The Great Darkening (Epic of Haven Trilogy)

by R. G. Triplett

  “Welcome Ruarc, Storm Words, and welcome Haizea, Wind of God. Welcome Zigor, Basajuan, and Edur; welcome Azrael and Remiel. My people and I bid you enter our hidden kingdom, and we pray you to impart your foresighted wisdom upon us all,” said the Queen.

  The brown-feathered Owele with the snow-dipped wings screeched loudly in echoed response, and all who were gathered there, Poet and Sprite alike, heard his ancient voice deep in the heart of their own thoughts.

  Greetings in the name of the THREE who is SEVEN, Father of beauty and bright, shining power. We come at the request made by Llinos, who is of the house of the Violet Flower.

  Ruarc bowed his head and raised his great wings skyward.

  “My deepest gratitude is owed to your kind. For long ago, at the bidding of our great Father, you bore away the seeds of these last Jacarandas to this most secret and holy of places,” Iolanthe said to the Oweles. “The very existence of my people is due to the bravery and sacrifice of your kind, even in the face of the perils that once befell Aiénor.”

  The birds of prey all bowed together in acknowledgement of her gratitude.

  “You come now, once again, at the midnight of the tree of power. We, my people and the race of men, are once again in need of your intervention, my dear watchers,” Iolanthe continued.

  Do not fear, Sprite people, nor should you, you sons of Ádhamh. For long has the will of the THREE who is SEVEN been at work, even in the shadows of man’s hopelessness. The one who has been foretold has been called, and he has been given great and dangerous gifts from both of your kinds to aid him in his seeking. Ruarc spoke silently to the gathered council of Poets and Sprites.

  “I do not doubt that our great Father has long been at work carrying to completion the designs of His will,” said Iolanthe. “Though my heart tells me that even now, a great and ancient wound has festered amongst the forces of darkness into a vengeful fury of toxic hatred for the whole of His creation.”

  “As does ours,” Tolk said to the council. “Long have we mourned the abandonment of hope and wonder in the hearts of men. For when hope has been reduced from the sacred to the scorned, nothing will be left safe from the consuming ferocity of fear.”

  “Aye, we have seen our people consume the light of the THREE who is SEVEN without so much as a passing thought as to why it truly was created to begin with,” Clivesis blurted out.

  “And it is not so much the irreverence that causes our colony of Poets concern; it is the insatiable consumption. For once they have depleted and devoured the light of the great tree, and have exhausted the light of every piece of timber that the whole of the world Aiénor has to offer … where then will their corrupted appetites turn? We fear even now that they are primed for darker desires, my Queen,” Tolk said with sadness in his aged eyes.

  “As do I, my friend,” she said kindly to him. “For word has reached our hidden grove of evil shadows and ravenous death, of ancient sorceries and fire-breathing serpents.” The Queen turned her gaze from the eyes of the Poets to the violet, burning orbs of the Oweles. “Has this word come to my palace falsely, Ruarc Storm Words?”

  It is indeed true Violet Flower, Iolanthe heard. For the progeny of Šárka’s evil has awakened to exact her vengeance upon the people of Aiénor, whether it be through her unrelenting malice or through greater, more sinister treacheries; absolute tyranny is her only desire.

  “Progeny of Šárka?” Elder John asked, a chill of unexplained agitation coming over him as he spoke the words. “Who is this that you speak such grave tidings of, Master Owele?”

  In an instant, the Oweles sprang to life; their strong and holy wings pounded the air of the grove in a slowed ferocity. The birds of prey hovered ominously there in the center of Iolanthe’s great palace. The Poets began to grow nervous in this never before seen display of the righteous power of the Oweles, and the mood of the grove grew dark and stormy even in the hidden confines of the mountain.

  One at a time, the birds began to screech in wounded protest as their violet eyes burned angry and offended at the evil they referred to by their chanted verse.

  The maker of un-light, Basajuan’s voice screeched.

  The offspring of hate, Remiel said.

  The one who wakes dragons, whispered Haizea.

  The raven unmade, Edur said next.

  As fast as the storm of words and Oweles awoke there in the palace of the Sprite Queen, so did it pass, and soon the watchers returned to their perches.

  “Forgive our ignorance, please, but who has she corrupted? You spoke of her progeny?” Tolk asked, his head bowed in humble deference. “We know that the great evil one is bound and chained to her stone kingdom … yet you say there is one who perpetuates this dark magic? We must know her by name if we are to warn the people of Haven while there is yet still time to do so!”

  “Her name,” Iolanthe spoke sadly, “was once heralded far and wide as the beauty of Aiénor and wife of Caedmon, the dragon slayer. She was a friend to all Sprites, a daughter of the ancient kings of Terriah.” A silver tear ran down the queen’s comely face as she forced herself to speak of the heart-breaking story. “But then venom of the deepest evil robbed her of her glory, breaking both our once valorous hero and her once beautiful heart,” she continued on in her lament.

  “Branwen?” Klieo offered. “I have read in the tomes of lineages of the wife of Caedmon, the dragon slayer. I have read of her renowned raven hair, and her unparalleled beauty,” Klieo said a bit timidly. “But I have read nothing of her evil, nor her … dragons.”

  Once, and long ago, she was known by such a friendly name as Branwen, Ruarc responded inside the minds of those gathered.

  “But in her fall, she was renamed Nogcwren, mistress of the un-light, and conjurer of dragons,” Iolanthe said sadly. “Her unbridled lust has cannibalized her beauty, refusing to satiate her hunger until all the world of Aiénor is served to feed her self-consuming greed.”

  The violet light there in the shining palace of the Queen began to diminish at the telling of such a tragedy, and the silver tears of the ancient Sprite began to flow in streams of noble sadness. “She was once a friend and guest of my kingdom,” Iolanthe whispered, “but that was long ago. For evil drove her to the shadows, beyond the reach of the illumination of the great tree of power. In her dark thoughts and her poisoned mind, the traces of her once bright humanity have been all but obliterated, remaking her into the monster she has now become.”

  “What can we do to stop her?” Elder John blurted out. “We must do something … right?”

  “Our task is but to serve the will of the THREE who is SEVEN, and so it is never a matter of what we can do, rather only of what we are asked to do.” Iolanthe spoke with her gaze fixed upon the Oweles, her statement becoming an imploring question as she sought hard the answer to her prayers and petitions.

  Take heart, children of Ádhamh, and you, offspring of beauty, for no evil can withstand the violet justice of His light. And swiftly His light comes, though few choose to seek it. Azrael the Owele spoke with the confidence of foresight.

  “Does that mean that you wish us to wait idly by and watch this … this sorceress woman, this conjurer of dragons, enslave the hearts and minds of the people of Haven?” Clivesis said, a bit offended at the thought of nothing being done to stop her.

  “No, my dear Poet friend,” Iolanthe said calmly as a gentle knowing rested in her thoughts. “For we must resist this green-eyed death, though our victory might never be fully realized through sharpened blades and battles fought alone. We will prepare, and we will fight, and we will sacrifice … but that alone can never be enough. We must resist and overcome the toxic power of Nogcwren with the violet hope that a new light will come for the remaking of all the peoples of Aiénor.”

  Fierce hope burned in the silver wings and violet eyes of the Sprite Queen, for though she had seen much pain and endured great treacheries in her long days, she was still an offspring of beauty, and hope was woven into her very nature. “E
ven now, on the brink of plunder and bloodshed, there is one who seeks this new light of our great Father, and I trust that his seeking is not in vain.” Iolanthe finished her pronouncement with a look of peaceful understanding that spread like a contagion to all who were gathered.

  A Bright Fame will point the way, illuminating, to all who might see it, the glory of the THREE who is SEVEN, Ruarc screeched.

  “Cal,” Tolk whispered to his brothers, overwhelmed at the reference to their young friend and the great weight of the calling he carried.

  It was with a silent smile and an affirming nod that Iolanthe answered them.

  The voice of Haizea screeched loud in their thoughts. And not all is lost in the shadows of the failing tree, for even now a small remnant of those who dare to hope is gathering, and they seek to endure the tides of war and the enslavement of Nogcwren.

  “Then … it falls to us to aid them in their efforts,” Tolk said definitively.

  “Indeed it does, my dear Poet friend,” Iolanthe agreed.

  Acknowledgements

  I must admit, first and foremost, that I am a very blessed man. Most of my days are lived out in the company of some of the most talented and creative people that I have ever known. So, as you can imagine, it would be rather silly of me to not call upon their skills and their hearts when attempting such a feat as this epic. This book was divinely inspired, though when I first set out upon this journey I lacked the foresight to see exactly why. Thankfully, my fellow travelers on this sojourn have helped me to uncover this tale from the recesses of our hearts; they have, with great care, helped to shape and reshape its telling.

  Brandon Hyde is partly responsible for the uncovering and discovering of the intricate plot lines, as it was he and I who spent countless hours dreaming over scenes and lands, names and narrative. I must thank you for dreaming and re-dreaming with me, sir. I am grateful beyond words for your contribution to this work and to the world of Aiénor. Here is to many, many more tales to tell together.

  I cannot express strongly enough how indebted I am to Melody Farrell for her tireless contribution to the continuity and the layers of emotion and allegory communicated in this work. The title of editor barely begins to scratch the surface of both the work and the heart that she poured into this narrative and into me. Melody, I am honored to have worked so closely with you and your “red parentheses of doom”, and I truly believe that your proximity to this story is a large part of its potential for true greatness. Seriously, I cannot thank you enough, nor would I want to imagine attempting this without you.

  Rob Stainback is brilliant, and his ability to take words and descriptions and give them depth and terrain, tangible shorelines and aged believability, will never cease to amaze me. Rob, your illustrations and cartography are not mere works of art; they are gifts to the story and to my heart.

  A special thank you goes out to Grant Radebaugh and Richard Kesky for both your willingness and your enthusiasm to trudge through my grammatical minefield of half-developed plotlines while the book was still being written and while the world of Aiénor was still being formed. Thank you for your questions, your feedback, and your hunger to read more. Your involvement was indeed one of the greatest encouragements throughout the process.

  To all of you beta testers: Tammy, Jennifer, Leann, Josh, Darah, Grant, Katie, Traci and Rich, your feedback and excitement about the project has led to many a change and insightful conversation. I am truly a blessed man to have such people like you in my life ... thank you so much.

  To Chris Farrell: thank you, good sir, for the hours of work that you have given to this labor of love. I have counted it a joy and a privilege to collaborate with you on all of our projects over the years, and I can’t wait to do the next epic video with you again soon. Thank you, bro.

  Dr. Don King and Michael Warden, your wisdom and advice has been fuel for the fire. I am a greenhorn in this arena, and your grace to listen to my questions and share your experiences has been a gift I did not know I needed, but am so grateful to have found.

  Dalton, Amanda, Stephen, and Lauren, thank you for joining our team of Lost Poets and lending your talents to the publishing process of this book. Your contributions have truly been invaluable.

  To my Element Church family: you are the good soil that the seeds of this story needed to take root and grow strong and tall. Thank you for your love for me and all of my epic, sword-wielding quirks. You are a “colony of heaven in the country of death”, and I am so proud of your heart.

  To my wife, Jill: thank you for the sacrifices you made to help this book come to life; I promise, one of these days, I will pay you back in full for them. I love you.

  To my children, Annsley and Gabriel: I beg you to know that there is indeed magic still in the world and a hope worth hoping in. I pray that you will find my heart here in the pages of these stories, and that you will discover and use your God-given beauty and your God-given strength to wake this greying world to the true light that He has placed in all of our hearts.

  And lastly, to you, the reader and fellow traveler … thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Lead courageously. Fight victoriously. Love immeasurably.

  Bobby

  Index

  Caution: This index contains spoilers for Book One.

  PLACES/LANDMARKS in the world of Aiénor

  Aiénor (ahy-NOR): the world in which the Kingdom of Haven resides; the only form of unmade light comes from a great burning tree

  Bay of Eurwen (YOOR-wihn): lies just beyond the southernmost part of the Kingdom of Haven; connected to the kingdom by the Talfryn Pass; calm and fruitful waters are largely inaccessible except for the small stretch of hospitable shoreline where the town of Bright Harbor, the shipyard of kings, is situated

  Black Mountains of Cair (CAH-er): mountains to the east of the great tree; stretch north and contain Halvard and Meinir (Mahyn-EER)

  Dardanos (DAR-dah-nohs): ancient city seated in the Itzal valley of the Hekate’ (he-KAH-tay) Mountains; a once proud place of commerce

  Dark Sea: the cold, deep sea surrounding the Kingdom of Haven and separating it from the Western Wreath; its black waters are sailed by the colonists on the Determination and Resolve

  Falls of Sarangrael (Ser-ahn-grey-EL): the final resting place of the River Abonris; located in the Secret Grove beneath the Hilgari Mountains; it waters and strengthens all who live in Islwyn

  Gnarly Knob: tavern run by Shameus and Keily; located in Piney Creek between the Capital and the northern territory

  Herald Tower: sits to the west of the Kingdom of Haven on the shore of the Dark Sea; built in the shape of a large ram’s horn; constructed by Queen Evande as she searched and waited for her lost husband, King Illium, to return; a scouting party rides to the coast daily, with the intention of lighting the signal beacon in the Herald Tower if the King should return

  Hilgari (hihl-GAR-ee) Mountains: mountain range located to the north of Piney Creek and watered by the fens of the River Abonris; the base of these mountains once contained the greatest forestland in all of the Kingdom of Haven; this ancient range has served as home to many peoples, including the now ruined Kingdom of Terriah

  Isle Dušana (doo-SAH-nah): mysterious island in the Dark Sea; west of the Herald Tower and just off the shores of the Western Wreath; ruled by the evil lady Morana

  Islwyn (IH-sehl-wihn): “Secret Grove”; hidden in the heart of the Hilgari Mountains; contains hundreds of jacaranda trees with purple blooms and white bark; for many generations the Sprites have both guarded and tended this holy place that has played a part in many a tale

  Kalein (kah-LEEN): “Beauty is Calling”; the Poet colony hidden in the mountain palace, Petros, of the forgotten Kingdom of Terriah underneath the Hilgari; located in the accessible southern wing to the rear of the ancient palace; contains a great hall, kitchen, sleeping chambers, storerooms, adapted stables, and a library

  Kingdom of Haven: rooted in the fertile and lush green of th
e most sought after and fought over ground in all of the lands of Aiénor, its great walls stretch their majestic and protective reach over the enormous city and its many citizens; at its very center lives the great burning tree

  Capital: the royal homestead that houses libraries, halls, cathedrals, and the Citadel: a towering structure built to the east atop the highest elevation of the kingdom; there, within the shadow of the hallowed Mt. Aureole, lies the great garden surrounding the burning tree

  Boroughs: surround the Capital, separated from it by the River Abonris:

  Abondale: rich farmlands and shipyards to the south/southwest

  Piney Creek: cold forestlands to the north/northwest

  Westriver: military and industry to the west

  Lake Riene (ree-ANN): “Queen”; located below the eastern shadow of Mount Aureole; fed by the River Ithelum (ITH-eh-lum) from the Black Mountains of Cair

  Maris (MAH-rihs): “Star of the Sea”; the ancient lighthouse of the Kingdom of Haven; situated at the southernmost tip of the outlying lands; burns without fail and guards the mouth of the Bay of Eurwen

  Mount Aureole (AH-rohl): made of glittering black granite, its unassailable precipices act as a setting bejeweled with the silver and amber light of the great tree; serves as the eastern guardian and boundary of the great walled Kingdom of Haven

  Northern Altar of the Priest: stands at the center of the interchange of wilderness and civilization; seen as a sacred sacrificial sight and constructed under the reign of the Priest King Jhames

  Pool of Eiluned (ahy-LU-nihd): “Pool of Rescue”; bordered by a large waterfall and fed by the wild water of the River Abonris; located at the base of the Hilgari Mountains, five hundred paces from the path leading to the entrance of Petros

  Petros (PEH-trohs): the stone palace and royal residence of Terriah’s past kings; only partially accessible after damage by an unknown cause collapsed and closed off portions of the mountain; inhabited by the Poet colony, Kalein