War of Shadow and Light: Part Three of the Redemption Cycle

by J. R. Lawrence

  There had to be about twenty or thirty of the creatures; spawns of the Lesser Realm itself, and he still couldn’t move or grasp his sword stuck in its scabbard.

  They crept toward him, clicking their claws and growling amongst themselves, savoring the moment of his greatest weakness. He continued to struggle, trying to claw away, but he just didn’t have the strength or even the will to try hard enough.

  One charged, and he screamed as he saw it come over him with claws extended.

  The claws never touched him, though. A pillar of light broke through the smoke from above and fell over him, turning the creature of darkness into a cloud of ash that was blown away on the wind. Something, or someone, stood over him with a large sword gripped in both gauntleted hands. It wore all silver, glistening in the light from above, and the monsters coward in fear before its mighty appearance.

  “Be gone, demons of the Lesser Realm, or face the wrath of the First Born!” a voice boomed out of the helmet of the being above him, and it stretched forth its sword toward the creatures before them.

  A fire leapt from the blade and consumed the creatures, turning them to dust like the one before.

  Duoreod continued to lie on the earth, staring up at the mighty being, afraid to speak or even move. But the great figure put away his sword and knelt beside him, putting his hand out to help him to his feet. Duoreod, though, just stared at it in stupefaction.

  “Do not be afraid, Duoreod son of Drelus, child of Muari,” the specter said in a less threatening voice. “I am Gutharri, appointed defender of the world by the council of the First Born.”

  When Duoreod still didn’t take his hand, Gutharri grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his unsteady feet. “You’re brother has returned from the Shadow Realms and is waging war upon the people of Aldabaar,” he said to Duoreod’s bruised and swollen face. “It is up to you, as caretaker of the Adya, to put an end to his wicked intentions. Your father has, as you might put it, passed on from this world.”

  “So it is as I feared,” Duoreod said softly, looking down at the earth beneath the light of the First Born. It appeared to have replenished beneath that light, grass growing back where it had been scorched.

  “Fear is the tool of The Watcher and his servants, Duoreod. I warn you to be mindful of such feelings,” said Gutharri. “Now, return to your city by the way that I have prepared for you. Stop the madness that your brother has started, by whatever means necessary, or the world will be lost.”

  “But Diamoad, my brother… he is not my brother anymore,” Duoreod said, and he looked away into the fire, his eyes stinging in the smoke and the mixture of emotions he felt. “What you ask, it cannot be done.”

  Gutharri’s next words came like a torrent of wind and roaring thunder, shaking the earth and Duoreod until he fell upon his knees before him, trembling in fear of his wrath and power. “This is the call with which the First Born has given you, Duoreod son of Drelus! And Diamoad is your brother! You must uphold this bond of brotherhood until the end, whether he does or not. It is the will of the First Born, and the only way you will win.”

  Duoreod put up his shaking hands to The Defender, his entire body trembling with fear. The flames seemed to have burned higher and more mightily when he spoke to him so.

  The sword appeared back in Gutharri’s hand, and turning he stretched it forth toward the Silver City, and the smoke and fire cleared a path for him to go. “I have already stayed beyond the time that the First Born has permitted me, but I have said what I have come here to say. Heed our words and fight, and perhaps you might save this world.”

  Duoreod climbed back onto his feet and stumbled over to the way Gutharri indicated, but stopped and looked at the First Born one last time. In that moment, all he wanted to do was give up where he was.

  “Go, thou good and faithful follower of Muari,” said Gutharri, “and may Hunnari guide you.”

  Nodding, Duoreod turned back to the path, and he started off into the darkness.

  Epilogue

  Hunted

  The boys, Stylinor and Kinimod, kept with Sephron and his small company of friends. The woman still refused to speak, not that anyone ever pressured her to. Rothron and Jacque took turns leading her, or even carrying her, along the way through the thick smoke and muddy paths that they chose. Jacque continued to distrust the boys, but he no longer voiced his opinion on the matter, though it was clear in his eyes whenever looking upon them.

  So far they appeared to have been able to use the shield of smoke to their advantage and slip unnoticed by the hunters. They did their best to be quiet, though all the time it felt as if they were constantly being watched and even tracked by those they feared would find them, and all the time the smoke thickened about them and the fires threatened to overrun them in their escape.

  Sephron called several stops along their journey to reorient himself in the constant darkness that they were trapped in. “It just doesn’t make any sense!” he said under his breath, cursing their misfortune in all of this. “By now, we should have either come upon the road or the outer settlements of Valdorin.”

  “Perhaps we’ve passed it already,” Jacque said as he stumbled up to where Sephron stood. “Or perhaps we’re standing over a fragment of those outer settlements, and it’s nothing more than ash…”

  “Enough,” Sephron said to the man, “I’ll hear none of that. It can’t have been destroyed… It just can’t have been…”

  Stylinor stopped beside a fallen tree, obviously burned by the fire, and looked at a particular part of its burned trunk. Kini came and stood beside him, breathing hard and wiping ash from his eyes.

  “What do you suppose it is?” asked Kinimod.

  Sty continued to look at it for a moment longer. He shrugged, though, and walked away to where Sephron and Jacque were standing. Rothron and the woman were already making their way to them.

  What they saw was an arrow shaft.

  They continued for a while longer, and then they came to a place where the ground began to slop upwards on their left, northward, an orange light, like that of fire, glowing over its crest. Sephron decided to lead the company that way to get a better view of the land. However, when they climbed to the top of the ridge, they beheld all the land burning in the fire of their enemies’ wrath.

  There were homesteads lying in heaps below them, all glowing in the light of the fires that consumed the trees and the houses themselves. There was absolutely no sign of life. They all just stood there on the ridge, staring, dumbfounded and afraid.

  “What has become of our homeland?” Jacque said as much to himself as he would to them. “These… these creatures have taken everything from us. How long will it last? How long can we last?”

  “We must press forward to the city,” Sephron said, “It is our only hope of getting out of this hell alive.”

  “But what’s the point?” Rothron asked, the woman leaning on his arm, shivering despite the heat that the fire created for them.

  The four others turned and looked at him, their expressions disheartened.

  “Give up if you want,” Sephron said, “But as for me and whoever will follow me, we will not stop fighting for our lives in this land. If we are to be the hunted, so be it. I’ll make it a hunt for the hunters, none the less.”

  And with that being said, Sephron turned and began making his way down the hill toward the ruined countryside. And they followed him down, the hunted.

  Book Three

  The Return of the King

  I’ve dreamt of these days, of being friends with those I had killed, of sharing laughs and smiles and good helloes… And then I awaken, and find that all is as it has been, that I am a murderer. I’ve had friends who’ve told me that I am forgiven of this sin, I’ve had friends who died, and in their final moments have told me not to fear… that death for them was just a gateway into the next world and a better life… but, who am I to open that gate? I have no right!

  I’m haunted by dreams, by nigh
tmares, unending torture for my immortal soul. It is painful, and I cry for those I have killed. I am sorry for all that I have done, though I know that I also have no right to ask them for forgiveness. When at last I came back to myself, of course, and saw that I had done such great evil by the hands that some great being of celestial glory had given me to improve and not destroy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have driven the blade into my own heart… But, what right do I have to go to the heavens? I am not the gatekeeper of such a fate, I fear.

  Instead, I am cursed to walk this mortality alone. I make friends along the way, of course, but like mortality friendship never lasts. Death or betrayal, miscommunication or pride will rot such great bonds and all will fade to the black night. Not all stories have a happy ending, though somehow they work out the way that the glorious beings who put us here intended… My stories ending, I cannot tell you yet…

  But what I can tell you this far, what I have to confess to you, who’ve probably been in search of a good story your whole life, is that I lost everything. I lost it all, but somehow I got something else, something better, even if it hurt to say goodbye to what I had. All at once, it seemed, the words of my friend came crashing back to my mind, cracking my guilty conscious, crippling my pride, putting me in place among the immortals.

  There is little more to tell before the end; just a little more, I promise, and then you may listen to that joyous story where everything worked out perfectly well in the end.

  ~ Neth’tek Vulzdagg

  Chapter 19

  To Break His Heart

  Neth’tek was restless as he sat, watching the others celebrate over the destruction of Heinsfar. There was a fierce pain in his heart, and no matter how much water he downed, or how much he tried to relax, it wouldn’t go away. Finally, he looked at those celebrating and thought to himself, what have we done?

  Tears began to roll down his cheeks as he surveyed the area they were in – all burned and turned to ash, floating in the air, giving the place an eerie look. He felt lonelier than he had ever felt before, and longed for the company of Dril, his strong presence at his side. He wished for the words of his father, Vaknorbond, or the love of his mother, Leona’burda, or the courage of his sister, Gefiny.

  Each had formed a special place in his heart, each had broken loose the day he had left them, and now he felt almost completely alone. Had it not been for that bad hanging at his side, he would have lost all hope.

  He unslung it from his shoulder and held it on his lap, thinking before speaking. “Are… are you there?” he asked, and then felt immediately foolish and looked around to be sure no one was listening to him.

  I am here, he heard a voice whisper inside his head.

  He scowled, confused, and thought, you’re… you’re where?

  Behind you, the gentle voice replied.

  Neth’tek glanced behind him and saw a low light glowing near the top of the ridge he sat under, an emerald light that pulsed as if beckoning to him.

  He stood and walked up the hill, slinging the satchel back over his shoulder as he followed the light away from the camp of his comrades, away from the fire and the smoke, and into a place that was full of magnificent cedars and pines.

  As he went, though, Vexor Hulmir caught sight of him and followed curiously at a distance. And standing out of the crowd of soldiers, keeping to her own thoughts and feelings for once in her life, Tisla saw Vexor go after Neth’tek and decided to follow as well.

  The light ceased, though, when Neth’tek came to a quiet part of the wood, out of hearing of the roaring fire or the reveling of his spiteful companions. He looked around, confused, waiting for the light to come back.

  “Where’d you go?” he asked the satchel, “Why’d you leave me?”

  “Neth’tek Vulzdagg, what are you doing wandering out here?” Vexor asked the young soldier, and Neth’tek looked surprised to see him. “Growing tired of their constant joy over death? So am I. I like to walk in the woods when such happens. You know, when I was hear making preparations for your arrival, I walked the woods of Swaldar themselves. It was beautiful there…”

  “Is that where you’ve been during all of the fighting as well?” Neth’tek demanded. “You hardly deserve the winnings of this land!”

  “And you do?” Vexor demanded in response. “After spilling their blood on this precious soil, you believe you deserve it any more than I do? I don’t even want this world! I never wanted it! All I ever wanted… All I… Well, it doesn’t matter.”

  Neth’tek saw a sudden pain in his eyes as he looked away, and even began to walk away. He was stopped, however, by the sound of Tisla’s voice.

  “Hey, what you two doing out here?” she demanded of them.

  Neth’tek instinctively snapped to attention, standing straight and facing her, though Vexor didn’t even turn around to face her as she came up the hill to them.

  “Vexor,” she said sternly, “Explain this.”

  Slowly, Vexor turned around and looked at her, tears in his eyes. “I’ve finally broke, Tisla,” he said slowly. “I can’t do this anymore… You can tell your commanders that I’m through, that there’s nothing left of me for them to squander.”

  “Vexor Hulmir, get a hold of yourself!” Tisla ordered him in her commanding voice.

  “No, Tisla, you listen to me now!” Vexor shouted, though in heartache instead of anger, and Neth’tek flinched at the fierceness of his pain. “I said I’m done with this! I can’t do any more for the Urden’Dagg! He stole everything from me, all that I loved… in the end, I fear he will even take you from me…”

  “Vexor, I told you not to talk like that,” Tisla said, unfazed by him. “We’re soldiers, remember?”

  Right then, before Vexor could get another word out, an arrow whizzed between him and Neth’tek and struck her in the throat. Everything seemed to slow for Neth’tek at that moment, and all that his dumbfounded mind seemed able to comprehend was the arrow in her throat, the blood on Vexor’s hands as he grasped her as she fell to the ground, and the scream of a dying soul…

  It happened so fast, there was nothing either of them could have done to save their captain, or Vexor’s beloved friend. Tisla was gone, and there was no more of her to be seen among the lands of Aldabaar.

  Vexor screamed in dismay, hugging her corpse to his chest as the men came about them, swords drawn, though they didn’t attempt to separate Vexor from his grieving. Miraculously enough, Neth’tek seemed invisible to them, and only a voice was heard whispering in his mind, the same gentle voice that had lead him away from his army.

  Leave, Neth’tek, before it is too late for you to get out, said the voice.

  Neth’tek turned and began walking away, his limbs trembling in shock of what had happened, and followed that emerald light without much thought to his motives. He just did as he was told, after all.

  Vexor’s scream continued to echo in his mind, as well as the image of him surrounded by the men of Heinsfar, still clinging to what remained of Tisla, the only thing that he had lived for. But the emerald spirit led him away from it all, took him out of the valley itself, and they left the army of the Urden’Dagg behind them for the present time.

  At last they came to a place where Neth’tek stopped and began to come back to his senses, and he looked around as if in confusion. The emerald light took the form of a Woodlander of the distant forest of Stonewood, even Ezila, the same spirit who he had kept in his satchel since leaving the Shadow Realms. And when Neth’tek looked at her he felt something break inside of him, and he fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands as he began to cry.

  Perhaps it was his pride, or perhaps it was finally understanding what he had always wanted to understand, but was only afraid to confront on his own. But curling on the ground, comforted only by the spirit, Neth’tek became a child again.

  Something in him died, then. It was his hatred, his pride, and he was finally permitted to understand.

  Chapter 20

&n
bsp; Wall of Fire

  He knew that they wouldn’t last much longer in the land of the damned, as they were now calling it; and Stylinor began to wonder if he should leave these men altogether. Perhaps he’d have a better chance of survival without them; because, as all should know, greater numbers attract a greater percentage of attention. On his own he could probably make it to the Silver City.

  But how could he leave Kinimod? He couldn’t. No matter how much he was afraid, Sty knew he couldn’t leave his best friend behind when danger was about.

  They didn’t sleep that night in the burning forest. The fires were well spread from where they traveled, but neither of them dared to close their eyes, even if one were on the lookout. Shadows crept before the glow of the flames, though they weren’t certain if it was the flickering light playing tricks on their minds or if it really was the shadows that had been hunting them for the past week.

  While they rested one afternoon, or at least they believed it to be an afternoon – it was getting more and more difficult to discern the time of day – Stylinor was restless as he leaned back against a dying tree. It felt as if the fires were watching him from the hilltops, coming steadily nearer and nearer. It was becoming clear that he was going to go insane while lost in this land of desolation.

  He looked around at the group. Sephron and the others were sitting alone, huddled in their old clothing that was looking more like the ashes that rained from the sky than actual clothing. The woman shivered next to Rothron, who sat with eyes closed, trying to fall asleep. But Kinimod lay on his back a little ways from where Stylinor leaned against a tree, his chest rising and falling though his face was pale and calm.