Everflame: The Complete Series

by Dylan Lee Peters

  After an hour of slow and arduous work, covered in sweat, moss and dirt, Tomas extended a straining hand and plucked one plump berry from its stem. Smiling and panting, he raised his trophy for Dendrata to see.

  “I can feed myself,” he said. “You can leave me and go to Ben.”

  Dendrata’s wings carried her, hovering a foot above the forest floor, over to the exhausted man and she frowned and wrinkled her freckled nose.

  “What about water?” she asked with her arms folded. “The closest brook is quite a distance north of us. You would lose all of your strength and die before you made it halfway.” Tomas crunched on his berry and frowned. “I suppose you’d drag your legs for miles, never caring if they became more damaged, never realizing that if you took the time to better them, they could help carry you the distance.”

  “Ben needs your help,” said Tomas for the hundredth time.

  “I don’t want to believe you are this much of a fool, Tomas. There is a fire in you, but I’m not sure you even realize it’s there.”

  With that last, frustrated statement, Dendrata fluttered away to leave Tomas with his thoughts.

  The next day, Dendrata returned to Tomas with an old bowl that was filled with water. As her bare, pink feet touched the ground below, she found Tomas working on some sort of covering around his legs.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, setting the bowl of water by his side.

  Tomas looked up and gave the spirit a maniacal, toothy smile that only a Floyd could give. The man had packed spongy, green moss all around his legs and was keeping it in place with straps he had made from a nearby sapling.

  “Now I can drag my legs around without hurting them as much. The moss will keep them padded while I move around.” Tomas was indeed proud of his idea.

  “What is wrong with you humans?” pondered Dendrata. “As soon as you figure out that you have the power to affect the world, you stumble around destroying everything you touch.”

  “Oh, now what’s wrong with this?” complained Tomas.

  “You didn’t think; that’s what is wrong. Firstly, you ignored what I said about dragging yourself, and you managed to destroy things in the process. Do you know there are insects and animals that eat that moss? They need it to survive. And the sapling you tore down to strap the moss to your legs. I hope the loss of that tree was worth your stupid idea.”

  “It’s not a stupid idea.”

  “It is; it gets you no further than you were before. When I said you had a fire in you, I didn’t expect you to use it to burn the world down. You have to be more patient. You have to repair yourself as much as you can. You need to grow.”

  “I need to get myself to a place where you’re willing to leave me,” said Tomas. “If I can get food and water, I’ll be fine.”

  “You can’t defend yourself.”

  “There’s nothing in this forest I need to defend myself from. There are no dangers here.”

  “That’s because I’m here to keep them away,” said Dendrata.

  Tomas huffed and shook his head in frustration. “What would you have me do?”

  “Think, Tomas. Use your fire for good, not evil. Have patience and be strong. You say you would forget yourself to save your brother, but has your brother not spent many of his years working to make sure you were well? Would he not be devastated by your demise? It is not a sacrifice you make, telling me to go to him. It is for your own guilt that you ask me to leave you. What if he is gone already and you die while I leave? What if he has been saved already and you die while I leave? You must be stronger. You must think and take the correct path, not the easy one.”

  “What if my legs cannot be fixed?” asked Tomas.

  “I believe they can be.”

  “I’m not as strong as you,” said Tomas, picking at the moss upon his legs. “How can I compete with an ancient spirit?”

  “No one asked you to compete, Tomas. Don’t find an enemy in me because my abilities are greater than yours. Be intelligent enough to realize that I care for you and you have much to gain from my friendship.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Tomas through the side of his mouth. “I thought I had done something good.”

  “That’s where patience comes in,” added Dendrata. “Your heart knows the right path. It just needs time to see it clearly.” The ancient woman bent down and removed the moss and strapping from Tomas’ legs. She then opened her palms and let her healing powers aid the mending of his legs. “You still have days before your legs will be able to bear your weight… and I do not know if they will ever be as they were.”

  Tomas looked with solace into the spirit woman’s emerald-green eyes and she smiled at him. He turned his gaze back to the forest floor for a moment and then looked back to Dendrata with his own smile.

  “So you care for me?” asked Tomas.

  Dendrata blinked her eyes slowly and turned her chin down slightly, as if to coyly dismiss Tomas’ question. But the slight grin and faint blush of her freckled cheeks betrayed more emotion than Tomas had anticipated.

  “Yes, Tomas,” she said.

  “Then would you maybe bring me that long stick, the one over by that tree?” Tomas picked a stone with a sharpened edge up off of the ground next to where he sat. “I think I have a much better plan.”

  As days passed, Tomas grew closer and closer to lifting himself up. With the help of the staff he had whittled from the long stick that had once been the branch of a tree, he was more easily able to support his weight. The wood had been dead, but it had proved it was strong. Dendrata had watched Tomas’ progress with pride, helping to mend his legs daily, but finding much more satisfaction in Tomas’ drive to support his weight with the staff. Tomas was determined, and when he finally took his first deliberate and purposeful step, his excitement couldn’t be hidden. He turned to Dendrata, who stood close in support, and kissed her lips as her eyes widened in surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tomas after remembering where he was and whom Dendrata was.

  The spirit smiled at him shyly and fluttered just a foot off of the ground. “You’ll soon be leaving me, Tomas Floyd. I shall miss you.”

  Chapter 3: A Place of Honor

  As the Holy Army of Chreos marched forward, away from the kingdom they called home, it was with little fanfare and littler spirit. Men and boys marched with spears held low and heads held lower, while women lay in beds at home, sick with grief and plagued by honor.

  Honor plagued all of the people of Chreos. For it was an honor to serve in the army of the Holy Kingdom of Chreos. It was an honor to sacrifice for the will of your god. It was an honor to miss your husband and son, wondering if they would ever return to you. It was an honor to throw away your life’s aspirations and enter into battle for reasons you did not understand. It was an honor to feed your children to the war machine and watch a world that you had no power over, come crumbling down around you. It was an honor to live another day, rather than to die for treason.

  Among equals, there is no such thing as treason. Treason only exists in the hands of those with power, and they may only use it against those who are without. It gives reason to punish disobedience when there is no crime other than disobedience. It is the exasperated parent telling their child, because I told you so, when the price of a true reason is far too much to pay to one so far beneath them. It is the utter laziness of the sword; killing the problems the voice has neither the wit nor the wisdom to mend.

  But what is the use of wisdom when one has a sword? What use is freedom when one fears treason? And what use is life when one has honor? The honor of the Holy Kingdom of Chreos, their new King Bishop had given it to them so graciously, so freely.

  “Don’t talk to me about honor,” droned Tom Smitty, one of the men at the front of the march. “Is that damned Bishop strolling all the way at the back of the march because he’s so filled with that honor?”

  Tom Smitty had spoken more loudly than he’d thought, and it wasn’t but a moment before a ro
yal guard rode up to him, upon his white stallion, and put a spear in Tom’s throat.

  “Throw him off to the side,” yelled the guard. “I don’t want King Bishop Craven riding over him when he comes by.”

  The soldiers of Chreos did as they were told, and the march continued.

  It was at the very back of the line that King Bishop Craven rode to war. Sitting high atop his white steed and flanked by ten of his best guards, Craven wore armor painted milk-white as homage to the purity of the Holy. He wore no helm, only a white crown to match his armor. All of the royal guards wore white armor now. With Chreos’ transformation to the Holy Empire of Chreos, it was decided that the gold armor that had been worn should be painted white, and made pure as the Holy. Changes had come quickly in Craven’s new Chreos. It was shortly after Craven’s coronation that he had announced the march on Nefas, and it was shortly after that when he had named Matthew Zehnder as the General of his army.

  Matthew was a strong and tall man with tightly cropped, blonde hair and a fat nose. The men joked that his nose had been broken more times than the man had seen birthdays. The joke never reached Matthew’s ears though, as men either respected him too much or feared him too much, and often it was both. Matthew Zehnder was known as a silent man when he was without his armor and a silencing man when he was wearing it. This was why he rode at King Bishop Craven’s side, for after all, it was a great honor to serve He who served the Holy.

  “General Zehnder,” called Craven. “Come, ride with me.”

  Matthew Zehnder had been traveling to the side of the King Bishop, but a half-horse back. It would be presumptuous to ride at the head; one must know their place. When the King Bishop called, General Zehnder looked to his peers with caution before proceeding.

  “Yes, my King.”

  “General, as you look out over this army, what do you see?”

  General Zehnder didn’t know how the King Bishop wanted his question answered, but the General was not a man who cared much for riddles, so he answered honestly and simply.

  “I see men and boys who are doing what they were told.”

  Craven looked straight ahead but cracked a crooked smile.

  “Do you know why I chose you for my General?”

  “Because I know how to tell men and boys what to do.”

  “Truly,” laughed Craven, unable to hide his amusement. “You understand your place, General Zehnder. There is great value in that. You see, we are all part of the Holy’s plan, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, my King.”

  “And logic can only follow that if the Holy has created us as a part of that plan, then we must have a proper place. Without that understanding, we cannot begin to serve him.” Now Craven turned and stared at Matthew Zehnder with an intensity that any man would find unsettling. “It is an unfortunate and vile thing that there are many people on earth who do not comprehend that they have a rightful place in things. It is a burden that we must suffer and I have always thought how a man deals with that burden is a true indication of who he is. Tell me, General, how do you feel about those who do not understand that they have a rightful place in things?”

  “I’m not sure I follow, my King.”

  “Let me ask the question another way. If a man disagrees with his station in life, is he not in disagreement with the Holy and the Holy’s plan?”

  “I suppose he is, my King.”

  “Now how do you feel that should be dealt with, General?”

  “It cannot be tolerated,” stated General Zehnder, fully understanding what his King wanted to hear.

  “A man after my own heart,” said Craven with tight, thin lips. “Agnew! Come forward!”

  Four horses to the left, a thin man with bulging eyes pulled his horse forward to ride with King Bishop Craven and General Zehnder.

  “Yes, my King.”

  “Mr. Agnew, was it not just yesterday that you had come to my chambers to tell me you thought I had made an error in naming my General, and that you, in fact, would make a much better choice?”

  Agnew’s bulging eyes darted from the King to Matthew Zehnder, back to the King again. The man seemed panicked and unsure of what to say. “I– well– I–”

  “General Zehnder,” began Craven, “I believe your words were, it can’t be tolerated.”

  “Yes, my King.” General Zehnder immediately rode up ahead of Craven and Agnew, and drew an arrow from his quiver. With speed unparalleled, the arrow found its way into Agnew’s eye and dropped him from his horse before he could blink.

  King Bishop Craven remained unfazed and the rest of guard followed suit. It did not take General Zehnder long to regain his position at his King’s side.

  “We all have our place in this world,” affirmed Craven. “The Holy has chosen me to give his word and he has chosen you to give his justice. These men who march before us are here to spread that word and levy that justice, no matter the cost. What are the wants and needs of men, in opposition to the wants and needs of the Holy?”

  “Evil, my King. They are evil.”

  “Exactly,” said Craven as plain as plain could be.

  Chapter 4: Reconcile

  Just to the south of the Port of Sanctum, ranged the Gen-D’hisi Mountains. The Gen-D’hisi were not known for their size, but mostly for their lush green appearance and the beautiful waterfalls that fell from their heights. The mountains were choked with vegetation to the point where they were almost impossible to climb, and those who tried, often found themselves hindered by the rains that assaulted each precipice almost daily. The vast majority of Felaquans enjoyed the Gen-D’hisi from the lowlands or from the crystal pools and rivers that formed at the bottom of the mountains’ falls. There were so many waterfalls, that the mists from their spray had garnered the Gen-D’hisi with a most revered moniker, the Rainbow Range. Many rainbows could be seen daily in the mountains, and even from the streets of Sanctum. The rainbows were what inspired the colorful culture of Sanctum and brought so many travelers to Sanctum’s markets. Everyone wanted to see the rainbows of the Gen-D’hisi and some travelers even walked the Running Steps to pay their respects at the Palace of Gen-D’hisi. The Palace of Gen-D’hisi was the only known structure located in the mountains and was named, as the mountains were, for the great warrior, Gen-D’hisi.

  The story of Gen-D’hisi was an ancient and sad one. It was told that the warrior had returned from war to find his wife missing from their village. When he questioned the other women of the village, they told him that she had followed a rainbow so that she might find its end. They said that it had been many days since she had left, so Gen-D’hisi waited for the very next rainbow, and when it appeared, he followed its path into the mountains. It was told that Gen-D’hisi’s rainbow led him to one of the waterfalls, and because he was so strong and fast, he was able to swim up the waterfall as it rushed downward. When the warrior reached the top of the falls, he looked down into the valley on the other side and beheld the most beautiful palace in the entire world. The man then descended into the valley and entered the great palace.

  Standing atop a great dais was the wife of Gen-D’hisi. She called to him and he rushed to her, but as he approached, he realized she was only an apparition.

  “What has happened to you?” Gen-D’hisi asked his wife.

  “I have found what I was looking for at the end of the rainbow, and it is all I ever wanted,” replied his wife. “If you can tell me what I found here, at the end of the rainbow, and what you have found here, at the end of the rainbow, then I will no longer be just an apparition and we will live in this palace together forever.”

  Gen-D’hisi smiled. “We found this palace. It is my reward for victory in war.”

  A single tear fell from the woman’s face and slowly she and the great palace, disappeared from the world, leaving Gen-D’hisi alone at the bottom of the valley. The warrior cursed and roared as panic and heartbreak racked his body, and it was only after he had cried for hours upon the valley floor that he realized h
is folly.

  “Love!” he cried out to the mountains. “I found my love!” he screamed into the empty air.

  But the palace never returned and neither did Gen-D’hisi’s wife. Refusing to give up, Gen-D’hisi spent the rest of his life rebuilding the beautiful palace, exactly as he had remembered it. When he was finished, he waited upon the dais both night and day, calling for his lost love. Gen-D’hisi’s wife never returned and the man withered and eventually died, waiting upon the dais.

  Since that time, the Palace of Gen-D’hisi remained the home of Felaqua’s rulers. The Running Steps were chiseled into the mountains so that people might come to the palace, though they were often flooded with water and could be treacherous to traverse.

  As Riverpaw and Ben Floyd flew through the clouds above the Gen-D’hisi Mountains, never needing to walk the Running Steps, they were awed by the beauty of the palace that stood almost as tall as one of the mountains. A gigantic, pointed dome of white rock accented the roof of the palace, and the remainder of the palace was constructed in the same material. Recessed portals lined the outside of the palace, making the structure seem light and airy even though it was immense. But the true beauty was the pink vestibule at the front of the palace. It was long and thin, lined with crystal pools that formed from the mists of the mountains’ falls. Minarets of white rose above the pools and lined the antechamber’s sides at even intervals.

  Riverpaw looked down and noted the dais at the far end of the vestibule where Felaqua’s leader sat upon his throne, giving audience to those who had come to the palace.

  “They won’t be happy to see us,” noted Ben.

  “They won’t have a choice,” said Riverpaw.

  As Riverpaw descended from the air, screams came from below and the people scattered like insects trying to find safety from the rain. Riverpaw and Ben landed upon the pink stone with a monstrous rumble and a shout for guards came from somewhere close. At least one hundred men came pouring forth from the palace like the falls of the mountains, and it was not long before Ben and Riverpaw found themselves at spearpoint.