Everflame: The Complete Series

by Dylan Lee Peters

  “Well it’s happening,” said Evercloud, getting up from the sand and brushing himself off. “We may not be able to destroy the Tyrant just yet, but we can certainly prevent him from causing any further damage. There’s no use in delaying any longer.”

  “Fine,” said Densa curtly.

  “Do not come looking for us,” said Evercloud. Densa didn’t speak. “Densa, your life, my life, depends on this.”

  “I will do what needs to be done,” said Densa.

  Evercloud shook his head in frustration but didn’t say another word. He understood that Densa would obey no one. He only hoped that he would stick to the plan. Densa stared off into the sea, ignoring the departure of Evercloud and Riverpaw. The storm over the sea had grown and the ocean was roiling. The hard wind blew and stung Densa’s eyes. When he turned back around to face the land, Evercloud and Riverpaw were gone.

  So this is how it begins, thought Densa, without me.

  Densa began to walk west, along the shoreline, watching the waves crash into the rocks and sand. The storm continued but never came to the shore, and after time, he had walked far from the lightning strikes. More time passed and the wind died, and even more time passed and the storm had disappeared altogether. Only the sounds of gulls, the tide, and the sight of a peaceful sea remained.

  Why did she leave me? Densa found himself thinking. What am I supposed to do now? All I want is to avenge her death and I can’t.

  Densa looked down the long stretch of shoreline and saw a woman walking toward him. He thought little of it and continued on his way, expecting the woman would continue to walk past and leave him alone. However, as the woman got closer, Densa realized that his mind was playing games with him. The woman moving toward him looked exactly like his lost love, Iolana.

  Why must my mind torment me? he wondered. Densa closed his eyes and shook his head violently, as if forcing the illusions from his mind. The woman was much closer to him now, close enough to speak.

  “What pains you, my love?”

  “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of my mind and these games. I’m tired of my hatred and my sadness. I am tired of frustration.” A hand touched Densa’s face and he opened his eyes. He was too tired and too alone to have the strength to ignore this vision. He looked deep into Iolana’s eyes and allowed himself reprieve. “I just want to be with you. I don’t need this world anymore. I don’t want its troubles. There is nothing left for me here. I wish to be with you.”

  “You will be, my love, you will be. But you are not finished here. There are still things you must do.”

  “I can’t,” blurted Densa as seawater splashed against his ankles. “All will be lost if I fight. My role is to be a different one. I do not even understand what my role is to be. I am powerless.”

  “No, Densa. Do not speak that way. That is not the one I love who says such things.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “There are things I learned from you, Densa. Lessons I hold dear; truths of being that came to me through you. Have you forgotten these inspirations you gave to me?”

  “Did I ever know they existed?”

  “Perhaps not so consciously, but they are you. You know them.”

  “Remind me then, Iolana. Tell me what I am that is so good. Help me find this light so that I can make good with this world and be done with it, once and for all. Help me find my way to you, forever.”

  “Forget the light, Densa. It is not you. It is not your love.”

  “What? What do you mean? You can’t be suggesting what I think you are. I’m past that point, Iolana. I have created too much darkness in this world. I’m trying to atone for that.”

  “You misunderstand me, Densa. Look deep within yourself. Look at the passion that burns deep within. Find that fire within you, that drives you forward, that energy that gives you power. What do you see? Do you see light, Densa? Or do you see something else?”

  Densa’s eyes went cold and his jaw clenched tight. “You know what I see, Iolana. You know what I am made of.”

  “That is the one that I love,” said the woman.

  “How is that so?”

  “It is,” she repeated. “We are all made of light and darkness, Densa. You know this and I shouldn’t have to remind you of it. We are not good or evil, we just are and it is only our actions that can be defined. Different things drive us all. We all have different powers and these powers come from different places. You must be true to what you are, Densa. Do not try to change what you are. I love what you are. Use what you are to do what is right. Use your love.”

  “My love is darkness.”

  “Use it, Densa.” Iolana kissed Densa upon his lips.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

  “Never for long, my love. Use your darkness. Destroy your fear. You know what to do.”

  Iolana disappeared as Densa’s feet sunk in the tide-swept sands. He clenched his fists and stared at the ocean as it crashed against a distant rock wall. Iolana was right. Densa knew what he had to do and the passion for that task burned inside of him like fire. He took the eagle feather out of his pocket, gripped it in his hands, looked back toward the land, and then his eyes went red.

  Chapter 19: Demons of War

  In a line that might have stretched a mile, stood the Holy Army of Chreos. Parallel to the gates of Nefas, and beyond, the very shores of Ephanlarea, the army stood at the ready, flags waving in the wind. Black hands had been crudely painted upon every white flag. King Bishop Craven had told his army to keep the hands held high, for they were the hands of the Holy and they would give them strength in battle. King Bishop Craven rode his white horse, fit in his white armor, bearing his white crown, and gazed at the gates of Nefas as one gazes at a wretch in the gutter. There was no empathy in his eyes, as he stared, there was no feeling inside of him at all.

  The walls of Nefas were tall, taller than the walls of other kingdoms. They had been built to prevent invaders and attackers of all kinds. Most catapults, ladders and battering rams were useless against the walls. Nefas was a haven of security and its citizens rarely felt worried about the possibility of attack. No one had threatened to attack Nefas in generations, it was largely seen as a fool’s mission. Giant boulder upon giant boulder had been dragged from the depths of the sea, stacked and mortared upon one another, around the entire kingdom. The walls were fifty feet thick all the way around; Nefas was a fortress.

  The North Gate, where the Holy Army of Chreos stood in wait, was just as tall and almost as thick as the wall. Manned by fifty men, it took twenty just to swing the wooden doors wide; it took thirty to open the iron portcullis. But swing the doors wide and open the portcullis those men did, for no other reason than to allow the passage of a single man upon a horse. He rode forward, away from the wall and toward King Bishop Craven, carrying the blue flag of peace. King Bishop Craven and General Zehnder recognized it as such and held the Holy Army still as the rider approached. The rider wore full armor and a polished, copper helm sat upon his head. He slowed his horse twenty yards from the army’s front line and led the horse slowly up to Craven. The rider removed his helm and addressed the King of Chreos.

  “Ho,” called the rider. “To whom do I speak?”

  “I am King Bishop Craven, servant to the Holy, leader of his army.”

  “I am called Brodus, and I come and go peacefully. I am here to ascertain your purpose and relay the message to my own leaders.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Brodus,” began Craven. “Who exactly is the leader to whom you relay messages to?”

  “Most directly, the Army General of Nefas.”

  “You should aim to be led by higher powers, Brodus. This entire army that stands before you is led only by the will of the Holy, no others direct their purpose. Each man sees himself as fortunate to be given a place by the Holy, for there is no greater service a man can give. Lay down your flag, Brodus, exchange your copper armor for white. Fight with the Holy and gain the strength of his great hand.
”

  “You would ask me to turn my cloak and fight against my own kingdom?” asked Brodus and laughed heartily. “What is you army’s purpose here? Tell me now and be done with these jests.”

  “We are here to destroy those who oppose the Holy.”

  “None here oppose the Holy, Craven. Take your army and be on your way. We are peaceful people here in Nefas, but we are also strong.”

  “One can only claim strength if they are with the Holy.”

  “Are you mad, man? Our churches praise the Holy each and every day. Our children’s lips give his name each night before they sleep. What are you after here?”

  Brodus looked between Craven and Zehnder, and General Zehnder felt shamed by the man’s gaze. Why are we here? he wondered.

  “Mr. Brodus, is it not true that Nefas has bared grievances with Chreos for some time, and is it not true that Nefas sent an assassin to kill Old King Aplistia?”

  “Your accusations are ridiculous, old man. Nefas is responsible for no such thing. Now remove this army from our gates or I will have no choice but to counsel my General toward war.”

  “There is only one authority that shall command this army away, and as of yet, he has not done so. Nefas has been judged, Mr. Brodus, and your kingdom has been sentenced to retribution served by this army.”

  “Then I shall inform my General that it is war you must have, Craven.”

  “You will do no such thing,” uttered the King Bishop. He turned to General Zehnder and motioned to the man’s quiver. “General Zehnder, an arrow for Mr. Brodus.”

  Zehnder was shocked and so was Brodus.

  “You would have me killed while I am sent under the flag of peace?” asked Brodus with terror in his voice.

  “I would have nothing, Mr. Brodus. However, the Holy would have that very thing. General, if you would.”

  Zehnder was still shocked but he realized that he had no choice. He wouldn’t live through the hour if he disobeyed Craven. Mr. Brodus had dropped the flag and was turning his horse around, just as Zehnder drew an arrow from his quiver. Brodus spurred his horse onward and slapped the reigns hard as the General knocked the arrow and found his sight. The horse was kicking up dust and beginning to run for the gate as Matthew pulled the string back, and Brodus had bolted thirty yards when the feathered end of the arrow passed through his throat, knocking him from his horse and ending his life. The horse never stopped running and as it passed though the gates of Nefas, the doors closed and the horns of war blared into the cold air.

  “Thank you, General,” said Craven.

  Matthew Zehnder turned to his King, sweating and guilty. His eyes were wide and his breathing came quick. He had no answer for his King, he had just killed a man under the flag of peace. He had broken a sacred law of battle; a law punishable by death in every other army Zehnder had ever known throughout the course of history. However, this was not every other army throughout the course of history, this was the Holy’s army, the Holy Army of Chreos, and it was commanded by a sadistic madman. He lowered his bow, and still could not find words. Fortunately, the King Bishop required none.

  “Prepare the army for battle, General,” commanded Craven. “We will show Nefas what true power looks like.”

  • • •

  The fires of war burned in the black night as the gates of Nefas once again opened. Killing Brodus had done exactly what King Bishop Craven had hoped it would. Instead of staying safe behind their impenetrable wall, the army of Nefas had been insulted in a way that was shocking and vile. Defense was not on the minds of the southern kingdom, only vengeance, they needed no other provocation to attack.

  Thousands of men spilled forth from the gate, draped in the light-blue that was the color of Nefas. They screamed for their kingdom by name as they rushed the field with swords and spears and maces. They cried Brodus into the dark night, using their fallen brother as a war cry. Rage had consumed Nefas as word spread of Chreos’ evil. The attack upon Brodus had been seen by the sentries on the wall and they had all fled to find their commanders, every last one of them red-faced and angry.

  “We will bleed every one of those worms back into the depths they came from,” the Army General of Nefas had yelled as he pounded his fist upon the wooden table he sat behind. “How dare they sully the code of war? They had better prepare themselves for the fight of their lives. They had better be ready. We will smash them!”

  But the Holy Army of Chreos only stood and watched as thousands of men rushed toward them, coming closer with every passing second. They stood and trembled, for fear had taken them, it had paralyzed them, and they winced in the darkness, afraid of the impending nightmare that was about to unfold. They could hear the thrum of black wings above the din of shouting soldiers. They could hear the snorts, growls, and squeals of the fell creatures hid behind their lines. When King Bishop Craven gave his signal, every soldier, man and boy who had marched from Chreos fell to the ground, covered themselves with their arms, and prayed hard for salvation. However, salvation never came in the dark and smoky night.

  The beasts were indiscriminant in their savagery. White armor or blue, it made no difference. Man, boy, soldier, brave, cowardly, fighting, or fleeing, they all fell before the Farsiders. Red eyes and fire danced through the battlefield, destroying everything in its path. If the sun had shone its light, the field would have seemed painted red, but in the dark of the night it looked wet and black.

  The archers upon the wall watched on in terror, unable to believe the unspeakable evil that they witnessed. There must have been a hundred of them, but how could one tell when it seemed as if the very shadows of the earth had come alive to devour every man they could find.

  Finally, a yell rent the night. “Close the gate!! Close the gate!!”

  The giant wooden doors fell closed and the portcullis dropped shut with a boom. There would be no victory for Nefas on this night. There would be no victory for Chreos. All that existed was massacre.

  “Stop them,” shouted Matthew Zehnder as he stood far away from the black field. “Stop them,” he begged Craven.

  “I will stop them when they are through,” growled Craven. “Do not tell me what to do.”

  “They are killing our men. Those things are killing our men.”

  “You listen to me,” snarled King Bishop Craven as he grabbed Matthew Zehnder by his collar. “When he came to me, do you think that I had a choice, one way or another? Do you think that I stood in his presence and wondered whether his will was right or wrong? Are you mad, man?”

  “These things can’t be from the Holy, Bishop. They can’t,” pleaded General Zehnder.

  Craven pushed Zehnder to the ground and kicked dirt upon him. “Do you know what you are in the eyes of a god, General? You are nothing. But I, I am something. I was chosen! When you look at that field, you see fear because you are weak.”

  “Tell me, oh King, what do you see?” asked Matthew Zehnder with hatred in his voice.

  King Bishop Craven turned and mounted his white steed. “I see power,” he said staring down at the General. Craven spurred his horse and galloped away toward the battlefield.

  • • •

  “Royal Speaker!” called the guard as he ran through the palace halls. “Royal Speaker!”

  Callderwallder was seated at a polished, marble table, surrounded by the recently elected representatives, when the guard ran into the chamber, sweating and out of breath. The man braced himself against the wall as the officials stared at him in shock. The man caught his breath for a moment, before regaining his composure and straightening himself.

  “What is going on here?” asked Callderwallder, genuinely surprised by the interruption.

  “It’s the battle, Mr. Speaker. Chreos has brought demons. Dark beasts of evil.”

  Callderwallder and the others were well aware that there was a battle going on. It was, in fact, exactly what they were discussing presently. However, the inclusion of demons came as a jolt, and the group found the possibilit
y quite preposterous.

  “It couldn’t possibly be demons,” quipped Robbin Florence. “I have participated in fiction quite frequently. I’ve learned how to recognize it.”

  The other representatives at the table laughed at her joke heartily, but Callderwallder narrowed his eyes and thought deeply. He had seen things that were quite unbelievable and found it harder to dismiss the idea of demons so quickly. He clapped his hands and the three men of metal walked out into the room. They came over to Callderwallder and proceeded to lift him in his chair. The others quieted and looked on in discomfort, as they always did when the metal men were around. They had all been present when the men had held Faedra down to the guillotine, and fully understood the implications of displeasing Callderwallder.

  “Take me to the wall,” Callderwallder said to the metal men, though he did so just for show. Callderwallder wasn’t completely sure that he wanted the others to know that he could control the men with his mind.

  “Mr. Speaker,” interrupted Elvemin Lox. “Are you sure that is safe?”

  Callderwallder looked queerly at Elvemin Lox and then looked at the guard.

  “Did you come here because you were sent?”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the guard. “I would never leave my post without leave from my commander.”

  “So you are telling me many people have seen demons on the battlefield.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well,” said Callderwallder, looking back at Mr. Lox. “It would seem that many people have seen demons. Don’t you think we should at least investigate?”

  The representatives were all taken aback.

  “You wish for us to go to the wall?” asked Barnaby Withers.

  Callderwallder shook his head in disappointment.

  “Take me to the wall,” he repeated to his creations. Without hesitation, they obeyed and exited the room with Callderwallder. The guard followed closely behind, leaving the representatives with their mouths hanging wide.