamity’s throne and wrapped around it. The black arm tightened and lifted Alvah off the ground. His legs dangled in the air as the black tentacle carried him over the cold, stone steps until Calamity’s shrouded face appeared out of the darkness before him.
Calamity’s lifeless eyes terrified even Alvah. “Tell me,” Calamity said, “Why is it that one of your trophies is so fresh? Did you think you could hide this from me?” No mist was formed from Calamity’s voice. There was no warmth in him, and even his breath was ice.
Beads of sweat ran down Alvah’s face as fear coursed through his veins. His lips quivered as he dangled and struggled for breath.
“You let one of them live, didn’t you? Answer me!”
“Y-Yes…” Alvah stammered, “I let one of them live.”
The black arm holding Alvah moved him within inches of Calamity’s emaciated face. His voice was dreadfully tranquil. “You felt like that was your decision to make? Did you feel, in control? I wonder… Do you feel in control now?”
Alvah trembled from head to toe. “H-He will... suffer. More… more than any of the others. I s-sent him to… to the harvesters.”
Calamity stared deep into Alvah’s petrified eyes, as he stammered on.
“He showed great bravery. He has the potential for fear that’s… just as great. His pain will feed your armies. You have my word, mighty one, that w-we… we will break him. His suffering will be… historic.”
Calamity’s lips parted, and his deep, grinding voice echoed out. “If it is not, yours certainly will be.”
Calamity released Alvah. He collapsed onto the stone steps and tumbled into a heap on the cold, stone floor. Calamity spoke again. “What of the Marked One?”
“My Lord?”
“The Marked One! The man in the hood who made your warriors look like helpless children! What of him?!”
Alvah cowered. “He… he vanished my Lord.”
Calamity let out an evil chuckle. “Did he? I am not surprised. You and your legions are nothing to him, as he is nothing to me. Get out of my sight.”
Alvah struggled to his feet and limped out of Calamity’s chamber.
Alvah, humiliated and furious, stormed down the steps descending into the depths of Malum. He entered the dungeons and strode down a long, stone corridor, ignoring the cries and screams on either side of him. He thundered past the victims suspended in the air, to the vast stretch of steel cells. The tendons in Alvah’s neck bulged as he threw open the door of the furthest cell and stepped inside. Wybert lay on the ground before him.
Wybert struggled to see who was standing over him. Blood from the stump at the end of his arm drenched the cell floor.
“You do not have my permission to die,” Alvah whispered. “You will live until I am satisfied that you cannot suffer anymore.”
Alvah shouted over his shoulder at one of the robed Fallen among the screaming victims. “Fetch me Wyvern venom!”
The harvester left and returned with a steel cauldron.
Alvah took the cauldron, knelt beside Wybert, and grabbed his bloody arm.
Wybert’s eyes fluttered.
Alvah grinned and plunged Wybert’s arm into the cauldron. His skin sizzled and popped.
The pain brought Wybert screaming back to consciousness.
Alvah smiled wide. “Here’s to your life.”
Wybert’s vision blurred, and he fell back to the cell floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Jacosa’s Mission
Sakina stared out at the sun falling behind the horizon. Her hopes crashed around her with one sentence. “The Tusk Clan is not going to fight.”
“Sakina, Chief Hatha was right,” Caine said. “If we ride against Calamity, my hunters will die. I won’t be responsible for that. But look around you, we’re safe here. There is no reason to fight.”
Sakina sighed. “You’re wrong, Caine. You are not safe. Calamity will come, and when he does, the Tusk Clan will be destroyed just like the Key Village.”
Caine’s eyes saddened. “I’m sorry Sakina, but that’s my decision.” Caine turned his horse and rode back to the stables.
Sakina’s eyes welled with tears as she watched him ride away.
Jacosa rode up beside Sakina.
Sakina's lips quivered. “They aren’t going to fight.”
“I heard,” Jacosa replied. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
That night, Jacosa, Sakina, and Amani slept on thin mats, in a tent. The Forest Clan guards sat watchfully outside.
Jacosa’s restless dreams were images of her childhood in ruins. She saw the stars in the night sky hidden behind bloodthirsty Wyverns, and the vast columns of unmarked graves outside the Key Village.
Jacosa shook the images away and found that she was back in the desert. Her auburn hair whipped around her smooth face and her bright, emerald eyes strained to see through the whirling sand. Each step grew increasingly difficult until she couldn’t go on. She gathered all her remaining strength, took one last step, and collapsed. Hopelessness filled her. She had done all she could, and it was not enough. Jacosa’s breathing was rapid. Her heart raced. She couldn’t move or keep her face above the sand.
She felt soft warmth above her that soothed her hopelessness. She strained to lift her head and saw a hand, shining with bright, white light, reaching out to her. She stretched her fingertips towards the hand but couldn’t reach it.
The hand grabbed hers and pulled her gently to her feet. The shining silhouette of a tall man stood before her. “Hello Jacosa,”
Jacosa beamed. She knew that voice. “You’re here...”
“Of course, I am. I promised, remember?”
“I remember. But it’s easy to forget.”
The man chuckled. “I know. Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
Jacosa got the feeling that he already knew the answer to his question, but she still wanted to tell him. “It’s the Tusk Clan,” she said. “They won’t fight. They were our last chance. There’s no one else.”
“They’re afraid,” the man said. “Fear is a powerful thing once it takes hold. That is what happened in the beginning.”
“The beginning?”
“T
errene was not always the way it is now,” he replied. “There was a time when all was as I created it to be. It was not until my people chose Calamity that fear ruled.”
“Your people? Are you saying you created Terrene? Who are you?”
Jacosa could hear a smile in his warm, deep voice. “I am everything. All that is good is from me. You cannot know me the way you may want to. I am not to be understood. But if you look around you and within yourself, Jacosa, you will find that you have always known me.”
“I don’t understand,” Jacosa replied.
The man chuckled warmly. “I know. Do you think you can trust me anyway?”
Jacosa smiled. Her answer came easily from deep within her heart. “Yes.”
“Jacosa, do you remember what I told you when you were a child?” The man asked.
She nodded. “You said to remember that you love me and that you're here.”
“That's right. So, why are you so troubled by Caine’s decision? If you’ve remembered that I am here and that I love you, why would you worry?”
Jacosa paused. “I just don't see how any of this can be good.”
“No, you don’t.” The man said plainly. “You never will. You have tried everything you can, but it hasn’t been enough. You do not see how any of this can be good, but I do.” The man spoke tenderly. “It’s time for you to trust me, Jacosa, more than you ever have. I will restore Terrene, and I would love for you to be a part of it.”
Jacosa stared deep into the light before her as his warm, bright hand lifted her chin.
“Jacosa, will you do something for me?”
She nodded.
“I want you to return to Chief Hatha and Caine. Lead them to the ancient temple, where their ancestors worshipped the sun and moon. That is where I will reveal myself to them.”
“How?” Jacosa asked.
“That is not for you to know.” The man replied. “I just need you to trust me.”
“I will. I’ll go.”
The bright figure stepped forward and drew her into a tight embrace. All the fear and hardship of her past and present melted away in his arms. She closed her eyes and felt a peace unlike any she had ever known.