Everflame: The Complete Series

by Dylan Lee Peters

  A moment often comes to pass that defines the nature of an individual. It is a moment where the world forces you to bend to its will or suffer the consequences, a moment where it becomes painful and clear that there is no victory to be had over the will of the world, but to continue the fight, undaunted, is within itself a prize. To fight for one more minute of life; to fight for one more perfect moment in a world that does not easily afford such things; to fight for those who have given to you their all.

  Densa stood at the edge of the crater with his muscles tensed and his eyes afire. He knew exactly how to answer this moment, with the face of his love, etched in his memory forever. He looked to the sky and unleashed a cry that threatened to bring the heavens crashing down to the earth.

  It does not matter if nightmares torture my mind forever, and it does not matter if suffering always plagues my body, because deep within me there is a fire that burns so hot that no darkness can ever touch it, and you are the source of that fire. My Iolana, I will give you my all for as long as I am.

  This is my promise.

  This is my faith.

  This is my war cry.

  BOOK FOUR

  AS THE DARKNESS WAITS

  Chapter 1: One Hundred and Fifty Years After

  “You won’t do it.”

  “I will too.”

  “Liar.”

  “Watch me.”

  Benjamin Jameson turned from the group of young boys standing just outside of New Elderton, and looked across the field to the forest on the other side. The tall, unmoving trees, with their dim shadows seemed as if they were beckoning him. Their call was not like the warm and safe address a mother issues to herd her children home for supper. Elderton Forest called in a tone ominous and foreboding. The forest was daring Benjamin, as much as the cynical boys at his back. The wind blew the boy’s short, blond hair across his eyes and without as much as a blink, he swept his hand up to clear his sight. Fall was soon coming to remove the warmth of summer, and this day seemed to be carrying the warning of the cooler days ahead. A chill ran the length of young Benjamin’s spine and caused him to shudder.

  “See, he’s scared,” said one boy to the others as they stood like a pack of wolves behind Benjamin, ready to pounce with derisive words at the slightest sign of weakness.

  Benjamin Jameson narrowed his eyes, unwilling to give his detractors what they wanted, and with one deliberate and purposeful step, began his walk toward Elderton Forest.

  The field was not large, and Benjamin moved briskly through the calf-high, green grass. He knew he couldn’t turn back, and though he wanted badly to slow his entrance into the woods, he wouldn’t give the other boys the satisfaction of seeing his doubt. So he never allowed his boots to stop pounding the soft earth underfoot, and as he came to the trees of Elderton Forest, he didn’t allow himself to break stride once. The gang of boys across the short patch of tall and waving grass turned a slight shade paler as Benjamin Jameson disappeared into the shadows. It was well and good to speak of adventure and danger, and it was the nature of a young boy to goad another into feeling he had to prove himself, but when a boy took the bait, it was always followed with fear. It was fun to toe the line, but it was still a line just the same.

  “Should we go and tell his mum?” asked one of the boys. The others turned in disgust toward the question, giving all the answer that was needed. “Didn’t say I was going to.”

  In truth, none of the boys wanted to believe the stories that were told about Elderton Forest, stories that involved ogres, witches and ghosts, supernatural stories that a group of adolescent boys had gotten far too old to believe, but they did. Every one of the boys did believe in the strange dangers of Old Elderton. That’s what they called it, Old Elderton. The forest was where the spirits of the old, burned city had fled and then had grown into monsters. The children didn’t play among its trees, the women didn’t take walks under its canopy and the men didn’t hunt its game. The people of New Elderton left the forest alone, or suffered.

  Men had died in the forest, and those stories were true. Those who had been brazen enough to hunt within the forest’s borders found themselves amid dark adventure and true danger. The ones who had survived, returned with stories that couldn’t be believed, but the stories had to be heard. The citizens of New Elderton were caught in an impossible situation, believe in the unbelievable, or put the blame on the ones who had survived. Neither option was ever palatable to the people, so over time, the people stopped going into the forest. They wouldn’t admit why, they would never admit why, but sometimes silence can be, in itself, an answer.

  The boys who watched Benjamin Jameson disappear into the forest knew this all too well, and so did Benjamin Jameson. So once Benjamin knew he was beyond the sight of his peers, he clung to the side of the nearest tree like a frightened squirrel. He hadn’t realized it, but he had held his breath for the duration of his trek across the field and into the forest. Now he drew a sharp breath to relieve his lungs. His head was spinning and he had to fight himself from turning and running back out of the forest.

  They’re just stories, he told himself. Twenty minutes and I’ll walk right back out again. Twenty minutes will be enough to shut them up.

  Benjamin’s eyes darted from left to right. He heard wood snap and his vision darted back to the left. His eyes searched and strained with frantic urgency, but nothing was there. The boy tried to slow his heart rate and carefully pushed himself off of the tree. The forest had seemed so dark from the outside, with the full brightness of the sun washing down from above. But now that he was among the trees and under the leaves and branches, it seemed as though the forest was not so dark after all. The canopy was thick above, but it filtered the sunlight in a way that seemed to make the forest glow. This is not so bad, he tried to convince himself. You’ve made up fear in your head. He allowed himself to take two steps forward, but immediately stopped when another snapping sound reached his ears. He thought the sound had come straight ahead of where he stood. Trying to sharpen his vision, he looked further into the forest, hopeful of seeing that the noise had only been something like a bird or small animal. He squinted and stared deep into the wood, but saw nothing.

  I’m being foolish, Benjamin chided himself. I should just stay here a while, and before I know it, I’ll be walking back out of the forest with absolutely no story to tell other than what I can make up to frighten the others. There’s no danger here, so close to the forest’s edge.

  Benjamin reached his hand back to find the tree he had been leaning against, fully intent on propping himself against it while his imagination created a good story to sell to the other boys as truth, when his hand grasped something thick and slick. The boy’s head snapped around to find a bright-green viper wrapped around the tree. The snake’s yellow eyes were locked upon him and it opened its jaw to release a hiss. A quick shout of alarm escaped Benjamin’s lungs and he turned and bolted, never noticing that he was running further into the forest. All the tales of dangerous monsters flooded his mind, threatening to turn a common snake into the most terrifying basilisk that had ever been seen. When Benjamin Jameson finally got his wits about him and stopped running, placing his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath, he noticed that he had run himself into a small clearing amid the forest.

  Sunlight washed down from the blue sky and Benjamin found he had to shade his eyes to look upward. A crisp breeze rustled the leaves in the trees and the sound seemed almost musical. The boy brought his gaze back down from the sky and stared across the clearing to see a man sitting cross-legged upon a mossy slab of stone. Beside the man, sat a gnarled, wooden staff that looked older than time. The man opened his eyes slowly and looked back at Benjamin Jameson, whose eyes had grown wide with fear.

  “I’ll bet you think I’m some evil warlock,” uttered the man with an old, gravely voice. “I’ll bet you’re wishing you could run away right now, aren’t you?” The old man chuckled. “I know they tell stories in New Elderton th
at fill your heads with nonsense.”

  Benjamin swallowed hard and let his tongue jut briefly between his lips to wet them.

  “Are–Are you a warlock?”

  The old man turned his head sideways and furrowed his brow. “Yes,” he said sarcastically. “I’m preparing to magic you into a toad and then squash you.” Benjamin Jameson let out an involuntary whimper and the old man shook his head. “Oh, you’re being ridiculous,” sniped the old man, quickly tired of his game. “I’m just a man. You’ve stumbled upon me in the middle of my meditation. That’s all.”

  “You live in New Elderton?” asked the boy.

  “No. I live here. In the forest.”

  “Where’s your home?”

  “This is my home. The forest has everything I need.”

  “But–but how do you live here? The men from the town are terrified of the forest. Those who have come here to hunt, sometimes die or return with horrible stories.”

  “Well, Dendrata doesn’t permit hunting in her forest any longer. She soured on that quite some time ago.”

  “Who is Dendrata?”

  “How quickly the world forgets,” mumbled the old man, almost inaudibly. “Or maybe I’ve just lived too long.”

  “Is Dendrata the witch who rules this forest?” asked Benjamin after his first question went unanswered.

  “Witch?” The old man looked at the boy with confusion etched across his wrinkled brow. It was as if the man were trying to solve a difficult riddle that had been presented to him. Benjamin could see the old man’s cheek bulge as his tongue poked the inside of it, and then the man reached up to scratch his fading patch of white hair. “Boy, what do you know of the history of this world? Other than the bit about witches, warlocks and whatsits.”

  “Well,” began Benjamin. “I can name the first five builders of New Elderton–”

  “No, no, no,” interrupted the old man. “Further back than that. Do you even know about the death of Densa?”

  “The death of Densa? Densa isn’t real. Mother always says, if we don’t behave, she’ll call Densa’s shadow out, but it’s make-believe; it’s what you tell children to make them listen. I’m old enough to know that much.”

  “Well, you might be old enough to know that much, but I’m old enough to know the truth of what your mother says, whether she knows it or not. Densa was very real. His death is probably the most important day in the history of our world. I suppose they don’t teach you important things like that?”

  “Umm… no.”

  “Come over here, boy. Sit with me upon this rock. What’s your name anyway?”

  “Benjamin Jameson,” said the boy, walking over and hopping up onto the mossy, stone slab before sitting cross-legged and facing the old man.

  The old man’s eyes alit. “Ben, eh. That’s a good name. That’s a strong name. Well, Ben, I haven’t the time to tell you everything, but I can tell you some of the story. You should at least know something worth knowing.”

  “Well, everyone knows how Densa died,” said the boy. “The Great Mystery vanquished him, before his shadow could consume the world. They teach every child older than four-years that story. I just thought it was all… well… a story.”

  “It’s all very real, my boy. But I’d wager my life that you haven’t been told the truth. I’d wager my life there isn’t a person in New Elderton that knows the truth.”

  “I’d like to know the truth,” said Benjamin Jameson. “Where does the story begin?”

  “Hmmm,” said the man as he scratched his chin. “As I said before, we don’t have time to go over the whole thing. But I suppose for our purposes, the story should begin with a man, a man much younger than myself. And I think I’ll start the story from the very same stone slab we sit upon now.”

  “Well, now I know you’re playing with me,” said Benjamin. “I suppose the story begins ‘once upon a time’ as well.”

  “No,” said the old man. “Our story begins as any true story does, with one deliberate and purposeful step.”

  TOMAS THE EAGLE

  Chapter 2: One Deliberate and Purposeful Step

  Tomas Floyd was curled upon a flat, mossy rock, his body cold and aching. He could not open his eyes, but he knew that he was shrouded in darkness. A cool wind traced its fingers along his bare back and he shivered. It was a small convulsion, but the harsh and sudden movement was enough to send his body further into the throes of pain. His legs kicked without strength as he drew in a sharp breath. It felt as if knives pierced his sides. An involuntary whimper escaped his lips and the cracks around his mouth throbbed in sympathy.

  Dendrata, Tomas pleaded within his mind. Please… Please.

  He felt a hand, slow and gentle, upon his shoulder. It was warm like the rays of the sun, soft like a silken sheet. Through the lids of his swollen eyes he could see the darkness begin to glow with light and his bloodied lips parted in a meager smile. However little his body could respond to the change, his heart and spirit boomed like the sound of thunder.

  “Thank you, Dendrata,” Tomas uttered almost inaudibly.

  “Sleep now, without pain,” said the spirit. “No harm can come to you here.”

  She covered his body like a warm blanket and the aching pain ebbed away from him like the tides. The eagle feather had done just what Tomas had hoped it would. It had transported him away from the prison in Felaqua and delivered him into the arms of Dendrata, into the arms of his salvation. Tomas Floyd fell quickly into a deep sleep upon the mossy rock. His world was darkness; the spirit of the forest was the light in his heart.

  •••

  When Tomas reentered the conscious world, his hands moved instinctively up to his eyes. As his fingers grazed his eyelids, he felt the rough scabs that his torture had left behind. Tomas pulled his hands back and gave himself a moment to remember where he was. He reached for his eyes again, more gingerly than before, brushed away a couple loosened scabs and slowly opened his eyes. Sunlight drowned his vision and he brought his hands up for protection. It took a full minute for his sight to adjust and once it did, Tomas Floyd attempted to sit up. Pain immediately flushed his body and he gave up his efforts, sprawling across the forest floor and hoping desperately for relief.

  “Dendrata?” he uttered weakly after the pain had receded.

  The spirit fluttered down from the sky, seemingly from the very rays of the sun. Her skin radiated with light and her eyes washed over Tomas with true sympathy. She came to rest gently beside the man as he struggled with his condition.

  “Be careful with yourself,” Dendrata counseled. She lightly touched his face with a dainty hand that held no more weight than that of a butterfly. “Your body has not repaired itself.”

  “I can’t sit up,” said Tomas. “I think it’s my ribs, maybe my legs. I can’t move, Dendrata. I need your help.”

  “You have it,” said the spirit with a sullen smile, “but I cannot heal your body so quickly. I need your patience.”

  “It’s not for me that I want your help,” said Tomas. “You have to help Ben. He’s in Felaqua. They told me they killed him, but I don’t believe them. He’s alive, I know it, but he needs your help. You have to go to him. You have to save him.”

  “No, Tomas. I can’t.”

  “Please,” begged Tomas, his useless body heaped below Dendrata’s gaze. “He will die.”

  “You will die,” said Dendrata with a note of sadness in her words. “If I leave you, you will die, Tomas. Your wounds are profound. I must watch over you.”

  “No,” said Tomas, his response choked with emotion. “I don’t matter. Ben matters. Ben would die for me, I know he would, and I wouldn’t be here without him. Go to him.”

  “I can’t do that Tomas. I’m here for you. You are important.” Dendrata bent low over Tomas’ body and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I will bring you water, and then you must rest again. I must fix you, Tomas.”

  A tear streaked down Tomas’ face from the side of his eye to his ear. He sta
red up into the forest canopy with pain in his heart, more stinging than that of his wounds.

  “I’m not important,” he said absently.

  “You are,” said the woman. “As important as any.”

  So Tomas Floyd, with the help of Dendrata, set to the task of repairing his body. The days were long and tedious and every day Tomas pleaded with Dendrata to leave him and help his brother instead. Dendrata responded to Tomas with the same answer every time. She refused to leave Tomas until he was able to take care of himself. The answer was a daily frustration, but Tomas never stopped asking the question and never gave up trying to prove he was healing quickly.

  Days continued to drift by, and over time, Tomas’ body did begin to heal. Dendrata was strong and her care proved to be miraculous. Tomas was soon relieved of the pain in his ribs and was able to lift himself to a sitting position, though his legs were still badly hurt and could support none of his weight. Two weeks had passed since Tomas had arrived in Elderton Forest and things were improving, but he still would not allow himself to forget about his brother.

  “I’m getting better,” Tomas argued with Dendrata. “I will not die. It’s safe for you to leave me now.”

  “You can’t even get your own food and water, Tomas. I couldn’t possibly leave you.”

  Tomas grumbled, but knew Dendrata was right. He looked around and found a bush, ripe with berries, only a few meters away. He furrowed his brow and began to use his arms to slowly drag his body toward the fruit. Sweat beaded upon his brow, and more than a couple times, pain shot through his legs as he dragged them across a rock or small branch. Tomas grunted and fell, but undeterred, hoisted his torso back up and again crawled slowly toward the bush.