Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  “I don’t know if I want to be free as an imperial. Beria was all I had.”

  “Oren, you are imperial, whether you like it or not. Beria is an imperial city and soon it will be retaken.” She turned her head to look at him, only to see he was looking at her all along. “You know it to be true.”

  He looked back at the bright blue sky. “I know. Still, Beria should be free.”

  “The man, Alec, he was no fool. You know that. There is no way he would think for even a split second that this rebellion could succeed.” She spoke to him like a mother scolding a child, for he was behaving like a stubborn one. “Either way, Beria will remain imperial. Freedom would mean just more suffering.”

  Oren stood up and looked at her from above. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Alec was an idealist.”

  “Are you so stupid to think that you are the first people to be conquered and assimilated into the empire?” She jumped up to look him in the eyes. “Istra was the capital city of a powerful kingdom that controlled a vast region. Then the Empire came and took what they wished, providing prosperity and happiness to the people. Each war of expansion had one rule; to minimize losses of life.”

  He looked at her, no longer hiding his fear. “What if that’s not true for us? Who knows what they will do after this rebellion. I don’t want my friends to die.”

  “Then come with me, tell people in Istra and help bring the rebellion to an end!”

  With tears gathering in his eyes. “I don’t know what to do. Magic has no place in Beria, even if under the Empire’s control.”

  “That same magic, the one you see as a tool of destruction, it cures illnesses, even of those on the brink of death. Meat doesn’t go bad even in the south for magic can freeze it solid, and people store it for more difficult times. Harvests are always plentiful, and the food always tastes good. Commoners today eat like the kings of old. On any given day, we might eat better than you have dreamed of.”

  She pointed to the city high above them. “Often I heard people praise the high towers of Beria, how majestic they are. Istra’s spires make this city look like a pathetic village. The capital, Sesteria, the towers of the imperial palace are said to reach the skies, to pierce the clouds.

  “I know Beria is your home. I understand how difficult it is to accept change. But trust me, in the end, people will be better. They will even learn to accept magic, later even practice it themselves.

  “That is what the Empire offers. Protection, peace, a better and healthier life. How blind do you have to be to not see that?”

  Holding back a mix of anger and tears, Oren replied, “What of the Empire’s evils? Do you know the crimes your people committed?”

  “I do because when kids here pretend to be rats running around the streets, children everywhere else go to school. It’s mandatory until the age of ten. There is little not told to us, even what Vikar Ka Ner did to your city is talked about for long hours.

  “We learn the evil of our past, so we don’t doom ourselves to repeat it, prolonging the cycle of hatred. Hundreds of years ago, to end a war without end, to win a war without end, an ancient emperor shattered the continent, split it in two. There is a world east of here, a world that used to be ours, but forever it will be separate because of our evils. Not a soul in the Empire does not know this.”

  Oren looked at her, the anger leaving his expression. “Fine,” he said. “But I want you to promise me something.” Intrigued, she listened. “You will teach me. All there is to know about the Empire’s history, you will tell me. Magic, I want to learn, what it means, what it is used for.”

  Narra smiled. “I promise, and I will help you find your friend when this all is over. You have my word.” Hearing the words Oren’s eyes flooded with tears. She made a step closer and wrapped her arms around him. “I promise,” she whispered.

  Their embrace was interrupted by the sound of thunder. They let go and looked to the sky. Yet another strike of lighting close by, a storm was coming.

  Narra woke Arick, and they began to destroy their little campsite. “It should not be, storms are so very rare here.”

  “I know,” Narra said sharply. “It’s magic. We must go quickly.”

  He eyed her. “Is it an imperial?”

  “Of course it is, who else would it be? And no ordinary imperial, a powerful one. I do not know who. Most likely an officer or a general. Possibly even an archon.”

  “Should we not try to speak to them then?” questioned Oren. “You just said that’s our plan.”

  She let out a worried sigh. “I did, but this is someone casting very powerful magic. For all, we know it could be an army marching to retake the city already. We don’t want to stand against them.”

  So they left instantly, as quickly as they could. From the small forest straight to coast.

  With the storm raging over almost the entire peninsula, they were forced to walk on the beach. At least the wind there wasn’t as strong, but it was picking up, gaining speed, stirring up the water.

  After a while, they scouted the shore and found a comfortable looking rock formation to sit on. They walked for hours, making it not even halfway there, and they desperately needed to rest. Their throats were dry, and their stomachs empty, and nearby was no source of either food nor drink.

  Oren looked at the storm. “So that is magic?” he asked.

  “It is.” She sighed. “Right now, I am almost certain it is an archon. The ability to command elements, especially in such a way, is already quite extraordinary. Whoever it is, they are very powerful. I can say for a fact is words like this are not taught in school.”

  “Words?” Oren questioned.

  Narra stood up, found a nice spot, and sat down into the cool sand of the beach, feeling much more comfortable than sitting on a harsh rock. “Magic is tied to the language of old Sesteria. You speak it, you cast a spell, but it takes something out of you. Like fighting with a sword takes your stamina, and you must be agile and strong. With magic, it takes something else, willpower, intelligence, and also stamina. Either you must have a lot of it or learn how to lessen magic’s effects.”

  “So tell me a word, and I can cast magic!” Oren suggested jokingly. “Not that easy, is it?”

  “No,” she replied with a laugh. “You must learn to connect with what you are casting and then command it to obey you. The language is just to make it easier.”

  They continued to look in silence. Arick had a few quips and jokes to say, but otherwise, it was quite calm.

  “Could it be someone coming to deal with the rebellion?” Oren asked.

  “It is possible.”

  Arick sighed. “No, it’s not.” They looked at him, asking for an explanation with their befuddled gazes. “Not only they wouldn’t have heard of it, but they most definitely wouldn’t send an archon. There are protocols for when a rebellion arises sadly; there were few things that it didn’t account for.”

  “Such as?”

  “Rebels pretending to be imperial soldiers and stirring it all up,” Arick replied, snarking. “I take it you know a lot about that. The Empire rarely considers options where it is responsible; they never anticipated a rebellion sparked by the actions of their own, true or not.”

  “News spreads fast,” Narra argued, ignoring their squabbles. “It’s been almost half a day.”

  “Right.” Arick turned to her. “That may be, but how would they know? Nobody escaped, but us. And even if they did, even the Empire could not assemble such a force so quickly. Either it’s a sole archon playing tricks trying to scare the citizens, or it is something else, something worse.”

  He was correct but Narra refused to see it, she didn’t want to. “We’ll get out, and it will be over. All this is probably Vikar or Nariel coming to an end it,” she argued again. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be in Natind come sundown and then in Istra two days later.”

  Their debate soon shifted as Arick mentioned something about Berian culture, which intrigued
Oren, who began to argue with him about which is better. Narra understood nothing, and in reality, she rather wished not to know anything.

  The two men quickly found a way from the topic and began to talk about themselves, as was ordinary; they were men after all, but then came a question she didn’t wish to hear. “Narra, why did you move to Beria anyways?”

  “Why?” She began to think of what to say, whether to lie or tell the truth. “It was all because of Ceril.” When uttering his name she recoiled in disgust. “Regional capitals are tough on crime. Ceril had a business that lied in their tax books. Didn’t pay his dues, don’t get me wrong; he did make a lot of money by doing that. Then when one of his customers threatened to report him, he bashed his head with a rock. Had to run away from that. He bought some potion vials and ingredients, loaded them onto a carriage, and we rode to Beria.”

  “Why wouldn’t he run away alone?” Oren questioned. “Getting a carriage and supplies is quite sloppy for a criminal.”

  Narra averted her gaze from Oren. She decided not to lie. “An old man and his little daughter look better than he alone. Especially in Beria, he could die but who’d hurt a poor little girl. In time he wanted to wed me or sell me to someone as a plaything; he knew Beria is ripe with men like that.”

  “What a disgusting individual,” whispered Arick. “I am so sorry.”

  She laughed. “He owes a lot of money in Istra. With him dead I hope they’ll forgive me not paying back.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Arick spoke up again. “What is your story, Oren? Not heard it before.”

  Oren told him, “My friend, Efri, and I set out from the city some time ago. We used to have this little store, we wrote letters for people. After the war, a lot of people wished to message their loved ones, leave notes of ownership and such. Efri knew how to write well. I helped too.

  “Then we were taken by rebels. They put Vikar on trial.”

  Arick stopped him, raising his index finger. “What did you say? Vikar put on trial?”

  “Exactly. What a sight. Yet before a judgment could be made some mage showed up, very powerful, rescued him. I got out, Efri didn’t. All I want is to find her. I never cared for the rebellion, what happened was not my intention.”

  “I am sure you will find your friend,” said Arick. “If you wish, I will also help you.”

  “I betrayed her,” Oren replied with a sorrowful voice. “I sided with the rebels. Blinded by hate I was. Then I helped the rebel escape and caused all this.” He looked at Arick. “Thank you.”

  “I am sure she will forgive you,” Narra tried to reassure him, but Oren shook his head. “You said that you learn a lot of things in school. Did Vikar ever get punished, for what he did to Beria?”

  Arick leaned in closer. “I would also like to know that.”

  “He was,” replied Narra. “His dynasty lost its royal insignia.” The men looked at her, confused. “Areon, when he bound all magic to the language of old Sesteria, he wrote a book. There he described every spell, every secret of magic, including what he told us.” She gestured to Oren’s sword. “In a way, it is a book of rules for magic. There are seals on it, one embedded into the cover - the seal of Vi Dera, and then a couple just put on there. Ka Ner’s was removed. Without a seal, one cannot become an archon. He’s the last of his dynasty who will ever hold that title.” She looked at them, both were smiling. “If not for his friendship with prince Morael, I do not think he would still even be an archon.”

  After a short rest, filled with a debate of food and drink, their plans for Natind, which were eating and drinking, and wishes for a soft bed, they continued on walking.

  Soon they arrived at the end of the beach, from where it was a steep harsh cliff the continued on. They climbed up with ease but what they saw brought them no joy. They were close to the road, from there, it was only a couple of miles to Natind, but the storm has spread over the entire peninsula. Wherever the caster may have hidden was no impossible to know.

  With no choice left, they walked into the storm. The strong wind worked against them, the raindrops were heavy to the point of causing pain. Soon all of their clothes were wet and only weighing them down.

  Narra, as loudly as she could, shouted words of Sesterian, hoping magic would respond, but it did not. It was not that she was weak, magic did not react out of no fault of her own. Whoever cast the storm wielded power beyond her imagination.

  Drained and exhausted, they saw the road before them. The storm was getting worse, and they were almost entirely spent. Then, just beside the road, they saw a visage of a man, leaning on a walking stick.

  “There he is!” Narra shouted. “He is the caster.”

  “Do we avoid him?” Oren shouted back.

  Fiercely she shook her head. “There is no chance we make it through. We must speak to him, beg him to stop.”

  As they got close to him, they screamed at the top of their lungs, but the man didn’t hear them, or he didn’t listen. The wind was stronger, and they could barely see as if night has come early.

  Then, Narra, who led the trio, came closer and grabbed the man’s shoulder. The storm suddenly stopped, and the skies cleared. In front of them stood a young man with ashen hair and golden eyes. Holding a staff, not a walking stick, in his right hand, leaning on it. She could not believe her eyes.

  “It’s him,” Oren uttered from behind her. “He’s the one who interrupted the trial, who saved Vikar.”

  He just looked at them, his eyes with a hint of scarlet glow. His breath was barely there, his body scarred and bruised.

  “This is not right,” Arick said. “Over there, where he came from,” he pointed south, “there was a forest.”

  It all made sense. A forest disappeared, and the most powerful man of the Empire was near. “There was a fight there. I would not dare to go close to that place, not ever.” Her voice trembled. “We all should run, I think. Very, very quickly as far as we can.”

  “Why?” asked Arick as her two companions walked beside her. “Is he an archon?”

  With a chuckle, she shook her head. “Arick, Oren, you are in the presence of His Imperial Majesty, Morael Vi Dera, the Crown prince of the Eternal Empire of Sesteria.”

  Prince's Pride

  Three people stood before him. One he remembered two he has not seen before. “Who are you?” he asked, using some of his remaining strength.

  “Oren, Narra, and Arick,” said the one leading them, a woman with red hair.

  He knew that name. “You’re Efri’s friend,” he said. The man’s eyes glowed up, and he nodded, demanding to know just where she is. Morael shook his head. “I do know. I was attacked, and she was lost when Vanquisher was shattered.”

  The man was about to speak, but their leader interrupted. “The spear?” she asked. “It was broken?” Morael nodded. “I remember learning about it. A spear made of light itself, one that shattered the sword of the Emperor. How?”

  “Of course,” he whispered. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.” He laughed.

  Oren came closer. “What’s wrong with him? Is he not supposed to be one of the most powerful people in the world? I saw the ground shake while he walked.”

  The leader nodded. “He seems to be drained completely. Whatever he did was massive. Conjuring the storm didn’t help.”

  “Forgot.”

  They rolled their eyes. “Alright, Your Imperial Majesty, never thought this could happen, but we’ll give you some of our power.” She turned to Oren, who came closer, grabbed Morael’s hand, and put it on the hilt of his sword.

  A strange tingling sensation rushed through his exhausted body, but whatever magic was hiding within the sword, it refused to aid him.

  Nothing happened, and so the leader took his hand, forcing some power into him. His sense began to return, and he saw clearly. “Thank you,” he said. “My mind was clouded.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Your Majesty.”

  He waved his hand. “I am sorry,
Oren, I truly am. Right as I can, I will search for her, I promise you.” The man did not seem to take his word seriously but did not fight either. “Even if I’d have to walk the world myself, I will find her.”

  “If I may ask,” their leader spoke up. “What happened?”

  Morael shrugged. “I cannot tell you. I must return to Sesteria at once. I am sorry.”

  “I don’t think you have enough for that. What I gave you is very little.”

  He nodded. “I know. Yet if I don’t, I may die anyway, so the choices are quite equal when you give it some thought.” Leaving a look of despair on all three of their faces, Morael summoned his power commanding it to deliver him back to Sesteria.

  “Narra, Oren, and Arick. I will remember you. All three of you will be rewarded once we see each other again. I wish you good fortune in your search.” He disappeared in a flash of scarlet light using up almost all of his remaining strength, bringing himself to the death’s door.

  Morael appeared in the courtyard before the entrance to the imperial palace. It’s three towers stood high above, shielding him from the moon’s light. Not even a moment later, he heard the clinging of armor coming close.

  The guards soon sound the alarm breaking the serene silence of the courtyard. And quickly, a good dozen of them were gathered around him. He could feel what was happening. The bruises, cuts, and stabs that his magic healed were returning. Blood was spilling on the stone beneath him.

  “The prince is hurt!” a guard shouted in utter horror.

  Soon he was being carried, surrounded by the crown guard. The men sworn to protect him, even with their eyes covered, he could see them despair as even their full strength could not heal him in full. The deepest of wounds they treated, but the rest they were unable to heal. It was overwhelming for even them

  He was carried to his chambers, where a group of healers waited for them. The guards placed him on his soft bed, covered by thick white silk, not to dirty his beddings with blood. “Your Imperial Majesty,” the healers said in unison. They approached and began their work, but it had little effect. His bleeding stopped, but the pain didn’t; he was glad for the torturer’s training for it concerned him so very little.