Shadow Realms: Part One of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  For it is as I said: A Branch is like a family, and a family is like an army, and the army of Vulzdagg is the greater. But others not of our name disrespect us; they force us down and throw us into the darker places. Do we respect this?

  No.

  ~ Neth’tek Vulzdagg

  1

  The Past and the Present

  Flee this place, you wretched fool!

  Vaknorbond Vulzdagg awoke suddenly, startled out of the same dream he had witnessed several nights now, and rolled onto his side to stare across the chamber at the far wall. There, built into the stone wall, was the desk and stool he would use to spend hours each day reading from the ancient manuscripts of his forefathers and mothers. The candle sitting beside the thick, leather-bound book had long since burned out, and the mirror set above the desk was dark in the pitch blackness of the room.

  With a sigh, Vak threw back the blankets and turned out of his bed. He stood, mumbling to himself the nonsense of never getting a good night’s rest, and crossed the room to sit stiffly upon the bench. He looked up into the mirror, his infrared vision showing him his own face looking back at him; tired eyes and a lean face.

  He muttered to himself again.

  Touching the candlewick with his thumb and index finger, he closed his eyes and spoke a command. His voice was low, dry from lack of water, but clear all the same, and as he recited an incantation an orange glow began to radiate from between his fingers gripping the candlewick. He moved his hand away from the candle, a small flame leaping up from the wick as the spell finished its work. Satisfied with the small but efficient light, Vak turned to the book set before him and flipped open its leather covering.

  Nights such as this, when he was faced with nightmares and restless turnings, Vaknorbond Vulzdagg would go to the writings of his ancestors to seek the peace of mind he had lost many years ago. His innocence had been stolen, along with all else that would have put a smile on his face, when he had participated in an awful incident. Nightmares of that day replayed over and over in his mind every night he laid to rest. The book of his forefathers and mothers was all that he had left to think back on without dreadful memories; for they were not his memories, but the memories of his ancestors.

  He flipped through countless pages, searching for the familiar passages he had read, and came to leave the book open about midway through section one hundred and twenty one.

  He traced under the inscriptions with a finger, reading quietly to himself.

  And the way was shut. No being, of mortality or immortality, would hear word of The Fallen Adya for centuries to come. A part of me hopes that one day they will find their way back to their ancient homeland; while another part of my wretched soul hopes that they shall remain in darkness forever more, leaving the world in the peace that has undoubtedly come upon it. And now I must ask myself; is there any hope at all for us in these dark passages?

  Nay, there is none.

  Diamoad has abandoned us. Another has taken his place. We must subject ourselves to its will. We must follow its every command, obediently and fervently, to keep our feet upon the ground of which we have fallen to. If not this, what else?

  There is nothing else that we, The Fallen, have to deserve.

  Vak was roused from his reading by a sudden knock at his door. He looked up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror under the candles soft light. “Enter, if that is your intent,” he said to whoever stood behind the door.

  The door was made of stone, and it slid open as a hand pushed it aside to allow Leona’burda to enter. She walked forward and stood beside Vak, blinking at the candlelight and looking down at his manuscript.

  “You are awake early,” she noted offhandedly. “Earlier than usual, I mean.”

  “I dreamt of Hulmir,” Vak said with a distant expression, staring into his own eyes.

  “That name is not familiar to me,” Leona replied, continuing to examine the various pages of the book, and then, as if to change the subject, she added, “I thought we agreed that the ancient writings do not assist you in your sleep any more than does staring out at the distant areas beyond our walls.”

  “You mean the area where Hulmir once stood.”

  “Again, I do not know what you mean.”

  Vak turned to look at her. “Do not pretend to have forgotten that day. I know you know.”

  “It is in the past, Vaknorbond,” Leona said straightforwardly. “The Urden’Dagg itself commanded that such a name be forgotten, erased and put aside, for it is only a distraction from that which we must look to accomplish in these days.”

  Vak sighed, turning back to look at his reflection. “Then I guess there is nothing that can be done about it… How is father?”

  “Lord Vishtax has yet to return,” Leona replied, stepping away from the desk. She turned her back to him, examining the interior of Vak’s chamber. “He is worried about you, Vaknorbond… we are all worried. Your son continues to see faults in your behavior of late. He says that the heir to the throne of Vulzdagg should be like unto the Basilisk; a fierce fighter and commander for the hard days to come. He is an intelligent child.”

  “So you agree with him,” Vak said slowly.

  “Perhaps,” she replied, continuing to gaze across his room, a silence settling over them.

  Vaknorbond closed the book set before him, obviously through with their conversation, and turned to stand. “I will prepare to welcome my father, then.”

  “Before you go,” Leona said quickly, spinning round to face him before he left. Vak looked at her, curious as to what she had to say.

  She spoke hesitantly. “We worry because we care.”

  “I… I know,” he replied softly.

  Forcing his eyes away from hers he departed the chamber, resisting the urge to glance back as he walked down the narrow passage.

  *****

  The inhabitants of the Vulzdagg Branch of the Urden’Dagg Tree, like those of the other three Branches, were strong in their allegiance to their ruling aristocracy; their command being that of the command of the Urden’Dagg, of which they could not ignore. Among them were the hard training soldiers, practicing the art of melee, and also wizards who took upon themselves the works of magic in the shadowed corridors of the underworld. Each station was a tough decision to make, when reaching the age of eleven of the years of The Followers, and once decided upon they could not switch or else their strengths would be twisted in ways indescribable even to them. Their conscious would be eternally torn.

  Dril’ead Vulzdagg, the eldest child of Leona’Burda and Vaknorbond Vulzdagg, was a warrior at birth. His ability in the artful craft of melee fighting was exceptionally great at even his young age, the age of eighteen. He practiced from rise until rest, either among the other students of the Vulzdagg Branch or alone with his father. Always he trained his mind to a steady understanding of that powerful work by sitting alone with blades in hand, listening and feeling the world move around him. He had chosen it as his station, and so he would see that it was done in near perfection.

  The prince of Vulzdagg held his duel scimitars in either hand as he executed each cutting maneuver with ease, his hands moving smoothly through the air as he guided his blades back and forth, up and down, like the practiced hands of a carpenter shaping stone. However, he never moved his feet. Always he kept them firmly set against the ground wherever he practiced; reciting to himself in memory the words his father had told him and taught him to remember:

  Where your feet are set is where you shall stand, and it is where you shall stand that the enemy cannot touch you.

  “If you learn the wisdom of these weapons,” Vak had told the young warrior, “you shall have the privilege to teach them to others of our name, and they shall pass it on unto the next.”

  “I will teach Gefiny!” Dril replied excitedly as he looked to where his younger sister sat, watching from a distance.

  “You will have to,” Vak said evenly, watching his son with a solemn face. “A noble shall teach on
ly the noble. It is a common tradition among our people. And Gefiny is your only sibling, so I see no other for you to pass your wisdom on to, though I think it best that she stay as far from the grounds of battle as we can keep her. It would be a sorry mistake for us to allow her into harm’s way, being the only daughter and therefore heir to the Vulzdagg throne.”

  Dril continued to watch his sister sit idly, the excitement slowly escaping his mood. “I understand,” he said quietly.

  Such was the fate of Gefiny Vulzdagg that she was forbidden the experience of true battle against the bloodthirsty monsters of the Shadow Realms. She resented the fact, dreaded every moment as she watched patrols leave the security of their complex to rid the various passages from monsters without her accompanying them, but knew that her say against the commandment of the Lord and Lady of Vulzdagg was nothing. So she endured it with a chin held high, teaching herself the techniques of battle despite all else, and no one stopped her.

  Dril could only look at her as he left on passage patrols, knowing that he could do nothing to bring her along, but wishing against reality that he could. All that he could do was train hard, teaching himself that wisdom his father told him of so that in time he could teach it to Gefiny and perhaps ease their discomfort.

  “Someday we will both go out there and clear lord Vishtax’s passages together,” Dril said encouragingly to his sister as they sat in the library of their citadel, reading techniques from the melee manuscripts. “That day will come. You just wait, and it will come.”

  “I look forward to that day, Dril’ead,” Gefiny replied in a quiet voice, “But I do not expect it shall come at all. I must be content with what I have now, it is enough.”

  “Whether it comes or not,” began Dril, his tone determined, “I will teach you all father has taught me. No one will stop me from that. There is no harm in it.”

  “No,” Gefiny said slowly, “I guess not.”

  And so Dril’ead Vulzdagg made a promise to his sister that one day, when he had learned all the wisdom he could, he would teach it to her. She modestly agreed, nodding her head and giving her brother a soft smile, and the two of them went about their youthful lives with the innocent perspective of their childhood. Of course, as we all have solemnly come to know in our own life, the innocent can never last. It is for this cause, if not a few others, we are given children.

  Neth’tek Vulzdagg had yet to come.

  *****

  Lord Vishtax Vulzdagg was late returning from a visit to the neighboring Branch of Swildagg. Apparently Lord Hestage and Lady Eldrean Swildagg were having a minor dilemma, concerning certain monsters known throughout the Shadow Realms as Horg’s, and had asked Vulzdagg for their support in chasing them from their borders. Vulzdagg’s troops were strong, and being powered by their Basilisk mounts they proved an exceptional ally on the battlefield, and it was for this reason Swildagg had gone to Vishtax for his military strength, and Vishtax was more than happy to aid his comrade.

  The gates of Vulzdagg slowly swung outward as the ranks of Basilisk riders approached through the mushroom grove surrounding the city, Vishtax riding proudly at the front. Dela’burda was beside him, sitting astride her own Basilisk, holding the reins to one side as she passed under the arch of the open gateway. People came round to welcome them back into their homeland, however they were held back by the attendant guards of the Lord and the Lady, only Vaknorbond, Leona’burda, and their children were permitted to step beyond their barrier to greet them.

  “Songs will be sung of these days, my dear son,” Vishtax said to Vaknorbond as he slowed beside him.

  “Indeed, father, there shall be songs to be sung of your great achievements,” said Vak, keeping his eyes lowered as he moved to walk beside his mounted father. “But, I must ask, will they be a lament or a joyful memory?”

  “They will be the songs of victory and triumph!” He kicked his Basilisk forward and passed Vaknorbond, raising a spear above his head that aroused from the gathering people of Vulzdagg a loud cheering and applause, though his son did not even try to keep pace with his boastful overlord.

  Gefiny and Dril’ead raced past their father as he drifted mournfully among the rest of the procession, running to catch the charging Basilisk as it approached the citadel mansion where the nobility of Vulzdagg lived apart from the commoners and their stone huts and barracks.

  As Vak watched his children go, though, he noted with some sadness the joy and energy in them that he lacked in himself those days, after his life was changed when receiving one dreadful command. Indeed, Vaknorbond thought solemnly, those seem to be the only memories worth remembrance.

  2

  Of Both Body and Mind Threatening

  Dril’ead stood alone on a balcony overlooking the complex of his family’s estate, soft lights gently flickering in places where candles had been set for whatever purposes. The distant twinkling and the infrared vision of his heritage played a strange trick on Dril’s vision, causing the scene to stand on the edge of focus; and he found that he liked the sensation despite his present feelings of sorrow. It appeared that shortly after his grandfather – lord Vishtax – had returned, he had fallen ill to some unknown decease. The surgeons continued to lend him strength through their workings, but all attempts seemed in vain for the reviving of Vishtax’s health. He was simply becoming weaker by the minute.

  It’s all so confusing, Dril said to himself, blinking at the distance. How could one so strong fall as low as this; as mighty a lord as he has come to be? It is an unexplainable thing, and therefore confusing to me. Or perhaps he is not as strong as he has come to seem…

  His thoughts faded as he looked down at a set of six guards marching in strict formation, their bodies barely visible beneath their mesh armor in the infrared spectrum.

  The citadel doors opened with a low groan. Dril looked down and to his left as a figure descended the steps onto the road, a spider-silk cloak fluttering behind him. The guards paused to salute as Vaknorbond passed them, his strides quick and even with determination as he made his way into the city square, and Dril watched as he faded out of sight into the distant gloom.

  Dril stood for a moment longer, taking in the scene before him one last time, and then swung one leg up and over the railing as he readied himself for the drop. The fall was somewhat short, and though the distance would have left any man crippled, this Follower landed easily with hardly a bend in his knees, and he followed the path his father took through the city. Pulling up short as he landed unexpectedly before them, the sentries quickly saluted him as he passed.

  Through the maze of barracks, houses, and other such buildings in the complex of Vulzdagg, Dril’ead found his father standing just before the gates; his city behind him. Dril stopped beside his father, looking at him inquiringly with the hope that Vak would speak without need for questioning. Vaknorbond did speak, and his tone was grave and flat as he straightforwardly told Dril’ead all that had happened.

  “Lord Vishtax Vulzdagg, your grandfather, has taken his last of this air,” Vak said as he stared unblinkingly at the gate, and Dril’ead opened his mouth but found no words in response. It shocked him, and yet did not surprise him. “It appears a curse has been laid upon our dear lord, drawing his life to a conclusion before the appointed time of its end, having been chosen for each of us by the hand of our all great and powerful Urden’Dagg. However, this thing has not been done by the Urden’Dagg.”

  “Well,” Dril’ead began, finding his voice, “If it was not by the Urden’Dagg’s hand that our blessed lord has died, who has done this awful thing?”

  Vak continued to stare, not answering for some moments that felt like an eternity to the anxious fighter at his side, and hardly even took a breath. It seemed, for that everlasting moment, Vaknorbond dreaded what it was he was about to say. And, after all, it was an awful statement; such a thing that could bring about the destruction of those who he wished to protect. The demands of his people would force him to do what he hated, feared
, and despised above all other actions.

  “Vishtax Vulzdagg has been poisoned by only one possible power,” Vak said slowly, weighing his words as he spoke them, “Zurdagg.”

  Dril’ead growled angrily under his breath, and Vak could feel the enraged energy of his son swell beside him. “Something must be done about this. We cannot allow such a thing to pass us by unchallenged, or else we’ll be undermined before the eyes of all the Branches of the Urden’Dagg Tree. They have ever sought to overthrow us, you know it. We must seek vengeance.”

  Vaknorbond Vulzdagg sighed beneath a heavy weight now lying upon his shoulders, the weight of his people’s safety and security, and he replied, saying, “I was afraid you would say that.”

  And so it was that the hard scaled Basilisk scurried across the face of the rock, moving smoothly over knobs and cracks so that its rider only felt the rhythm of the padding of each clawed foot as it clambered downwards into the dark chasm. The Follower Rider stared down into the shadows ahead, his infrared vision penetrating it to the limits as his mind wandered upon past memories that sickened his stomach with anger and want for revenge.

  His mesh armor flexed and bent to his comfort beneath his tunic of brown and green, the plates fitted for quick and easy movements, and his leggings of interlinking chains were covered by his boots of dark leather. Over all he wore a purple cloak and hood made of spider silk wrapped about his neck, the cowl cast over his face, hiding the glyph indicating his station and birthright among his Branch. Only the innate ability of The Followers and the Basilisk could pierce the darkness with their infrared vision.

  The Basilisk came suddenly upon level ground. The six legged lizard stopped and the Rider dismounted. Two sharp curved blades hung from his belt on either hip, and he rested a hand on the one and walked forward. The Basilisk stood still until he would return.