Tear of Light

by Michael Edward Tenner

  The door of his chamber flew open, and there stood Aelir, his younger brother. “Aeli,” Morael whispered, his mouth dry. “You’re safe.”

  He looked at him, confused. “Get him water,” he commanded and approached him, forcing himself through the group of healers. “What madness has befallen you? Getting this hurt, that’s new, even for you.”

  “Long story.” He looked him in the eyes, chuckling. They were different, a brilliant golden glow was hidden in them. Something was strange about his younger brother.

  Only when he grabbed Morael’s scarred hand, he saw. Around Aelir’s wrists were etched symbols, runes of ancient Sesterian. He wished to ask, to know just what they meant but the little strength he still had disallowed him to.

  Aelir closed his eyes, and then power began to course through Morael. At first, it felt just like Morael’s own, but then something changed. It was still familiar, like a faded portrait of a person he once knew. The strength of it was what surprised him. It was even greater than his own, even than that of A’stri. Whatever power he summoned, it was beyond his comprehension.

  Then came pain, his magic working against Aelir’s, forcing it to cease, to leave his body. The young prince let go of his hand and look at him with tearful eyes. “What did you do, Mori? All of this is so very wrong.”

  “Get away from him!” a deep shout came from the back. Their father rushed through the door. He pushed Aelir aside. With gentle care, he took hold of Morael’s shoulders and began to work. His power was the one he knew, almost identical to his.

  With mere moments passing, his wounds were sealed, not a bruise was left. “Thank you,” Morael whispered and smiled at his father.

  “It took this to get you out of your chamber?” Aelir spat his words from the ground.

  Alric paid him no mind. “Come see me later, Morael.” He left the brothers alone.

  Aelir shook his head. “Stop the crying and let me help you!” Morael chuckled, but Aelir forced his hand under his brother’s shoulder and helped him stand. “Your stubbornness will be the end of you.”

  With a shrug, Morael wrestled himself out of Aelir’s hold and walked on his own. “I must speak to father,” he said with a bitter smile.

  “Why?”

  “I found something,” he admitted. “Something terrible, Aelir. We are all in danger.”

  Aelir’s eyes locked onto his brother. “Be careful, Mori. Father is not himself as of late.”

  “I’ve heard what you did.”

  “It is not just that. He didn’t attend any councils. Left the one, he summoned himself. The archons have returned, and he cares not. Even now, he is locked in his chamber, refusing to come out.”

  Morael growled. “I will speak to him, I promise.” He froze in the doorframe. “When I return, I will tell you all there is.”

  “Do it now.” Morael eyed him. “I have heard that so many times. Promises that I will know it all, but I am never told.”

  And so Morael did just as his brother asked. He told him of A’stri and his battle with her, the torture, and all he learned. Aelir listened, his expression growing sourer with each and every of Morael’s words.

  Finally, he told him of the three people who helped him. Narra, Oren, and Arick, wandering the peninsula of Beria. They laughed at the idea of a commoner helping a prince, but even they had to accept the ironic reality.

  His father’s gaze was the most worrisome. The powerful Emperor sat there looking right through him and at the blank wall, missing the painting that once decorated it.

  Morael took his seat in front of him and, with no delay, began to speak. “Father, I came as you asked me to.”

  Only then, Alric awoke. “Morael,” he said with a smile. “I am glad you came.” His voice was soft, not all deep as it used to be.

  He told him the same as to Aelir. Of the rebels and the green light, he witnessed, then of A’stri and his battle with her. His father listened, but it seemed to have concerned him a little.

  “What is on your mind? I can see it weighed down by a terrible burden.”

  “It was folly,” whispered Alric. “He played with power that is beyond that of Areon himself.” Morael looked upon him, with just the slightest bit of fear.

  “Who?”

  “Aelir.”

  Morael did not understand what his father spoke of. He looked at him, but the look in his tired eyes told him little. “I thought it was an ancient power of little consequence.” Shame it brought him to lie even to his father, but he needed to know, to hear the truth. Yet he did out of fear of understanding it. When he felt Aelir’s power, fear took him, yet he refused to admit it.

  “No.” Alric shook his head and stretched his neck. “There are some things very few know my son. Secrets that are the burden of an emperor.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Our magic. It is a plain construct. All of it is a lie. Aelir summoned the real power of the light, the power of the phoenix’s flames. I am afraid my son, with it, Aelir, may be unstoppable.

  “See Areon did not just bind magic to Sesteria. He created it. There are three primordial magical forces, azure, verdant, and golden. I know so very little of them, but what the Book tells me is that they were destroyed, locked away for eternity. What Aelir awoke one of the three.”

  “I do not understand.” Morael took a deep breath, looking into his father, wishing to see a hint of a lie. “Why are we keeping this secret? Is there a reason?”

  “For the people. Our world is that of prosperity.” He smiled at him. “The natural wielders of magic died Morael, and if one were to come back, and possess the power that Areon destroyed, it could mean the end of our dynasty.”

  For just a moment, silence ruled the room. The world Morael knew crumbled before his eyes. All the truths and lies were mangled in his head. It made his stomach tied in a knot, he felt sick, and his heart beat faster than ever before.

  Alric continued, “Aelir is working on finding what is happening on the opposite continent. With that information, we can squash their forces if they are still alive.”

  “We must not allow him to continue that research,” silently said Alric. “If he finds the answers he is looking for doom may befall us all.”

  “Aelir? Out of all the people in this world, you and I both know he is as harmless as the flowers he cares for.”

  With a shake of his head, Alric sighed. “Aelir is a righteous boy, seeking justice for all. If he learns all of this is a lie, that I have lied to him and that everything we own, the foundation of this Empire is corrupt, what will he do then? Will he listen to reason, or enact justice the way he sees it fit?

  Morael eyed him. “What are you saying? I believe in him. Besides those answers, I presume, lie in the Book of Areon, and are visible to you alone.”

  “I do not know. He possesses the light, it very well may shine on the secret ink and reveal secrets that even I was not deemed worthy to see.” He sighed. “There is no other way. He will not surrender the power, it shall not let him do so, and we cannot let him keep it.”

  “He can be reasoned with.”

  With a sigh and a roll of eyes, the Emperor shouted at him, “Are you stupid? He holds power beyond even your own. It’s dangerous.” His voice fell. “If he retains it and fathers children, they will possess also. Your claim to the throne will be in question.” The thunder returned to the Emperor’s voice. “He must die.”

  “I will not argue about this for a minute longer. Aelir will live, and I will not let you do him any harm. Do not dare to touch a hair on his head.” With those words, Morael stormed out of his father’s chamber, refusing to listen to a word more.

  Furious and filled with confusion and anger, he ran to Aelir, and together they went outside, to the imperial gardens. He knew just how Aelir values the place, he liked to take care of a few flowers he planted himself.

  Morael never understood his strange pastime, but when he looked upon the flowers, it was all different. With so many things he ha
s learned, the foundation of his world shaken from the very foundation, the flowers brought him a strange sense of comfort, he wondered if it was the same way Aelir felt.

  As they passed through the eastern side and arrive at the center, just beside the lake, Aelir finally asked. “What did he tell you?”

  “Aelir.” Morael stopped and grabbed his brother’s shoulders. “I need you to trust me now. For years I have not been the best brother, but at this moment, and this moment alone, I need your trust.”

  “I trust you,” Aelir said, unbothered by his words. “What is it?”

  “All I can say is that there’s danger coming. You are in grave danger.” He took a deep breath and looked at the shining sun. “I’m sorry Aelir, I know you want to know all, but if I told you it’d break our family apart.”

  Aelir shook his head. “Either tell me or do not. I am not interested in half-truths brother. Spare me them.”

  “I beg you, do not make me.”

  “I am not.” Aelir shrugged. “It is and always has been your choice.” He turned to a flower beside them. It was tall and bright yellow with pellets like wings. “It’s Prince’s Pride. A beautiful flower, but so very fragile.” He laughed and continue walking, leaving Morael alone.

  “You will die!” he shouted.

  “Then I will,” Aelir shouted back, not willing to listen. “Do not blame yourself, blame your pride.”

  With no choice and his brother’s life at stake, Morael did what he asked. He told Aelir enough for him to consider it the truth. He mentioned the reality of magic but obstructed much of reality. All he told Aelir was that there are things that Areon had done, before his ascension to become the first Emperor, that could bring the Empire to ruin. Instead of their own father, Morael told Aelir that it was the people of the court plotting his death, wishing to attain the power for themselves.

  Aelir accepted it and thanked him for being truthful, yet his voice had a slight note of doubt. It pained Morael to hear his brother’s gratitude, knowing he lied and lied once again, but it was for the greater good.

  They resumed their walk, and Aelir described just how he took care of some of the flowers. From watering them to magically infusing the soil. But their conversation soon returned to whence it came. “What are we going to do?” Aelir asked.

  Neither knew the answer.

  After their walk under the setting sun, the two princes returned to the palace. Aelir suggested a cup of warm tea in his private tea room, and Morael gladly accepted, as much as he did not understand the purpose of tea and much preferred coffee, the precious drink of the south.

  While enjoying their time together, the door of the chamber opened. “Your Imperial Majesties,” said the blindfolded crown guard. “There is dire news. Rebellion has risen in Beria. The city guard is not responding, and our scouts tell us the people have revolted.”

  It came as a surprise. It was not so long ago when he arrested almost all the rebels himself. “Thank you,” he said and gestured for the guard to leave.

  “This cannot be a coincidence,” Aelir said. “The rebellion should be dead.”

  “You are right. The city must be retaken.”

  “When do you depart?” Aelir asked with a smirk. “I know you very well intend to go.” Morael shrugged with a smile that said all he didn’t want to. “Go. Retake the city for us. I can take care of myself.”

  Morael was unsure. He wished to go, to take command, and retake the city, but he would be leaving Aelir in terrible danger. “I do not know if I should,” he admitted.

  “You want to Mori, I know you do. Who cares if should or shouldn’t?”

  The look that his brother gave him was so sincere, and yet all he could focus on were his glistening golden eyes, the power of the most powerful magic in the world.

  “The power you summoned Aelir, it’s great and terrible. Be careful with it, I beg you. Do not do something stupid.”

  Aelir shrugged. “Have no worry, I do not plan on shattering any continent. Besides, doing something stupid is very clearly your area of expertise.” He laughed, but Morael did not, for he knew that if Aelir wished, he could.

  With their decisions made, they began planning. Soon news came that the archons, lead by Nael, were returning from beyond the sea, arrived at Ardia. While Morael will translocate to Istra, gather a force, and then depart for Beria, Aelir will continue searching for answers about the Li’Ari and the other half of the continent.

  Once the archons return, Vikar will be sent to join Morael before they besiege the city. Once the city is retaken and order is established, Morael will return, and with Aelir, they will decide on what to do next.

  The matter of their father acting strange, which was of Aelir’s great concern, was left open as neither brother knew what to do. Morael mentioned his exhaustion of rule and how he was weighed down with secrets and recommended Aelir to allow him some peace and quiet.

  Natind

  They arrived at Natind’s northern gate come sundown. Traveling under clear skies, devoid of Morael’s storm, was much quicker. Often they wished to rest, even just for a minute or two, their legs hurt after their day-long journey, but Narra would not allow it and both Oren and Arick knew why - something, someone brought a prince of the Empire to death’s door not far from where they were.

  The wooden gate was closed shut. Oren’s never seen an imperial town. He was nervous seeing the tall palisade towering above them, but for Narra, it seemed par for the course.

  She came closer and bashed on the wood with her fist. “Who’s there?” a voice called out.

  “Refugees from Berian!” she shouted her answer. “The city’s rebelled.”

  No reply came from beyond the gate for a short while, but then it opened, and out came an old bearded man. “Beria’s rebelled? Morons.” He inspected them. “Where you all originally from?”

  “I’m from Istra,” said Narra. “My companions are both Beria.”

  The man growled and sighed. “Welcome to Natind,” he said and gestured for them to enter.

  The town was modern, with a brick road leading through the houses of chiseled rock and wood in a new style of architecture. It really was clearer than the sky above them, they were not in Beria anymore.

  Natind was a small town by imperial standards, at least that is what Narra told them, but it was larger than any town Oren’s ever seen on the peninsula other than Beria itself. His eyes ran from one building to the next. The size and scale of the city impressed him.

  “Apologies for the gate being closed. It’s not used often, and the people who tend to walk the road are, well, not the people one would allow entry without inspection.” He laughed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Narra. “Our journey was long and tiresome. Could you point us to an inn?”

  The man shrugged. “Over there,” he said and pointed east. “I’m sorry. It’s so rare we get visitors.” He sighed. “I must warn you, just recently there was an incident in our inn.” Slowly his voice fell and became a whisper. “The innkeeper and his wife lost their lives. It was tragic. Please, do not misinterpret any looks, people are still shaken.”

  They understood, and while they were intrigued and all wished to know they were so tired, thirsty, and hungry that they did not even bother asking.

  Across the main road, they got to the tavern. “Let me talk,” said Narra. “Don’t answer questions, and let’s just get a room as quickly as possible.” Without letting Oren and Arick respond, Narra opened the door and entered the tavern.

  Just as they were through the door, the eyes of people drinking in a surprising silence turned to them.

  “Good evening,” said Narra as loud as she could. Oren and Arick hastily repeated after her. Some replied, while most kept silent and then resumed drinking.

  They headed right to the bar, beside a wooden staircase. The smell hit Oren right away and made his stomach growl. How he wished for a juicy sausage and a loaf of bread.

  “I’ll be right there loves,” t
hey heard a high-pitched voice of the innkeeper.

  Soon a woman with clothing less than modest ran to the bar. “I’m sorry, this all is a bit much on me. You three looking for a room or just a drink?” She looked almost as exhausted as the three of them.

  “A room please,” said Narra quietly. “Are you really all alone?”

  The innkeeper shook her head. “Aye, just me, took it after the previous owners. Nobody wants to work here after what happened, but don’t worry about that.” She smiled and fixed her loosening shirt. “Each of you can have your own room for silver and a half or all three in one for just a silver.”

  Just as Arick reached for deep into his pocket to pay, a man came up behind them. He was tall and made of muscle. “You boy look, Berian, what is scum like you doin’ here?”

  Narra stumbled and quickly tried to come up with an excuse. “I am Berian,” Oren replied. “A citizen of the empire just as yourself. Is there a problem?”

  “Heard there’s a rebellion going on. Tell me, how do we know you ain’t Berian spies trying to take us?” The man laughed, playing with the hilt of his dagger.

  Oren laughed. “You heard that because we just told your friend over there,” he pointed at the bearded man who opened the gate for them. “Look, Narra here and I met a few years ago when she had some business in Beria. She moved in with me, the prices are cheaper than Istra, and we opened a little shop.” He reached for Narra’s hand and dragged her closer while wrapping his other arm around her.

  “We’ve had rough patches,” he continued, “but a rebellion broke out just as our good friend Arick here visited us for dinner. Thus we all escaped together. Besides,” he added to affirm his lie, “what kind of a rebellion takes over a city and then send three young people to take a small town?”