by Noah Michael
Gil walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out an old, large book from the middle shelf. The book had a beautifully decorated cover, the binding still intact.
“It is an encyclopedia of my race, the Enlai. In it, you will learn all about my people and our history. The knowledge it contains may serve you well in your journeys to come.”
Gil handed the book to Raiden. “Thanks,” Raiden said, looking curiously at the book.
“The gratitude is mine. Your spirit has reminded me again of what it is like to have hope. I will leave you alone now to read and discover. I have a feeling you shall not sleep tonight.”
Raiden chuckled, then jumped straight into the book, eager to fill in the blanks of his visions. He opened to a random page and began to read.
“The choosing of the fourth generation of Guardians in the year 1600 altered our history forever. A Reader named Vespirus won the strength contests but failed in spirit. Sensing darkness within him, the grand council eliminated him. He organized a rebellion, finding an ally in the powerful Galaxius, brother of Starrok. When the plot was discovered, Starrok had mercy upon his brother. Rather than kill them, Vespirus and Galaxius were exiled to the Island of Alamar, an Alliance prison whose location was known only to a select few. It was believed they’d lived out the remainder of their lives there.
The world saw great changes during the reign of the fourth Guardians. However, its success came to a halt in the 20th century when the vengeance-seeking Vespirus returned after three-hundred years. He was still alive with the help of an eternity stone and took control of multiple European leaders. The Guardians declared war on Vespirus, resulting in what humans call World War I.
Though Vespirus was ultimately taken captive, the Guardians underestimated his capabilities. He had planned the entire war, down to his own capture. While the Guardians were out on a mission in the Soviet Union, thinking they had already won, Galaxius and his mercenaries attacked the Alliance headquarters, freeing Vespirus and killing any Enlai in their path.
Years of fighting between the Alliance, Vespirus, Galaxius, and their increasingly loyal troops commenced. The Alliance was slowly being dismantled when finally the Guardians met Vespirus and his Fury for a final battle in the trenches of Europe. There are no existing accounts of precisely what happened that day, only that three of the Guardians survived-Armolin, Xenua, and Starrok. The bodies of all members of the Fury were found but two, Vespirus and Galaxius, who disappeared without a trace.”
Chapter Nine
The Chief of Shadows
The School of Socrates
July 15
9:00 p.m.
The crowd roared. Yuran struck first. His opponent, Raja, became a shadow on the ground, escaping the blow by a fragment of a second. He reemerged behind Yuran and swung. Yuran turned swiftly and parried the attack. The clang of metal reverberated through the air. Yuran drove his opponent back and Raja, struggling to keep up with the attacks, finally allowed one to slip past, striking his left arm. He could no longer hold his second sword, and it slipped from his grasp.
“Hail the Chief! Hail the Chief!” The crowd cheered.
Yuran resumed his attack. Raja dodged and swiped at Yuran’s feet. Yuran lost balance and dove into the ground, reemerging at a distance.
The cheering stopped.
Yuran charged, but before impact, both swiftly changed dimensions. Their shadows danced, swords clashing in a series of parries and blows. They returned to the surface in a cloud of dust. The crowd struggled to see, listening as the sounds of the battle came to an abrupt stop. When the dust cleared, Yuran stood victoriously over his opponent. The crowd roared.
“You fought valiantly, Raja.”
“Do not tell me how I fought. I know how I fought. I fight with honor.”
“But you do not fall with honor. What makes you believe you can speak this way to your Chief? Did I not accept your challenge? Did I not honor the tradition?”
“You do not deserve your position. You bring dishonor to our tribe. You are the son of a coward! For ten years already, you have been Chief. Never have you led us into war!”
Yuran pushed his sword a bit farther, drawing blood from Raja’s neck. “Be careful what you wish for, foolish boy.”
Yuran withdrew his sword. The crowd gasped. It is cruel to defeat an opponent and let him live, dishonorable to lose a battle and survive. Now Raja would be an outcast, considered lower than even a slave. Yuran turned to face the crowd. “Let this be an example,” he shouted, “Raja spoke with disrespect to his Chief. He questioned my judgment.”
Yuran left the arena and his three bodyguards rushed to him. He spread his arms as they removed his armor and searched him for wounds. He had not suffered even a scratch. The bodyguards took their positions at his front and sides and accompanied Yuran to his quarters, taking their posts outside the door for the night. They did not sleep more than an hour a night, taking turns, and only once a month were given a day to rest. To be a member of the Chief’s Guard was the greatest honor, given only to the most powerful of Shadows.
The Chief’s quarters were located at the top of the school in the very room which Socrates himself had once lived. The room was simple, no lavish furniture, just a wooden desk, a mirror and a dresser, multiple shelves stuffed with books, and a simple but comfortable bed. The room was not given to the Chief because it was the nicest, but rather because of what it represented. The Chief of the Shadow tribe now sleeps where the most powerful Enlai in history once slept.
Entering the room, Yuran locked the door behind him, a sign to the guards that he was not to be disturbed. He needed to rest. He was not physically drained – he had faced much more powerful opponents in the past. But this was the first time anyone had challenged his leadership.
Yuran stared at his reflection in the mirror, at the man he had become. His braided black hair nearly reached the floor. It was separated into three thick strands and woven with golden rings: the crown of the Chief. He wore the traditional garb of a Chieftain: a black, metal vest, dark red at the shoulders with three sharp, red pyramids at its center, representing the three primary dimensions. Under the vest he wore a thin black shirt, sleeves tattered, representing the scars of war. His legs were armored, a pyramid protruding from each knee. Even the black-painted battle scar stretching from his right eye to his chin, a trophy from his most glorious battle, spoke of his power as Chief. He was the mightiest warrior in the tribe. Yet in the mirror he saw the eyes of a boy he once knew. Eyes that told a painful story of how that boy became this man standing in his place…
Yuran picked up the last sword, sheathing and returning it to its place before leaving. It was his job to clean and organize the dungeon’s armory, a job reserved for the lowest ranks. When his father had returned as the only survivor from a failed battle, it was assigned to him as punishment. Because his father was injured, the job was passed down to his eldest son, Yuran.
“Where do you think you are going? You haven’t finished, your useless son of a coward.”
He recognized the Shadow as Natari, one of the tribe’s warriors.
“All the weapons are in place, what else is there to do?”
“If I say you’re not done, then you’re not done. Should we check how much you have left to do?” Natari approached the rows of barrels, each containing specific weapons which Yuran had worked hard to organize and clean.
“Please, I’ve worked from sunrise to sunset. My father needs me at home. He cannot even get into his bed without my aid. Please—” There was a deafening clatter as Natari knocked down a barrel of longswords. Dozens of them crashed to the floor.
“Then, for your father’s sake, you should have worked faster.” Natari sent another barrel crashing to the ground, and then another. Yuran watched, rage swelling inside him.
“That should teach you your place in this tribe, coward. Now carry on.”
Natari shifted, a shadow taking his place on the floor. As soon as the shadow left the room, Yuran grabbed one of
the swords from the floor and whipped it across the room. Another one followed. He grabbed a third one, charging at one of the practice dummies. He lunged his sword into its wooden chest, stabbing straight through. It felt good.
He swung at the neck, thrusting with all his might. Again, and again, and again until, with one last furious swing, he beheaded the wooden man.
“Yuran! What have you done?” Yuran turned around to see his older sister Mara rush into the room, her face fraught with worry.
Breathing hard, he dropped the sword. “Father is not a coward, and I am not worthless. I would be a better warrior than any of them!”
Mara put her arms around her brother. “You would also be a kind warrior, an honorable warrior, not the power-hungry monsters that Natari and others have become.”
“Your heart renders you weak,” he said, pushing her away. “In this world, the ones with power stand tall, while those at the bottom are crushed. If we do not seize all the power possible, someone else will. A warrior does what’s best for himself, not what’s kind or honorable.”
“All the power in the world could not bring me the happiness I feel when I am with you and father, eating and laughing together at supper. Love is more valuable than power. Do you not feel the same way?”
He paused, fury towards Natari still coursing through him. “I do,” he said finally.
“Then let us finish organizing this room and get home to Father.”
It took them until after dark to finish. As they headed through the dungeon towards the exit, Yuran heard a voice call out from one of the cells.
“Water, boy. Bring me some water.”
Yuran turned towards the voice. A man stood in the corner of a prison cell, his face hidden in the darkness. He motioned towards the water canister on Yuran’s belt. Something about the man intrigued him, and Yuran moved closer.
“You’re not supposed to talk to the prisoners,” Mara whispered anxiously.
“Just give me a second,” he answered. He walked closer to the man. As he handed him the water, he got a closer look. The man’s hair was blonde, not black like that of a Shadow. His face was filthy and filled with scars, yet his body seemed fit.
“Thank you,” the man rasped as he finished drinking. He gazed curiously at Yuran.
“I can see it in your eyes, boy. The anger.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“You and I are more alike than you think.”
Yuran looked up at the mysterious man. “You can keep the canteen,” he said, turning around. But before he could, the man stuck his hand through the crack and grabbed onto Yuran’s wrist.
“If you want to get what you deserve, boy, you’re going to have to learn to wield that anger as a weapon. Love and happiness are glorified lies. The only way to gain power is to defeat power, and I can teach you how.”
The man glared into Yuran’s eyes.
“Who are you?”
“The name’s Grith. Meet me in my cell, tomorrow night at this hour. Bring a blade.”
Grith released Yuran, and he scurried back to Mara, stealing one last glance back at the man. Yuran knew he was probably crazy or trying to use him to escape. But there was something about the prisoner that intrigued him, a raging fire in his eyes, a fire he recognized all too well.
◆◆◆
Yuran moved with care, his arm wrapped around his father, supporting him as he walked through their home. Despite Yuran’s strength, he struggled under the weight. A broken man is a heavy weight to bear. When they reached the bed, his father sat down. Yuran then lifted his legs onto the bed and placed a pillow beneath his head. “I’ll be back soon, Father.”
“Thank you, my son,” the old man answered, smiling.
Mara entered the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was, I never meant to miss dinner!”
“Actually, we didn’t have dinner yet,” Yuran said, averting his eyes. “I returned home a bit late as well, I didn’t have time to prepare.”
As they spoke, their father’s smile faltered.
“I’m sorry, my children, for the burden I am.”
“Father, it is our honor to take care of you. We love you very much.” Mara kissed his forehead.
“Promise me,” he said, “that you will not live the life I led. Become more than the children of a coward. For a man so cursed, you two are my greatest blessings.”
“You are not a coward,” Mara said, stroking his hair. “But I promise.”
“As do I,” Yuran vowed.
They exited the room. Before Yuran could head to the kitchen, Mara grabbed his arm, a stern look on her face.
“You’ve been seeing Grith again, haven’t you?”
“It’s none of your business, Mara.”
“You are my business, Yuran! Ever since you started training with that strange man, you’ve been acting differently, and you’ve been neglecting your responsibilities to father.”
“Don’t you see, Mara?” Yuran answered angrily. “I’m doing this for Father!”
“If you get caught, they will tear our family apart. That man is poison, Yuran. You don’t need him. You are better than him.”
“You don’t know what I am,” Yuran snapped back at her. “Just leave me alone.”
◆◆◆
“No! Yuran! Wake up, Yuran!”
Yuran’s eyes shot open. He jumped out of bed and ran out of his room. His father lay on the floor, his hair tinted with blood. “Father! What happened?”
“Mara...they took Mara...”
Yuran grabbed a kitchen knife and ran outside in time to spot two Shadow warriors dragging his sister away. “Let her go!” he shouted.
The warriors turned around. “Well look who it is…”
“Natari! Let her go!”
Natari smirked. “I hope we didn’t wake the coward’s son up too early.”
“Don’t talk to him like that!” Mara screamed. The second warrior slapped her.
“Let her go! She did no wrong!”
“That’s exactly the reason we cannot let her go. The Chief requested that a member of each family join the ranks for an upcoming battle. Your father is banned as a coward, and you must stay and carry out his punishment. That leaves only your lovely sister.”
“She isn’t even trained!”
“Oh, do not worry, she isn’t going to fight. She shall be a bound slave to the Chief himself. In fact, he insisted on coming personally to inspect the goods.”
“If you want her, you have to kill me first!” Yuran charged at Natari.
“Go bring the Chief,” Natari said to his companion, drawing his own blade and diving into the earth. He emerged behind Yuran and kicked him violently to the floor. Yuran dropped the knife as he fell and Natari kicked it away. He then proceeded to pummel Yuran, who coiled over and coughed out blood.
“Thus is the pathetic life of a man who lived to die,” said Natari, raising his sword. “The crime of challenging a true warrior is punishable only by death.”
“And death he shall have,” a voice said behind him.
Natari’s eyes shot open, a kitchen knife protruded from his neck. Mara stood, tears in her eyes, her hand trembling, still in a fist, as if she was still clutching the knife. They stared at the warrior’s body in shock until the severity of the situation slowly took hold of Yuran.
“Mara, you need to run, I’ll take the blame.”
“I would never let you do that.”
“They would never believe a girl killed a warrior anyway, at least this way one of us could survive.”
“I cannot leave you and father!”
“Mara, they will kill us both, you know it’s true! You have no choice, you must leave! Better one of us lives than none!”
Boots stomping along the pavement heralded the return of the second Shadow and galvanized them into action. “Mara, they’re coming! You must go! Now!” Tears streamed down her face as she looked into her brother’s eyes one last time before diving into the eart
h. The Chief approached, surrounded by his bodyguards, and the warrior who had been with Natari. “They killed him! The dirty scum killed Natari!”
“The great Natari was slain by a kitchen knife, the tool of a woman.” Yuran derived great satisfaction delivering the news. “He was weak, I killed him with ease.”
“You stabbed him in the back!” the second Shadow shouted. “You struck him like a coward!”
Silencing the Shadow, the Chief walked closer, his long black braids paving a line in the sand behind him. He glared into Yuran’s eyes.
“We defended ourselves. We did no wrong,” Yuran insisted. Silence reined as they awaited the Chief’s judgment.
“Fetch me the girl,” he said at last. His guards obeyed, diving into the earth without hesitation.
“No, please. Let her go!”
“Silence, boy. There is mercy in my heart yet. You’re a traitor, but you defeated a warrior with nothing but a kitchen knife. For that, you shall die with honor, by the sword of the Chief.”
“And my sister? My father?”
“Your sister and father shall be given the second highest of all punishments. They shall be thrown to the lost dimension.”
◆◆◆
Thousands of Shadows sat around the stands of the coliseum, cheering, waiting for the traitors to receive their punishments. The Chief stood surrounded by his guards, facing the crowd.
“Silence!” The Chief’s roar echoed, silencing the crowd. “Today, we shall see justice served. The coward Heathe and his children Yuran and Mara are responsible for the death of a warrior, dealt by a cowardly stab in the back. Punishment must be severe!” The crowd roared in agreement. Chained and dressed in rags, Yuran, Mara, and their father were dragged through the gates to the center of the arena, Heathe on his back, for he was unable to walk.
“Bring in the Nexus Mirror!”
Twenty slaves emerged pulling a massive mirror, at least thirty feet high. At the top of the mirror was a warning in ancient Greek: “He who passes through the Nexus shall not return.”
