by James Somers
The very thought would have shocked most people dwelling within the kingdom. But then, they didn’t understand the true nature of the dragons they worshipped at deities. Almost as many people remained hard hearted to the truth and unwilling to hear.
Donavan smiled at the sight. It was good to see children playing again. He hoped his arrival here would end his night terrors. Here, at the very least, he could enjoy peace.
He trudged on toward the main gate: an iron portcullis driven into the ground inside the castle’s stone archway. Several children danced around him, hurling snow at their friends, leaving him with merry greetings as they ran for cover. Donavan’s legs burned after the long ascent through the stairs, but he would have gladly made the journey a hundred times over in order to find himself within this lone sanctuary from the world-gone-mad below.
Pausing at the main gate, Donavan shook the hand of the guard on duty; a man by the name of Drake. They had been friends for about six years, since the time Drake had professed his faith in Elithias and taken up residence on Thorn Mountain as part of Ezekiah’s army.
“Donavan, bless my soul, it’s good to see you!” Drake said. “I hadn’t expected to see you back so soon. Has something happened?”
Donavan smiled, releasing Drake’s hand. “Troubling, but nothing unexpected, my friend. Where do you suppose I might find Ezekiah?”
“Take your guess, but I’d place him in the shop, as usual,” Drake said knowingly.
“You’re probably right.”
Drake opened a side door made of iron and the grill beyond, allowing Donavan to enter apart from the cumbersome seldom rising of the main portcullis. He walked across the smaller interior courtyard, where more guards sat around fire pits, to enter the castle through a set of heavy oak doors.
A main hall, lit well by gas lamps, proceeded straight into the mountain. Their supply lines trailed down the stone walls to places unseen where they were eventually fed from one source tapped from deep within Thorn Mountain. It was a technology from the old world, but not entirely foreign to common society. Still, tapping underground gas sources and making use of them among kingdom society was a technique proceeding from the Resistance faithful, particularly those who had spent time at Thorn Mountain and later gone out into the world.
Donavan walked the length of the corridor, passing no one he recognized immediately. From there, the passages began to bisect and bisect again, allowing for many different paths within the mountain. He chose a very familiar course, winding through the castle, until it delivered him to a short corridor with two doors opening into the only room of its kind in all of Thorn Mountain.
Passing through the wooden doors, Donavan found the man he was looking for. Ezekiah stood at a small assembly line gathering freshly bound books from the printing press churning loudly behind him. Here was the place where Elithias’ prophet spent most of his time, assembling the Creator’s prophecies from the time of the old world into book form for dissemination throughout the new. The press itself was a marvel of the present time, running on a power source called electricity no longer available anywhere else in the world.
As Ezekiah had often explained, for he was fascinated by the old world and its forgotten technologies, the electricity was derived from a mechanical steam powered engine brought to Thorn Mountain during the transition to the Reign of Peace. “We burn coal from the seams mined on the northern face of the mountain, and the heat boils water to produce steam that propels pistons inside the engine,” he had said. “Those pistons drive the shaft onto which magnetized pieces of metal have been positioned and wrapped with wire.”
Usually, Donavan became lost in the discussion at this point and stopped trying to understand its workings. Still, he was glad for the press which allowed them to bring Elithias’ word to the rest of the world; not just in verbal form but with more permanence in volumes the people could study long after the preachers had left their villages.
Donavan called to the prophet over the din of men and working machinery. When Ezekiah turned and saw him, he smiled, rushing over to embrace him. “Donavan!” he shouted over the noise. They walked together out into the corridor where it was quieter. “Donavan, I was expecting you and here you are.”
“You were expecting me?” Donavan asked.
“Yes, yes,” Ezekiah said exuberantly. “I’ve had a recent vision, Donavan. Elithias has shown me a meeting between myself and Varen that I should consent to hosting. Varen’s messenger arrived the next morning having already been en route for over a week. The meeting will be in two days time.”
“But you said the vision showed you something about me?” Donavan asked.
“Yes, I saw you in attendance, so I knew you must be on your way already,” Ezekiah said, musing. “Wait a minute…why have you returned so soon?”
Donavan could barely contain his news. “I believe death walkers are returning to the populated areas.”
“You refer to the prophecy?” Ezekiah asked. “You’ve seen them for yourself?”
“I was nearly killed by a group of them.”
“I see,” Ezekiah said. He looked steadfastly into Donavan’s eyes resting his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I’ve news as well. We knew this was coming, so we shouldn’t be disturbed by the actual events. Elithias is coming very soon, my friend. But first there is this meeting to attend to with Varen.”
Donavan looked puzzled. “But why meet with him? We’ve had nothing to do with him or his rebels for some time now.”
“Elithias has not revealed the reasoning to me; only that we should accept the invitation to meet. In fact, I made it contingent on them coming to Thorn Mountain. I’ve only had time to get his messenger back to him, but the vision assures me Varen will arrive in two days.”
“Knowing Varen, he must need your help for something he’s planning against the Serpent Kings,” Donavan said.
“Even if that is the case,” Ezekiah mused, “perhaps this meeting is meant by Elithias to inform us of Varen’s plans before he can carry them out.” Ezekiah smiled. “Either way, we have two days. Go and get yourself fed and some sleep. I’ll convene the elders tonight. We’ve much to discuss.”
SUMMONED
The elation I had felt the day before, during my meeting with and appointment by the Council of the High Guard had not abated with the few hours of sleep I could muster. It had seemed inappropriate to run screaming the news through the halls of the palace; though such a thing was not unheard of. I would not be one to go down in the annals of ward gossip as another of those silly girls who lacked the maturity of their new office. I planned on handling things the proper, mature, diplomatic way—waiting for my sisters to beg me for the details, then spilling every moment of the event in excruciating detail.
I’d already spent half my night remembering the moment and the other half rehearsing my delivery for the morning meal to come. By the time I arrived in the cafeteria, now decidedly cleaner than it had been following the recent bombing—though the odor of burning ever lingered, there was a veritable entourage waiting to receive me. Jen was out front smiling at me hopefully. “Well, what happened?”
I suppressed the grin as long as I could before caving in. “I’ve graduated my apprenticeship,” I admitted, still holding onto the best part, saving it for last.
Jen and the two other young women with her, Clair and Janice, guffawed before restraining themselves under the glare of a nearby Elder Mother seated for her morning meal. We stopped at the rebuke, remaining serious only a moment before snickering.
“And you thought trouble was coming,” Jen scolded. “I knew something wonderful would come of it. You’ve got to learn to trust my intuition.”
“Did your intuition also tell you that I would be offered a post in the High Guard?” I asked offhandedly.
Astonishment swept over my friends. But Jen soon recovered herself. “Are you serious? They made you one of the High Guard!”
The room had gone dead quiet around us. I looke
d around at the other tables. Truly, becoming one of the High Guard was one of the greatest honors one could receive. They were almost a separate society unto themselves—elusive and mysterious. Any priestess in her right mind hoped to be given the opportunity some day.
I could see several reactions at once in the faces of the young women around me. Some were simply shocked. After all, it was no secret that I had had my share of disciplinary actions over the years growing up.
Others looked upon me with disdain clearly shown in their eyes. Slightly knotted brows and the subtle downturn at the corners of their mouths did not lie. They were jealous, even though such feelings were strictly forbidden. They wanted to be me.
Somehow, this made me feel elated and paranoid at the same time. It was not unheard of for a sister in our Order to covet the glory of another and attempt some form of sabotage to their career. Even the Elder Mother who had silenced our laughter a moment ago looked perturbed at my appointment. I made a mental note of those who seemed put out by the news—just in case.
The rest appeared to be genuinely happy. Many of these were my close friends, though not all. They came to our table, huddling around me to offer congratulations. My shoulder was patted at least a dozen times before someone else stepped through the throng, carrying a scroll sealed with imprinted wax.
Jen looked up at the woman, noticing her first by her uniform. “Amanda, what are you doing here?” Jen asked. “Did you hear Gwen’s wonderful news? She’s been appointed to the High Guard!”
Amanda looked between us, surprise lighting her expression only a moment. “That’s great, Gwen, really.” She paused. “However, I have an important message directly from Belial himself.” She nearly choked on the words. Not many couriers had the opportunity to carry a message from a god, frankly because not many were sent by them.
We all sat or stood around Amanda in stunned silence. Remembering her duty, she popped the wax seal and unrolled the parchment. Her hands were trembling noticeably. Nobody mentioned it. We all knew we’d have done no better.
Speaking in a clear voice, Amanda read the message. “Priestess Gwen of the High Guard, you are commanded to stand before Serpent King Belial at the noon hour on the fourteenth day of Corrin.”
I couldn’t stop myself. I snatched the parchment from her hand quick as lightning. “Can it be true?” I asked no one in particular. I read the message for myself—every word exactly as Amanda had delivered it. At the bottom, it had been signed by the High Priest of Belial’s temple himself; the only one authorized to speak for the High Serpent King.
Now, my hands trembled. I looked around uncertainly, and was met by even more uncertainty. No one knew what to make of it. The only time I could remember a priestess being summoned like this was when an aged Elder Mother was offered the opportunity of Renewal; to become one with a god. Surely that wasn’t the case here. At the very least, the intent was not stated.
I sank down a little in my chair as everyone who had come to our table to congratulate me began to disperse. They murmured as they went, everyone attempting a guess as to my fate. Fearfully, I wondered as well, but there was nothing that could be done. Refusal to appear would be ludicrous—not to mention a sure death sentence. Despite my trepidation over appearing before my god and king, I had to appear. But before that, I had to see Zora.
I had grudgingly finished my morning meal simply for the fact that another would not be served for hours. I needed all the strength I could get for what lay ahead. No one, not even my close friends seated with me, spoke another word during my time in the cafeteria. Some might suppose that such an honor—speaking with a god—would promote joy and happiness in excess amounts. I was terrified.
Zora, perceptive as always, had seen it on my face the moment I appeared in the infirmary. She had, for the briefest moment, been wearing an unrestrained smile full of pride for the achievements of her daughter in the faith. Upon seeing my reaction, her joy turned to bewilderment.
“Gwen, what’s wrong?” Zora asked as she attempted to sit up in the bed.
I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sitting on the edge of Zora’s bed, I began to weep into my hands; a poor attempt to hide my emotions from everyone else in the infirmary. Zora sat up as best she could, cradling my shoulders in her arms.
“Oh, Zora, it’s awful,” I whispered through my sobs.
“Hush, child,” she said. “How can the fulfillment of your deepest desires be so bad as to warrant all of this? You’re just nervous about your appointment to the High Guard. Certainly, it’s a great responsibility, but crying—?”
I pulled away. She hadn’t understood what the problem really was. “It’s not that, Zora!” I thrust the ragged parchment into her hands.
Bewildered, she straightened it so it could be read. Her eyes scanned the message with interest before a knowing smile lit on her face. She looked up at me. “Silly girl. Is this what all the fuss is about?”
I nodded, feeling a little foolish at her apparent lack of concern for something that had me torn all to pieces.
“You’ve been given a great honor,” Zora continued. “To be summoned before the High Serpent King himself. Did you suppose he is angry with you for saving the lives of his High Priest and other ministers?”
I shook my head a little.
“Perhaps, Belial wishes to punish the wraith dancer who saved his image from destruction, killing the terrorists responsible in the process…or maybe he simply wants to praise one of his most loyal subjects; someone who has proven her exceptional skill and dedication in the face of real peril to herself and others.”
Despite myself, I began to feel better. A smile crept onto my lips. Zora made perfect sense. I had been branded a hero and given a position among the elite servants of the High Serpent King. It may have been unprecedented, but still stood to reason that Belial might be interested enough to actually speak to the young women who had done him so fine a service.
I smiled, feeling much better about the situation now. Deep down I had known Zora would see the silver lining in the ponderous cloud hanging over me all morning. And, as she always had, she made me see it as the only logical possibility. I hugged her neck, whispering my thanks gently in her ear. She patted me on the back and let me go.
“Now,” she said, smiling, “tell me all about your new appointment with the High Guard. And don’t leave out any details. Soon, you’ll think yourself too good to talk to a lowly servant like myself. Tomorrow you’ll speak to a god…and he will answer you back.”
VAREN
The glow from his campfire cast a hellish hue across Varen’s face as he stood looking out into the night. Beyond the valley floor, Thorn Mountain towered high above him; its snowcap enlightened by the full moon staring down passively at the world. Brief glimpses of firelight near the castle could be seen between windswept snows encircling the higher elevations.
He exhaled heavily, his breath vaporizing before the cool breeze stole it away. One of his men called him back to their company. “Varen, it’s no using sulking,” the old man said. He was as close as anyone came to a father to Varen—his own dying many years before when he was just a small child.
Varen turned, regarding him sitting in furs, a pipe smoldering between his clenched teeth. His white beard trailed onto his chest. “I’m not sulking, Nordin,” he said. “I simply long to have this meeting done with. The sooner we have what we’ve come for and are done with Ezekiah the better.”
Nordin puffed on his pipe, staring into the fire. The rest of their group was bedding down a few yards away. Already they had finished their meal of rabbit stew and were shoveling embers beneath a few feet of soil in order to lay their bedding down over it for warmth through the night. “Do not underestimate Ezekiah,” Nordin warned. “He might be somewhat of a pacifist, but the man is still dangerous. I’ve seen him in battle. He’s a fierce warrior when pushed to it.”
“I do not fear him,” Varen said, “nor do I underestimate him. He will not know what i
s done until it is too late to prevent it.”
Nordin looked at him. “And what is it that will be done? Too many secrets you keep lately…ever since that woman—”
“Do not speak so of her, Nordin,” Varen hissed. “I will not hear it from you or any other.”
Nordin turned his gaze back to the fire. “Still, I used to be in your confidence. You regarded my counsel in days gone by.”
Varen softened a little. “I still regard it. Only in this matter have I spared you that you might not fret for it. I do not wish you the burden of knowledge that could take your life. What we do here will change everything for us, but we may gain Ezekiah’s vengeance in the process.”
Nordin puffed on his pipe again, letting the smoke seep out of his nostrils. “I am fully with you, Varen,” he said. “I fight for your cause. I warn you of crossing Ezekiah, but I have not sided with the prophet. Do not fear to share your heart with me as you once did.”
Varen sighed. “Once this meeting is concluded, I promise to reveal my plans to you,” he said. “Only, trust me tonight. It is best that you do not know.”
Nordin blew a final puff of smoke out over the fire, and then shrugged his shoulders. “If you wish.” The old man took his spade and shoveled several scoops of glowing embers into the pit he had dug earlier. He covered it with earth, tamped it down, and then laid one of his large furs over it. With another he covered himself for the night. “You had better get some rest. We’ll have quite a climb tomorrow to make it to their fortress in one day.”
Varen turned away from the fire toward the mountain towering over them. He did not like to keep secrets from Nordin. If there was anyone he trusted with his life it was Nordin. After the death of his father, Varen had been trained and cared for by the old man. He had to be over five hundred years old. Not nearly old enough to know of the transition Ezekiah preached about, but old nonetheless.
