The Darkness of Dawn

by Braden Michael

“I visit this beautiful city to share with its people wine from all over the Dawnlands.”

  “Move on through, merchant. Next!”

  The next few encounters were not much different than the one before them. Wine merchant, silk merchant, or food merchant. The rest were either residents of the city or whores who worked in the brothels. The guards let all of them through, but none without strict questioning of where they planned to sell, where they lived, or which brothel they worked at.

  After waiting patiently, Alexey finally stepped up to the gate to the intense glares of the guards.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “I am visiting my mother. I’ve not been home for a while,” said Alexey.

  “Who’s your mother?” the Winterguardsman grunted.

  “Her name is Ivana. She lives two blocks down from the Sokolov residence in the second floor of the family bakery,” Alexey lied with absolute confidence.

  “The one with the red door?” a different guard asked.

  “That’s the one,” said Alexey.

  “Move on through, now,” the original Winterguardsman ordered.

  Alexey nodded and proceeded through the gate. Just beyond was a small grassy field occupied by dozens of guards, Winterguard or otherwise. Some were drinking, some were sharpening their weapons, and others were sparring. The dirt road cut through towards the beginning of the city’ buildings, which were of low-quality wood. Deeper into the city, the buildings started to get much nicer, constructed of stone, furnished in marble, and painted bright colors. The streets were teeming with foot traffic—countless commoners and beggars littered the outer slums while the nicer areas had street musicians, priests, and traders. Every now and then Alexey passed a building with a pink doorway to signal that it was a brothel.

  “Our girls are the best in the city!” a brothel doorman announced at him.

  “I have the best wine in Volkograd!” a wine merchant called out.

  Eventually, the streets became increasingly less populated as Alexey found the road that led to his childhood home. All the nearby buildings were exactly how he remembered. He gave Ivana’s bakery a smirk as he passed by.

  The Sokolov residence was always well-guarded, so he snuck off into the nearby side alley: the one he had snuck out to as a child. The residence was constructed into the side of the alpine range that surrounded it, which allowed for a skilled climber to scale the mountain and jump down into the property. Alexey did just that and made his way onto the walls.

  Alexey peered down into the property with a solemn look on his face. Once, Alexey had left this place to join the Winterguard, and now he was sneaking back in as a deserter. Has my father changed as much as I have? His father had always been good to him, or so he thought. Did he hide the true face of the Winterguard from me, or did he never see it? It was true that during his time in the Guard, his father had been stationed exclusively at the Midland border in the city of Zhakagrad, far from any farms to steal from, but even if he never took part in the thievery himself, he was naïve if he had never caught on to it.

  Just as he had done countless times before, he carefully climbed down the wall, jumping into a bush at the bottom. The building in front of him had his old bedroom inside and he would be left undisturbed in there. He quietly walked to the back door and went inside.

  The building had only one floor, and one bedroom: Alexey’s. Everything was almost exactly how he had left it: the bed was made, the Winterland flag was hung up on the wall, and all his clothes were in the drawers. His closet still had his sparring sword and armor, making him reflect on the training he’d had growing up.

  “Keep your sword up, Alexey,” his father had told him.

  A seven-year-old Alexey had stood in the courtyard with his father, who had been coaching him for hours that day. Alexey’s small body had been covered in bruises and nicks, but he’d refused to cry or yield. He held his sword back up at his father, despite struggling with the weight.

  “A sword held out in front of you will defend you! Dropping it tells your opponent they’re free to attack you!” his father had shouted.

  Alexey’s arm had continued to shake violently as his face had twitched in discomfort, but he’d still refused to yield.

  “Your will is admirable, son. I think we’ve had enough for today. You gonna do some more reading?”

  Seven-year-old Alexey had curled a gleeful smile. “Yes.”

  His father had chuckled. “All right son. Tell me all about what you read at dinner tonight.”

  Alexey snapped back into the present and grabbed the sword from out of the closet. It was far lighter than he remembered.

  “I think it was in Alexey’s room!” a young woman shouted from outside the walls.

  Alexey perked up fearfully, then jumped into the closet and closed the shutter. He tried to muffle his breathing. Whose voice was that? Who’s coming here?

  “Colonel Sokolov won’t want me to disturb Alexey’s things!” a man replied.

  “He wouldn’t have asked you to find that jacket if he didn’t want you in there!” the woman replied.

  Alexey heard the front door creak as it opened, then a man dressed in servant’s clothes walked into the room with an inquisitive expression. I don’t recognize him, Alexey thought.

  The man scurried across the bedroom to the drawer and began searching it from top to bottom, taking great care to be as respectful of the items as he could. Alexey watched curiously through the slits of the closet shutter as the man pulled out various jackets from the drawers and studied them. Eventually, the man examined a white coat with the Winterland Snowflake sewn onto the breast: it looked remarkably like a Winterguard recruit uniform, except it was sized for a child. I remember that coat, he reflected. His father had made the coat for him when he was ten years old.

  The man put the other pieces of clothing back into the drawers and exited the building, miniature recruit coat in-hand. Alexey carefully reopened the closet shutter and stepped back out into the room.

  Alexey climbed into his bed and stared at the ceiling, clutching the Artifact. The frigid and scalding sensation gave him clarity and peace of mind. He felt more confident in his thoughts and decisions as the Artifact seemed to absorb the doubts from his mind. What is it about this thing that is so intoxicating? Why does it make me feel stronger? He used to think hard trying to understand its nature, but he had come to accept that he may never do so. If the Naturalist Guild can’t figure these things out, why should I?

  Alexey waited until dark before rising from the bed and exiting the back door. Most of the guards and servants would be asleep by now, giving him a clear path towards his father’s bedchamber. As he walked outside, he immediately noticed the sounds of the city being much fainter than earlier, and torches less apparent than they had been earlier.

  Alexey slowly walked around the corner of the building and scanned the courtyard. The only people awake other than him were the two guards posted atop the wall by the main gate, who were easy enough to skirt past. His father’s bedchamber was in the main house, which stood dozens of feet tall and contained several different offices, bedchambers, and recreational rooms.

  Alexey got a running start and propelled himself off a nearby bench, grabbing the ledge of the balcony. He pulled himself up and peeked over the railing. He could only see the various chairs and tables. He continued to climb up the building until he reached the top balcony, which was smaller than the one below. Heavy curtains were closed, separating the balcony and the room inside.

  My father will be just beyond those curtains. What will he say when he sees me? He’ll know I’m a deserter, but what will he do about it? He stood just in front of the curtain to listen in. Hearing nothing, he took a deep breath, then walked inside.

  The room was just as nice as Alexey remembered, with high-quality dressers and nightstands, white velvet carpeting, and a large bed with an awning, which his father was currently sleeping in.

  His father looked
just like he remembered, with a black-gray beard, bald head, and as lean as a man twenty years his junior. His breaths were long and drawn out, and his eyes shifted rapidly under the eyelids. Alexey stood over him with a sullen expression. Should I wake him? Will he yell for the guards? Will he kill me? Dissatisfied by his inability to decide on an answer, he clutched the Artifact in his pocket and the strange polar sensation soothed his doubts. He continued to look down on his father, but with a blank face.

  “Father,” said Alexey.

  His father’s eyes began to open groggily. He looked up at Alexey with utter disbelief. “Alexey? How are….” His words trailed off as he continued to gape at his son.

  “Did you know what the Winterguard was?”

  “Huh?”

  Alexey leaned closer with anger on his face. “Did. You. Know?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, son. W—why are you here? Please don’t tell me you—”

  Alexey clasped his hand over his father’s mouth. “All my life, you never stopped telling me about the glorious Winterguard. Can you guess why I’m pissed at you? Huh?” he whispered, but the fury in his voice was apparent.

  Once Alexey’s hand came off, his father spoke. “What did they do, son? Please, tell me.”

  “They made us steal from starving children, they made me march through the fucking Frozen Forest and watch people die horribly, and they killed the only friends I had!” Alexey said, losing control of his volume.

  “Shh. Shh, Alexey, please don’t yell too loudly,” his father pleaded.

  “Did you ever know about any of it?”

  His father’s face resigned with shame as he nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me, father?” Tears began to accumulate in Alexey’s eyes.

  “I… wanted you to have the best possible life.”

  “How did you think that would lead to it!? Huh?” Alexey seethed.

  “I’m sorry, Alexey,” his father said, beginning to tear up. “Be—because it’s the best option, if you want to make it here. The Winterguard allowed me to start my life in this residence here, and they could have given you an even better life than what I had. You know how much smarter than me you are? They would have rewarded you greatly…”

  “Fuck. You… You shouldn’t have lied to me.” Alexey walked around the room, furious. His father sat up and looked at him with concern.

  “If you’re here, that means you—”

  “Deserted. I know,” said Alexey.

  “Stars….” his father said dreadfully.

  “Stars,” Alexey began mockingly. “If you’d seen the things I’ve seen…”

  “I’ve been to the Forest too, Alexey. I know what it’s like.”

  “Tell me, father. Did you discover anything unusual during your Rite?” Alexey asked facetiously.

  “Unusual?” His father looked at him quizzically.

  “Something out-of-place, perhaps?”

  “What’re you getting at, son?”

  While scowling, Alexey reached into his pocket and pulled out the Artifact. He held it out to his father, who took it in his hand and instantly gasped and winced as he held it.

  His father looked up fearfully. “Is this—”

  “Yes.” Alexey crossed his arms.

  “You f—found this?” His father looked at the Artifact with both curiosity and terror.

  “It’s capable of things I can’t even begin to explain,” said Alexey.

  “The Naturalists’ Guild would want this!” His father continued gaping at the Artifact, still trying to comprehend it.

  “Naturalists’ Guild?”

  “In Zhakagrad. When I was stationed there, I saw the Naturalists paying handsome rewards to anyone that brought them Artifacts. It didn’t happen often, but I could tell when it did.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Alexey asked.

  “Because I want to help you, Alexey. You are my son. At the very least I can make amends for lying to you.”

  “Amends?” Alexey questioned, disbelieving him.

  “Alexey, I only wanted you to have a good life…”

  “So, you want me to go to Zhakagrad, give the Artifact over to the Naturalists, then what?”

  His father gulped. “From there you can go north and live away from the Winterguard. As a deserter, you’ll never be safe in the Winterlands again,” his father said, concerned.

  Alexey took in his father’s words, listening acutely, but maintaining his angry and disapproving glare. “Thank you, father. I appreciate the information, but I can’t forgive you for lying to me all those years.”

  “I understand.” He stood up and carefully approached Alexey. “But you are my blood, and I want what’s best for you.” He held out his arms for a hug.

  Alexey appeared suspicious but granted the hug. They held each other tightly, their tears yet to subside.

  “Goodbye, son.”

  “Goodbye, father.”

  “I’m sorry, son.”

  “You said that,” Alexey said, irritated.

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  Something about his father’s tone was unsettling, but Alexey ignored it. On to Zhakagrad I guess.

  CH 42 – Viktor IV

  First there was the fight at Rhoska, and then there was only darkness. Viktor could barely comprehend anything that occurred once Alexey had thrown the Artifact in the air. It was as if time had frozen, not skipped. He spent an unknowable amount of time in the darkness, afraid he would not escape. Unfortunately, he did.

  The enthrallment ended, granting Viktor and the remaining Winterguardsmen control over themselves once again. All parties looked around confused for a moment, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Once their wits returned to them, the Winterguardsmen confronted Viktor.

  “You killed Petrenko you fucking scumbag!” A Guardsman marched up to Viktor with his shield up and spear out.

  “W—what is—” Viktor rubbed his head.

  Before Viktor regained his senses, he was hit in the head by a blunt object, which further blurred his vision and landed him on the ground in front of a dead body.

  “A—Ant—Anton…” Viktor mumbled.

  “Get word back to camp! Tell them what happened here!”

  “What about him?”

  Viktor’s senses began dulling almost entirely: his vision faded to black, the voices were underwater mumbles, and his body stopped feeling altogether.

  Viktor entered yet another darkness, but it was not quite the same. Time no longer seemed to freeze, but it skipped. He jumped from one episode to another in quick and incomprehensible flashes. First, there was Arch-Senator Volkov’s glare, then a carriage ride, and lastly a cage on the deck of a ship. But the only thing on Viktor’s mind was Anton’s dead face looking at him.

  Viktor looked around him to find many other prisoners in a similar situation: all chained under a cage too short to let them sit. All appeared to suffer from the stinging cold of the metal surface, and the rocking of the boat made many of them vomit, only to be met with the laughter of the men in black.

  “Some of these Exiles are so pathetic!” one of the black-clad men guffawed.

  Two of the men in black began pacing around the grid of cages, studying the people inside each one. “She’s too old for the brothels!” “No! She can clean my cum off the younger ones!” Both men laughed deeply until they reached Viktor’s pen and were met with his inquisitive glare.

  “Why’re you in such a bad mood, pal?” One of the men crouched and looked down at Viktor through the top bars.

  “Where am I?” Viktor asked, his voice wrought with exhaustion.

  “A Winterlander, eh? Well, you’re not in the Winterlands anymore,” the man chuckled.

  “Where then?”

  “You’re on your way to the only place I’d call shittier than the Winterlands.” The man gestured at his armor.

  Viktor looked at the armor, wearing wore a depleted expression as he took note of
its black color. “You’re a Bargeman. I’m headed for the Deadlands.”

  “You’re a lot smarter than most Winterlanders!” the Bargeman replied.

  “How’d I get here?” Viktor prodded.

  The Bargeman’s playful expression instantly turned malicious as he pounded his fist down on the cage. “I don’t care for any more questions, Winterlander. Be quiet unless you want more pain.” He pointed to the dagger on his belt.

  Normally, Viktor would have antagonized the captor, but he was too exhausted, hazy, and confused. He continued to drift in and out of consciousness, intermittently hearing the pleas of the other prisoners. He simply remained still, drinking the water and eating the food he was given. All the days after seemed to morph as he lost his perception of the passage of time.

  Much later, he was woken up from his cold slumber by the shouts and barked orders of dozens of Bargemen who began pouring out onto the deck.

  “Ready the prisoners for the dock!” an excessively tall and daunting Bargeman with a great black beard commanded.

  “Aye, Captain!”

  A storm of loud noises from the shouting Bargemen, the pleas of the prisoners, and the banging on the cages and deck overwhelmed and distorted Viktor’s hearing as the top of his cage was open and he was ripped out and thrown onto the ground.

  “Stand up or face punishment!” the Bargeman looming over Viktor shouted.

  Viktor’s hazy and exhausted state seemed to disappear as he forced himself to his feet. Once he stood, however, it returned as he became excessively light-headed, feeling himself begin to fall. A couple Bargeman caught him mid-air, and shouted taunts as they beat him.

  “What!? You hung over?” a younger Bargeman screamed, striking Viktor in the gut with his closed fist.

  Still numb from head to toe, Viktor felt hardly any pain, but he grunted from each strike nonetheless. Once the Bargemen were done having their fun, they shoved him into a line with the other prisoners and began chaining them together. Any prisoners too weak to move quickly or too stubborn to comply were swiftly flogged and shouted down. Seeing the Winterguard steal food from villagers almost seemed benevolent now.