The Mark of the Legend: Book One of the Mark Trilogy

by T. D. Steitz

  Alistair dropped to the ground as a jet of venom tore through the tree above his head. “Run!” Alistair sprinted through the wooded mountain valley.

  The bear followed right behind.

  Dirt and underbrush exploded around them from the Wyverns’ onslaught. Alistair searched the canopy and saw glimpses of the beasts flying overhead. Alistair heard a roar and turned to see the bear facing a Wyvern that had descended behind them.

  She bared her teeth as it shrieked and spewed poison at her.

  Alistair raised his arm, and a shield of white light absorbed the venom before it hit her.

  She tore into her adversary before it could recover.

  The other Wyvern’s kept to the safety of the sky.

  Alistair heard the bear bellowing at the treetops behind him. They couldn’t outrun them, and Alistair began to wonder how much longer they could try. Then he saw a small cave in the mountainside ahead. “There!” He ducked in the small cave entrance, and the bear squeezed in behind him.

  The cave opened into a large cavern. With his shining staff raised high, Alistair searched to the back and found it empty.

  Alistair and the bear’s disappearance had drawn the Wyverns down below the trees. Their huge bodies rushed past the cave entrance. It wouldn’t take them long to find it.

  The bear beside Alistair had seen the Wyverns too, and before Alistair could stop her, she charged towards the entrance and roared.

  Alistair rushed forward. “No! Shhh!” He grabbed her face and tried to quiet her, but it was too late. The Wyvern shrieks confirmed they had heard her. They were on their way.

  “Come on!” Alistair led the bear to the back of the cave with the bright light emitting from his staff. There was no way out, and the Wyverns were getting closer. “Ardent, please help us,” Alistair whispered desperately.

  A small wisp of pale light drifted from the staff. The light floated peacefully toward the entrance of the cave and spread across it like a veil.

  This was not the power Alistair had hoped for, but there was no time for anything else. The Wyverns had arrived.

  Three Wyverns landed with a thud just beyond the cave entrance. They sniffed the air; they could smell Alistair and the bear. They whirled back and forth and clawed at the ground. Then, they slowly lifted their heads and looked right at them.

  Alistair hardly breathed as he and the bear stared into three pairs of yellow eyes. The eyes were haunting, and empty. Alistair looked closer. The Wyverns weren’t returning his gaze. “They can’t see us,” he whispered. His gaze shifted to the thin veil of white light. He sighed with relief, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the bear’s side. “They can’t see us. We’re ok.”

  After hours of searching, the Wyverns finally gave up and flew off into the night.

  Alistair sent a dancing, white flame to float in the center of the cave, lighting and warming it. He laid down beside the fire, exhausted.

  The bear lumbered over and dropped down beside him.

  “Hey girl,” Alistair said.

  The bear laid her ears back and slowly lowered her head onto Alistair’s chest.

  He stroked her massive head and smiled. He was glad he wasn’t alone in this cave. He looked down at the bear. Her eyes were closed. “We make a good team,” Alistair whispered. “If we’re going to stick together, I’m going to have to give you a name.” Alistair looked down at his new friend and played with her ears. She was a gift from Ardent to him, and she would serve as a reminder of his promises. “I think I’ll call you… Matana.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Wybert’s Execution

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Wybert’s heartbeat was slow and steady as he walked towards the platform. Blood trickled from his mouth and above his eye. Spit and sludge caked his face. The thick links of the chains wrapped around him clinked together with each step. A sea of faces watched him pass. He ignored their gray, hazy eyes, and cracked lips spread in wide smiles. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. He was not afraid. The events that led him to this moment ran through his mind.

  Wybert had been harvested for months. He was forced to endure terrible pain and the worst fears his mind could produce. But then, something changed. Even in the deepest, darkest places of his mind, Ardent found him. He held him. He freed Wybert from his fears and breathed courage into his heart. After that, Wybert couldn’t be harvested. With the courage of Ardent filling his heart, there was no room for Calamity’s pain or fear. There was nothing for the Fallen to strip away. The only use they had left for Wybert was to make an example of him.

  After he was pulled from the harvesting process, Wybert was taken to join the slaves. Those fortunate enough to avoid the harvest chambers were forced to build Calamity’s fortress. Wybert assumed he would work like the others, but instead, his guards dragged him away from the work to a small steel cage.

  They forced Wybert inside, and raised him in the air, dangling for all the slaves to see.

  Wybert was left hanging in the cage for days. He couldn’t straighten his back or legs, and his body ached from the confinement. His only food was moldy scraps of bread thrown up between the bars beneath him. His only water was the moisture in a dirty cloth raised to him at the end of a long pike. Wybert overcame his misery by focusing on the job Ardent had given him. “Tell them about me,” he had said. “Tell them I’m coming to save them.” So, every chance he got, Wybert told the other slaves about Ardent and his promise. Eventually, some of them began to dream that it might be true.

  The Fallen slave drivers noticed the change hope brought to their slaves, and they started severely punishing anyone caught speaking to Wybert.

  He knew the risks, but Wybert also knew that despair and hopelessness were far worse than physical pain. So, he kept spreading the news that Ardent would save them.

  One day, as the black night turned to a gray morning. Wybert heard a small voice. He looked down to see a young boy standing below his cage.

  The boy looked no older than eight years old, but he had the scars of a lifetime of captivity. He held a small piece of bread in his hand. “I brought this for you,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

  Wybert smiled at the boy. “Thank you.” The slaves of Malum didn’t eat much better than Wybert did, and that meant that this boy saved him a piece of bread from his rations.

  The boy took a step forward and tried to throw the bread up to Wybert. The bread went a few feet in the air, fell very short of Wybert’s cage, and landed in the dirt. “Sorry,” the boy said.

  Wybert laughed warmly. “Don’t be sorry. It was so kind of you to think of me.”

  The boy knelt to pick up the bread, but before he could grab it, a large heel smashed it into the dirt.

  “No! Don’t hurt him!” Wybert screamed.

  The Fallen guard had appeared out of nowhere. “You know the penalty for speaking with the prisoner!” He shouted.

  The little boy cowered on the ground.

  “Stop! Please!” Wybert screamed. “It was my fault! I made him come over here! Punish me!”

  The guard ignored Wybert’s pleas and kicked the boy hard in the ribs.

  The boy hugged his knees close to his chest as the whipping began. He cried out in pain as the smiling guard whipped him again and again.

  Wybert strained against the steel bars of his cage. “Get away from him!” His shouts and desperate attempts to free himself were meaningless.

  Only when the guard was satisfied, did the beating finally stop.

  The guard walked away from the whimpering boy without a trace of remorse, and never looked back.

  Wybert and the boy were alone again. Wybert wiped the tears from his face. He wished so badly that he could do the same for the boy, but he couldn’t. “Are you okay?” Wybert whispered.

  The boy didn’t answer.

  “What’s your name?” Wybert asked.

  The boy sniffled. “I’m Ra… Rael.”

  Wybert longed to reach out and hold
the boy close.

  “Rael, wow. That’s a great name. You know, Rael, you are very brave.”

  Rael wiped his wet face with his dirty hands.

  “Where are your parents?”

  Rael shrugged.

  The Fallen never let slave families stay together. Rael’s parents were either being held somewhere else, or they were dead. “Rael, can I tell you a story?” Wybert asked.

  Rael looked up at Wybert and nodded.

  Wybert smiled. “There was once a great King. This King was not like other Kings. He didn’t want gold or land. He didn't force his people to respect him as some Kings do. This King was after something else.”

  “What?” Rael asked.

  “He wanted you,” Wybert said, pointing at Rael through the bars.

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You, and me, and everyone in Terrene. Not as slaves like Calamity, but as part of his family. He loves all of us so much. That’s why he made us.”

  “He made us?” Rael asked.

  “Yes. He did.”

  Rael stared at Wybert with a glimmer in his eyes. “Then, where is he?” Rael asked.

  Wybert’s voice got more serious. “Well, he had to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “A long time ago, the King would spend lots and lots of time with people here on Terrene, but then Calamity came.”

  Rael’s shoulders drooped. “Oh, did Calamity make the King leave?”

  “Calamity tried to beat the King and make him leave,” Wybert said, “but he couldn’t. The King was too strong.”

  “Really?” Rael asked excitedly.

  “Really.”

  “Then why did the King leave?” Rael wondered.

  “Well,” Wybert went on, “Calamity couldn’t beat the King, so he decided to attack the King’s people. He lied to everyone and told them that they would be better off without the King. He told them they could have everything they could ever want if they followed him instead. The people decided they wanted Calamity to be their King instead of the Good King, and the Good King never makes anyone choose him, so he had to leave.”

  Rael’s eyes were sad again.

  “After that, Calamity showed everyone who he really was. Everyone saw that he was a bad King and that they had made a terrible mistake, but it was too late. They had already chosen.”

  Rael dropped his head and looked away.

  “But that’s not the end of the story, Rael,” Wybert said.

  Rael turned back around.

  “Before he left, the Good King made a promise. He said that even though he was leaving, he would come back. He promised that one day he would beat Calamity once and for all, and he would make everything good again.”

  Rael sat quietly for a moment, thinking. “Is this a true story?”

  “Yes, Rael,” Wybert replied earnestly. “It’s true. The King is real. His name is Ardent. He sees you, Rael. He knows about all the bad things that are happening to you, and it breaks his heart.”

  “How do you know?” Rael asked.

  “Because, he told me,” Wybert said.

  Rael gasped. “He talked to you?”

  “Yes. He wants me to tell you and all the other slaves, that he’s going to save you; and Ardent always keeps his promises.”

  Rael beamed. He’d forgotten all about his wounds.

  “Rael, will you help me with something?” Wybert asked.

  “Sure!”

  “I need you to tell more people about Ardent. Can you do that?”

  Rael nodded.

  “Tell everyone you can but be careful.”

  “I will! Bye!” Rael joined the rest of the slaves starting the long day’s work.

  Wybert smiled wide as Rael went from one person to the next, whispering excitedly in their ears.

  Later that day, Avah the breaker and four guards approached Wybert’s cage. The guards released the chains supporting it, and the cage hit the ground with a loud thud that sent a cloud of dust into the air. The Fallen guards yanked him out.

  Wybert knew where they were taking him. Alvah had made sure that his cage was hung with a clear view of the bloody execution platform. He tried to stand, but pain shot through his legs and back and he collapsed. The guards dragged him forward and dropped him at Alvah’s feet.

  As the dust cleared, Alvah bent down close to Wybert. The chain of severed trophies around his neck dangled in front of Wybert’s face. “It’s time,” he whispered wickedly. “I wonder where Ardent is now? Perhaps he doesn’t know that you are about to die. Maybe he doesn’t care. When you are up on the platform, watch for him. See if he comes. Find out what kind of King he is.”

  Wybert rose delicately to his feet and looked Alvah in the eyes. His voice was unwavering. “Only fools watch the sun set and think it will never rise again, Alvah. They stand in the dark and think the night has won. But I know that for each victory of night, the day will return with a burning vengeance.”

  Alvah’s smirk was gone as he glared at Wybert. “I will enjoy watching you die.” Alvah looked at his guards. “Take him.”

  The guards wrapped Wybert in heavy chains.

  “Bring the slaves!” Alvah shouted. “Let them witness this!”

  The Fallen guards and slave drivers corralled the slaves to the base of a bloody, wooden platform. A narrow path opened through the crowd.

  “Move,” Alvah ordered.

  Wybert started the slow march to his death. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. The leering faces passed by as Wybert approached the platform. The Fallen hit him with whips and chains as he passed.

  There was a large wagon full of large stones sitting beside the platform. A long line of slaves approached it, and each took a stone. The Fallen often forced the slaves to participate in executions. It was one more way to remind them of their status. The slaves refused at first, but this only extended the torture of the victim. Now, finding the largest rock, and hurling it as hard as you could, was considered a kindness; a way to end the pain quickly.

  Wybert nodded understandingly at the slaves as he reached the platform. He climbed the steps, and thunder split the sky. It started to rain. He reached the top of the platform and turned to face the crowd.

  The Fallen threw mud at him.

  The slaves looked at him with sadness and pity.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Wybert steadied his breath and looked to the sky. He let the heavy raindrops wash the blood and grime from his face, and he smiled. He remembered what it felt like when Ardent came to him in his worst moment in the harvest chambers. He remembered the warmth and joy that came out of the coldest darkness imaginable. It occurred to Wybert that he was excited to see Ardent and to feel that warmth again. That hope silenced even the fear of death.

  Wybert lowered his gaze.

  The slaves prepared to hurl their stones.

  A small face poked out from behind a Fallen guard in the front of the crowd.

  Wybert smiled and winked at Rael. He took one more deep breath and shouted loud for all to hear. “Long! Live! The King!!!” Wybert’s final cry faded as a hundred stones flew toward him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Calamity’s Strongest Weapon

  Alistair woke. He was alone in the cave, and faint, gray light seeped into the doorway. The thin veil of shimmering, white light that had shielded him and Matana from unfriendly eyes was still there. Alistair walked out of the cave and the sheet of light disappeared as he walked through it. The morning was dark like the sun was already setting again. Alistair remembered dark days like these from his last journey to the Shadow Lands. “We must be close,” he thought. Alistair turned and saw Matana walking towards him through the dead woods.

  She bounded over excitedly and laid her huge head on his shoulder.

  Alistair scratched around her neck and beneath her chin. “I’m glad you’re still with me,” he said. “We have to keep moving, but I don’t know the way.” Alistair looked around. Dark skies lay ahead of him. “This way,” he sighed. “Whe
n you’re looking for the Shadow Lands, you follow the shadows.”

  Alistair led Matana through the woods as a dense fog rolled in around them. It settled fast, and before long, Alistair was stumbling through fog so thick, he could hardly see his feet touch the ground.

  The silhouette of a large rock appeared through the mist. The stone had been chiseled into a square with an arch on top, but it was cracked and worn from years of decay. Alistair passed the stone and read the words carved into the other side. “Rest well, Harlequin.” The gravestone brought a flood of emotion and all Alistair wanted was to leave. He quickened his pace only to see another gravestone ahead, then another, and another. They had stumbled into a very old graveyard.

  Alistair’s breath was shallow as he and Matana made their way through the rows of crumbling gravestones. The stones became larger and more ornate as they ventured deeper. Many had complex designs made up of words and symbols from an ancient, forgotten people carved into them. They passed statues of winged warriors standing guard over the graves. Beyond the elaborate grave markers, they found mausoleums that rose from the ground like castles. These tombs must have belonged to very rich, very important people. They were bigger and grander than any dwellings Alistair had seen, even for the living. It was a vast city, built for the dead.

  Alistair’s uneasiness grew, and the air took on an icy chill as he searched for a place to shelter and let the fog clear. Alistair walked to the huge, wooden doors of the nearest tomb. The lock was rusted through. He put his shoulder against the doors and pushed hard. Slowly, they creaked open. Alistair’s staff began to glow, and he stepped cautiously inside.

  The inside of the tomb was dusty. Cobwebs hung like curtains from the ceiling. There was a family crest in the center of the back wall. Words and symbols like the ones they had seen on other tombstones covered the other walls. Four stone caskets rested on large stone tables in the center of the chamber with depictions of their inhabitants chiseled into the lids.