Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  He sighed. “We’ll take all three.” He threw the coin to the owner.

  “Ready the horses,” the man instructed his son while carefully inspecting his newly found fortune.

  The horses were ready shortly. Efri and A'stri were given the brown ones, and the white Etrinian was for Morael. The boy reluctantly gave him the reins. “Why?” He held back tears. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  “We’re in a rush.” Morael grabbed the reins and jumped up. “If time and fate will allow it, I will send the horse back to you in a few days’ time. I make no promises.”

  While the boy celebrated his newfound hope, Morael and his two companions left the town.

  The journey to Istra, the regional capital, known for its beautiful women, tasty alcohol, and a public magical academy, lead them through a patch of forest. It wasn’t long, nor too dense, most was cut down by people of Natind.

  Morael glanced to his left and right. Seeing A'stri and Efri riding beside him, the danger hopefully gone, made him smile.

  Then, before he could realize, he was flying through the air, his horse thrown far to the side. They were hit with a wave of an incredibly strong force.

  At the last second, he managed to stop himself and his two companies from crashing into trees and dying right then. Their horses were not as lucky.

  “Hide!” he screamed at Efri and A'stri as they landed. They rushed away to hide behind a tree.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” a voice called out, one too familiar. “I must apologize for leaving you unsatisfied.”

  From above him down flew the woman he met in Natind, now clothed in a black cloak. “First you run, then attack from our back? You’re coward.”

  “Save the insults, child prince. Give us the girl, and no harm shall come to you.” A smile spread across her face, almost from ear to ear. Like a madman, she smiled and pulled out a sword of dark steel. It was similar to the blade she conjured before but polished to perfection.

  He laughed and, in his hand, appeared Vanquisher. “This will end quickly and with your death.” His voice lost any sign of compassion. For once, out of the sight of the common men, he allowed his mask to fall. “I will enjoy that feeling when your life is drained from your body. I always do. The way Vanquisher pierces the skin with just a little bit of heat and then spreads the light through your insides, burning them, poisoning them with light; it’s exquisite. Well,” he waved his hand, “you’ll know soon enough.”

  Morael jumped up, supporting himself with magic, launching an attack from above. She parried with ease but was forced to take a step back.

  He struck against her with all his might, with his wrath burning. Then her whole being was surrounded by smoke, and Vanquisher’s blade went right through it. From the cloud came her hand holding the sword. Morael caught her blade just before it’d touch his neck. The black steel burned, and the sharp edge of the blade cut deep into his palm. He was forced to let go and retreat a few steps back.

  Again he jumped and attacked, striking against her quicker and quicker. The golden blade pushed against the darkness with as much strength as it could. Then finally, he was able to land a blunt hit with the other end of the spear launching her back with great speed.

  She crashed into a tree, her back broke in half. Just as Morael was about to sigh in relief, he heard a voice of bones snapping. With her eyes dark violet, the woman arose her sword at the ready. From her mouth fell a tongue; she must have bitten it off the moment her back hit the tree. Morael’s hand began to shake; he was afraid.

  The fight continued. Seeing her weapon withstand the might of Vanquisher just fueled his anger.

  After a series of strikes, she managed to get close. With just the tip of the blade, she cut right across his face. He screamed out, for he never felt proper pain before. From his wound came light smoke as it healed.

  Weapons wouldn’t be enough. His eyes sparked gold, and from his entire being came a wave of fire burning all in its path, but his opponent jumped away. He snapped his fingers, and the sky above them turned dark, rain started to pour down. Snap! A lightning bolt hit her blade. Again and again, the lighting struck her on Morael’s command, but her sword would parry it all.

  Not relenting, he continued his magical assault against her. To the mix of elements, he also added fire, the hottest there was, besides Nariel’s own. But everything he had thrown at her had little effect, and the woman would come from it unscathed. Wind, fire, water, electricity, nothing could harm her. Only his light, the strongest and most difficult magic, could at least touch her.

  Yet again, he attacked with Vanquisher. He got it close, right near her, but she parried. No. He would not forfeit. With more strength, he pushed against the dark blade, sending even more power into the blade of Vanquisher. Then, a piercing sound so loud it sent ringing into Morael’s ears, and even the woman flinched as she heard it, the violet escaping her eyes.

  A crack right across Vanquisher’s blade. From it poured blinding light, stronger than that of the sun. Morael’s hold on his power faltered as the blade shattered.

  Branded by Fate

  Efri covered her ears as a piercing high pitched sound echoed through the entire forest. Hiding behind a tree just beside her, A’stri did the same. She could have sworn even the trees were bending under the sound’s weight. Then, from where Morael and the mysterious women were fighting, came a flash of light so bright, her eyes began to burn.

  The light didn’t stop. It got stronger and stronger until it was all she could see. As if she appeared in a void of white and gold, the force, Morael’s own magic, pushed her around, forward and backward, up and down, left and right.

  At first, it was a breeze, a gust of wind. Then warmth one like no other she has ever felt before. Last came the air, the forest’s smell; it was gone, vanished.

  Her eyes burned, then the rest of her body started to ache and her eyes filled with salty tears. She wished to scream but the light consumed all sound. The air grew thinner, and it became harder to breathe.

  She screamed again, begging Morael’s power to relent, to send her somewhere where it can’t hurt her, somewhere far away.

  Suddenly her body hit the ground and her head an edge of a rock. From the light before her eyes came darkness as she lost consciousness.

  She was awoken by the sounds of clanking metal. Her mouth dry and salty. Before her, obfuscated by metal bars, was an open forge and a bulky fat man working a blade. Her mind was hazy, all she recalled was light after they rode out of Natind.

  The ground was solid rock, yet softer than she would expect. Looking around made her neck hurt. There wasn’t much she could see anyway. The cell was small and very dark.

  Only when her eyes adjusted, she could see correctly. “Who are you?” she shouted at the man. The clanking stopped as the brute looked over his shoulder. He mouthed something and then continued working.

  She leaned back on the wall and closed her eyes. Wherever she was, however, she got there, answers may just come to her. Her head was spinning, she was tired and yearned for rest, but before she could get any footsteps reached her ear. She opened her eyes and saw the giant of a man standing before the cell. His face rounder than a cannonball with only a few long greasy hairs dangling by his nose.

  The man growled and coughed. His big brown eyes were looking at her. “How was he?” His voice echoed through the cell. “Vi Dera. You were with him. I want to know.” He spat on the floor.

  She did not know how to answer, but the man’s question revealed to her just what she wished to know, and it terrified her. The prince was nowhere near. “Where am I?” she asked, shaking, doing her best to try and stay calm.

  The giant laughed. “Somewhere where he won’t find you,” he replied proudly, puffing his chest. “Beyond even his power.” Whatever that meant, it brought little comfort to hear it. Not so long ago, she would have traded anything to hear those words, but hearing them then send shivers of fear through her entire body.

  With
out a word more, she crawled into a corner. It wasn’t nearly as dark as she would wish for it to be, but proved to be of at least some comfort. The giant left with a smirk. He stumbled his way to the forge and resumed his work.

  Efri let out a sigh of at least temporary relief, but the reality soon returned. The man’s words. A land beyond Vi Dera’s power. It couldn’t be. She was not in the Empire anymore, she was in a foreign land of another continent. It made her recall the promise she made, not to abandon Oren, not to be separated ever again. If she ever sees her friend again, he will enjoy scolding her a great lot; there was no doubt. Oren was a jokester, he liked to make light of a serious situation, Efri running away to a different continent would surely amuse him.

  Suddenly she heard a shout that made her jump in fear. “It’s almost time!” it screamed. The giant then rushed to her, letting the unfinished blade fall. “Be gentle. She’s precious merchandise,” the voice added.

  “Merchandise?” Efri questioned in a silent whisper.

  After rummaging in his pocket for a good minute, the giant pulled out a key. He unlocked the gate with a troubled frown. “Come,” he said, disinterested. “Sooner, this is over the better for us both.”

  Efri listened to him and trembling walked out of the cell. The giant shut the gate behind her.

  “It’ll hurt a bit,” he said, pulling a metal rod from the blazing fire. At its end was a sigil - a sword and around it, in a circle, Sesterian runes. “Pull down your shirt,” he said, holding the rod. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  With her teeth clenched, averting her eyes, she did as the man said and pulled down her tunic, in a way not to reveal her chest. Just below her collarbone, he forced the hot metal head of the rod deep into her skin, branding her with the symbol. She flinched and screamed, but quickly enough, it was over, and the giant was putting the rod to a small bucket beside the furnace.

  “It’s not how we usually do things,” he said softly. “Now, it’s time to go.” He grabbed her hand and lead her towards the stairs.

  The giant led her to a bland room, only table and three chairs in the middle, and the windows covered. Even though the covers, the lights rays were shining. If only she could go out and bask in the sun. “Sit.” The chair was broken, barely even standing on its four legs, made of a wood that lost its color long ago; it was gray, without life.

  Soon the door, opposite of which she sat, opened. In came a man far taller than the giant. His face was scarred, burned, damaged in all sorts of ways. He wore strange clothes, the tunic made of almost seethrough silk, his stomach uncovered. It was his eyes that grabbed her attention the most. Gold and milky white, the pupil as if it were shattered into pieces.

  He sat down, leaned back, and pulled air into his nose. “Leave,” he commanded the giant who then scurried away. The wooden stairs were bending under his terrible weight as he ran down.

  “What’s your name?” the man asked. “Mine’s Askard.”

  She introduced herself too, and he continued asking questions. “Do you know where you are?” Efri shook her head. “How you got here?” Again, she shook her head. Askard sighed, frustrated. “What do you know then?”

  “This isn’t the Empire,” she replied, looking around the room.

  Askard laughed, almost falling from his chair. “You are as far as one can be.” As he was about to add more, the door opened again, and in came a man far older than he.

  The man growled and sat down, not saying a word. “Sorry about that, Cori,” Askard told him. “She’ll make us a fortune, I am sure of that. Soon enough, we’ll be richer than the fat cats in Cry.”

  The man stood up and scoffed at Askard’s words. He approached Efri and began touching her, inspecting her, even where she never wanted to be touched nor examined. All the while, Askard watched with a disinterested look.

  “Good,” the man finally said. His voice was little more than a deep and horrible grunt.

  As he sat down, Efri whispered the question, the only one she could ask. “What are you going to do to me?” she let out a single breath before lowering her head and gazing at the dirty wooden floor.

  The man chuckled. “Cori, get out,” he said to the man by his left. He grunted and walked out, not hiding his anger at all.

  “Listen to me very carefully, Efri,” he leaned in closer to her. “Your predicament is quite a life-changing one I must admit, and I offer my sincere condolences,” he said in a mocking tone before erupting in laughter. “That’s how you Sesterians talk isn’t it? All posh and arrogant like the masters you serve.” He sighed. “We’ll sell you. The end.”

  Efri shooked her head. “I’m Berian. Forever and always,” she said resolutely. “I was born when the Emperor had no say in my home.”

  “Touching,” he said with a smirk. “A Berian, you say?” He eyed her suspiciously. “By the damn light!” His shout reached every corner of the little house. He snapped his fingers and announced, “Luck has shined on us today.”

  There were no words that could express just what Efri felt. A little tingle in her heart surrounded by dark confusion. Just why was this strange man from a faraway land celebrating her not being Sesterian? She looked at him, asking the question with her gaze.

  “You cannot believe how happy you just made me. Thank you!”

  Seeing the child-like happiness of his face, she decided not to interrupt and let Askard sing her praise.

  “Now, all there is, I will tell you on the morrow. You must be so tired. Let me show you to your room. Don’t worry, there is still time. The night is still young.”

  “Night?” Efri questioned and looked to the window. The intense beam of light gushing in through the covers hit the right side of her face. It was warm but different than she expected. Unlike the sun she was used to, a kind mother caressing her children, this light was the evil father giving them an undeserved beating. “It’s got to be the brightest day I’ve ever seen.” Just as she finished speaking, Askard’s face fell.

  His eyes looked onto her again, but devoid of happiness, filled with pain and sorrow. “Of course.” He muttered under his breath. “How could you know.” With a look at the window, he said, “Come with me.”

  Efri stepped outside, the light blinding her on the way. When her eyes allowed it, she looked at the world in front of her.

  She stood under a sky of crimson and gold light. Yet there was no sun shining down, the sky was lit up as a whole. Just looking up made her eyes hurt. The light had a strength, one far too familiar.

  Before her stretched pieces of a broken land. Cliffs leading into a dark blue ocean, the ground shattered like pot thrown to the ground.

  Between the cliffs were bridges made of rope and planks. Houses had no windows; above the streets were torn cloths that did little to shield people from the light.

  She turned to Askard, looking for answers. “Hundreds of years ago, the Sesterian Emperor waged war against the people of the east. While all bowed and knelt before their mighty phoenix, not our people. No, not them. They stood tall and fought the Empire’s iron fist.

  ” In the end, the Emperor gave us what we asked for. Freedom. Using power beyond our understanding, they shattered the continent in two.”

  Askard spoke with kindness and sorrow. “I know little about it. This is what I was told by my mother, she heard it from her father and he from his. I doubt most of its true, but one thing is for sure. These are the consequences of phoenix’s wrath.”

  Efri had no words to say. The view before was as beautiful as it was terrifying. She heard the tales read of them in the Berian library that the Empire used its power during the third war of expansion, but never she would have thought it to be so devastating.

  In reality, she had doubts magic could even do such a thing. She heard it all, the legends of the imperial magic’s power. Moving mountains, reshaping the lands itself; she thought it all just a myth, a lie. All of it paled in comparison to what laid in front of her.

  On the cl
iff opposite of them, she saw children playing, running around with wooden swords, shouting.

  “They will not last for long,” Askard said, looking at the children as well. “Few survive the Light’s Curse. At least the young.”

  “Light’s Curse?” Efri questioned. “Is that an illness?”

  Askard looked at her. “The price for life here is far too great, Efri. Our eyes, in time, shatter, just like our homeland did. They are filled with the Vi Dera’s light. After some time passes, we get a fever, and once we awake from it, our site is gone for good. Death follows a few years down the line. More often than not, it has little to do with the light. Without sight, one is useless, a burden on others.”

  “Why do you live here, then?” She turned her head to look at him, into his eyes. “Are there no places where the light is weak?”

  “There’s nowhere else to live,” Askard replied. “No dark places. In the far east, there are cities with streets covered by thick silk but,” he shook his head, “those are not for us. We are less valuable to them than scraps.

  “We are the poor, the unwanted, the orphans, and the outcasts. There’s no king ruling us, there’s no government, no militia. We are at the mercy of the scrappers, the slavers. Sometimes I feel like hope is a fool’s idea, pointless to have. Maybe death would be easier for us all.”

  “Am I a way for you to get out of here?” She looked back onto the children playing opposite them.

  He nodded. “You could be. In reality, I think I could buy a way to Cry for half the people here.” Lightly he touched her shoulder. “Vi Dera’s own light shined on you. If you were a true Sesterian, you could have most likely killed me, if not for the brand, sorry about that. There are people who would trade an army for you.”

  She still did not understand and looked at him, confused, questioning every word he said. “Do you know how Sesterian magic works?” he asked, hiding a hint of a smile.

  She shook her head. “I do not.”

  “A long time ago, the Empire was a city-state of little significance. Full of refugees, slavers, and other merchants. Then Areon was born, a man so skilled in language craft he learned just how they spoke when the city was first founded.