by Matt Moss
Standing, he began to place the ring back on the pillow where he imagined Sarie rested her head. He paused, clenching his jaw before tucking the ring away into his pocket, unwilling to let any part of her go. He’d lost her before, but vowed he never would again.
Still feeling the pain from the battle at Kingsport, he walked down the tunnel with a limp and entered the great room of Sanctum. He felt weak and knew he was in desperate need of food and water. He found both in the barrack’s kitchen, surprised that the greedy lot didn’t take it all before leaving for Kingsport. After having his fill, he packed as much food as he could carry for his journey; though he didn’t know where he was going. In light of recent events, he now knew that everything he once knew was a lie. One thing was true though; Sarie was alive. She was his only destination.
She always had been.
But would she still be in Kingsport with Victor now dead?
Lucian smiled, recalling the bastard’s face as he had choked the life from him on the palace steps.
He didn’t know if she would be there or not. Where would she go? What would he say to her? The last time he saw her, she stuck a blade in his side before running into the palace. He didn’t know if she would want to see him again or even allow him to explain the past. All he knew was that he needed to return to the capital to find answers.
He left Sanctum behind.
After a half day’s travel and not seeing anyone on the road, he decided to make camp for the night. He tended to a fire before sitting down, his body aching in agony on doing so. It would be at least ten more days before his body felt healed, he figured.
How am I even still alive? he thought.
The thought had bothered him since he awoke in the cave. The wounds he suffered from the hands of the mob in Kingsport should have killed him. The last memory he had was of collapsing on the road, miles from Sanctum. He stared into the flames, recalling that fateful day. The image of Paul the Prophet flashed in his memory — the old man smiling at him fondly as the executioner’s axe fell across his neck. He once hated Paul, but found respect and admiration for the man inside the palace cells. Not because of who the man was, but because Paul was honest and sincere with him despite their past. Lucian struggled to comprehend it all as his mind fought the reality of what happened back at the capital.
His focus shifted into the darkness of the night, past the light of the fire. Someone was out there — he could feel it.
He slowly rolled to one side and eased a dagger from his bedroll. He turned back to find a man, cloaked in a dark, gray hooded robe, sitting across the campfire from him. He stared at Lucian, the light from the fire dancing in his eyes.
Lucian shifted on the ground, startled by the intruder.
“Easy,” the man said, his voice grizzled, but warm. “I mean you no harm.”
Lucian found his feet and stood, grinding his teeth through that pain that surely showed. He held the blade where the man could see it.
“You can put that away. You won’t need it.”
“A man always needs it,” Lucian replied. “More so when he thinks he doesn’t.” He stepped to the side of the fire to get a better look at the man. “Do I know you?” he said.
The man pulled his hood back to reveal his face. It was weathered and lined with age. The face of a man who had lived a long and hard life.
Lucian squinted, focusing. “You look familiar,” he said.
“It’s been a long time, Lucian,” the man said, slicking his long gray hair back.
“Grandmaster Moses,” Lucian said, incredulously. His body shook and his leg gave out, causing him to buckle and curse as he hit the ground.
Moses jumped to help.
“Don’t!” Lucian threatened, holding the dagger out.
“Alright,” Moses said, holding his hands up.
Lucian slowly rose and hobbled back to sit on the ground, keeping the distance between them.
“I can see the pain, Lucian.”
“I’ve been worse,” Lucian grunted.
“I can see it on your face. I can see it in your eyes.”
Lucian cocked his head and stared at the man, ignoring the comment. “I haven’t seen you since the Rebellion. Where have you been?”
Moses turned his eyes to the sky and sighed. “Here and there,” he replied.
“One day you were there. The next, you were gone.” Lucian shook his head. “And after everything we’d been through. I looked to you for guidance. You were like a father to me,” Lucian said, seeking to pry a better answer out of the man as to why he left so long ago. “And you left me when I needed you the most. You knew that Sarie wanted to leave the Order. She wanted to leave with me.”
Moses hung his head in what looked like shame, his silver hair falling to cover his face.
Lucian leaned towards him. “What have you been doing for all these years?”
“Seeking answers,” Moses replied.
Lucian snorted. “Me too.” He threw a small log onto the fire and sent embers fleeing into the sky. “I hope you found what you were looking for. I did.”
“Did you?” Moses raised his eyes from the ground to meet Lucian’s. The old man settled into a crouch and rested an arm on his leg. “I know my brother is dead. And I know you had something to do with it.”
Lucian clenched his jaw and stared into the fire. “It wasn’t right how it happened. I should have died with Paul,” Lucian said, his voice thick with emotion as he recalled the scene again. Silence hung for a long moment until he broke it, suddenly. “I was ready to die!” he yelled into the night.
“I know,” Moses said. “I was there. I saw.” He sat down on the ground and crossed his legs.
“If you were there, then why didn’t you do something?” Lucian spat.
“What could I have done?” Moses retorted.
Lucian cocked his head, knowing that the grandmaster could have certainly changed the outcome. However, Lucian had realized long ago that fate, sometimes, wasn’t one to change, no matter what. Some things were meant to be. After a moment, Lucian spoke. “Paul and I… we were both fooled.”
“Everyone is fooled,” Moses replied. “It is a requirement before the mind can awaken. It must see what is false before it knows what is truth.”
“I won’t be fooled again,” Lucian promised. “Now that Victor is gone, I won’t be fooled again.”
“Hmmm.” Moses rubbed his beard as he stared into the fire.
It gave Lucian pause. “What?”
“Victor is alive.”
Lucian furrowed his brow. “Impossible. I felt his life drain away to nothing in my hands.”
Moses met his gaze. “He lives.”
Lucian stared at Moses in disbelief, but everything about the man conveyed truth. Lucian felt it. He knew the old man wasn’t lying. A snarl played across Lucian’s face that quickly turned into pure hate.
“No!” he yelled and rose to his feet, his energy blazing the campfire and sending flames away from him in a spray of sparks. He turned his back to Moses and stared into the night.
Moses stood and walked to put his hand on Lucian’s shoulder, doing so without hesitation.
Lucian snapped his head around and his body jerked away in reaction to the touch. Through Moses’s hand, Lucian felt a warm sensation coursing through his body. Gazing out into the forest, the darkness faded enough so that he could see as if it were nearly daytime. Amazed, he looked into Moses’s eyes. They were solid white and glowing with energy.
The touch left Lucian and his vision returned to normal, adjusting back to the darkness of night.
He felt his body. It was healed, somehow. Not fully healed, but immensely so.
Moses took a step back.
”It was you,” Lucian gasped. “You’re the one who carried me to Sanctum. You’re the one who healed me. How?”
“Do you remember our training not long before the Rebellion?” Moses asked.
Lucian nodded. ”Yes. You had just reached an unhear
d level of soul tapping. Your power was incredible.”
“It was new to me then and I didn’t understand it. But I do now.” He ran a hand down his beard as he spoke. ”You and Victor were the only ones that I trained. As you know, it was done without the knowledge of my brother or the rest of the Order. At the time, all I knew was this newfound power that coursed through my veins. I didn’t learn about the other abilities until later.”
“Like the power to heal,” Lucian noted.
Moses nodded slowly and once again looked into the fire as if it spoke to him in some way. “Before the fallout, I taught Victor how to tap further — into the next level of the soul.”
The feeling of betrayal quickly rose in Lucian again. ”Why didn’t you teach me?” he asked, his face pained.
“I didn’t think you were ready.” He looked back at Lucian. “And Sarie was a distraction to you.”
Lucian choked back the words he wanted to say as his body tensed in anger. Moses saw it and waited for him to regain his composure.
After a moment’s pause, Lucian spoke. “Why did you save me?” he asked intently.
“Because Paul told me to help you.”
“I don’t understand.” Lucian shook his head. “There’s no way Paul could have known that he would have been accused. I saw the shocked look in his eyes when the king announced his sentence. After that, I was with him the whole time in the cells. How could he have told you to help me?”
“When word traveled of your attack in the market, I made my way to Kingsport. I knew King George would seek my brother’s counsel. When I heard the verdict, I knew that I had to communicate with him.”
“You used a stone,” Lucian noted.
“The night before he died,” Moses confirmed. “He told me everything — the past, the present, and all of his hopes and fears for the future. He told me that I must help you.”
Lucian turned his head to the sky. He let out a small chuckle in regards to the irony of it all. Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.
“I must leave now,” Moses said.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Lucian scoffed, his tone thick with sarcasm. “Where are you going this time?”
“My path is leading me. I am to help someone else discover their own,” Moses stated before turning to leave.
“Wait,” Lucian called to him. ”Why did you leave the Order?”
The question made Moses pause and turn his head in reply.
Lucian stepped towards him. ”Did you know the Rebellion was coming?” He stared at Moses, wondering if the old man would answer the question or not.
The Grandmaster pulled the hood over his head and left, disappearing somewhere into the night.
It was the reply that Lucian expected.
THREE
Torin’s eyes fluttered open as he lay on the blood soaked floor of the Lodge. The smell of death returned, instantly filling his senses, accompanied by the tinge of ash and smoke. The memory returned as well. Tears welled in his eyes as he lie there. Not wanting to relive the horror of the battle with Victor, he kept his eyes closed and prayed it wasn’t true. Eventually, he forced himself to face it. He opened his eyes and turned his head to the side. Master Coll lie there staring at him, pale and lifeless. Torin’s heart was racked with pain as he sobbed uncontrollably. He sobbed until all his tears were shed before deciding to rise and survey the room.
He rose to sit, slowly, and tested his body. The wounds that Karn inflicted on him had been healed. Inspecting himself, he found no cuts or broken bones whatsoever. He stood, baffled. He thanked the Almighty for saving his life, but wished that He had let him die with his brothers.
A dread that he had never known suddenly filled his soul.
Dead bodies filled the Lodge — his home. Friends that he had known his whole life now lie scattered about the massive room, some whole and some in pieces. His eyes scanned until they found Billy lying among the dead. Torin hobbled towards him and fell to his knees. He rolled a corpse off of Billy and looked at his friend’s face. Billy wore a pale, twisted grin, as if he were laughing at death itself.
Torin touched Billy’s head, fondly recalling his friendship with the man and how he made everyone laugh. He pulled Billy to the side and laid him next to Master Coll. He wanted to find others and began to move about the room, searching each man’s face. His thoughts turned to Cain.
He walked about the wooden tomb searching for Cain among the countless bodies. No sign of him could be found. Suddenly feeling light-headed and in need of some air, Torin made his way out of the Lodge and into the fading light of day. Smoke billowed from the town below. He forced his red eyes shut as he fell to his knees. His body shook as he clenched his fists and turned his head to the sky. His scream pierced through the wreckage, causing nearby crows to scatter from their bloody spoils.
He dropped his head before his body went limp and fell to the ground, content to just lay there and die.
Let the crows take me as well. It’d be better that way.
Basking in the fading sun, his eyelids drifted until all he saw was a horizontal sliver of light. He allowed sleep to take him, hoping that it would be his last.
Movement came from the graveyard of stones that was the hill in front of the Lodge. The sound of a rolling rock brought Torin back to his senses. A hand, trapped among the grave, reached for the sky in a desperate attempt for freedom. A grunt came from the stones as well, causing Torin to jump up and run towards it. He frantically rolled the rocks off the man, amazed to find another survivor.
Rico coughed and gasped as Torin pulled the last boulder from his chest.
“Rico!” Torin cried out.
Rico’s eyes were wide as he stared at Torin. After he caught his breath, he motioned the big man to help him sit. “What happened?” Rico choked out.
Torin’s eyes could have told the answer. “It’s over, brother. Everyone’s dead.”
Rico coughed before slowly moving to stand.
“No, you shouldn’t move,” Torin said and put his hand on Rico’s shoulder.
Rico grunted and stood anyways. With blinking eyes, he took in the devastation.
“My God,” he gasped.
“It’s all gone, brother,” Torin moaned. “Everyone is gone. It’s all my fault.”
“To hell with that. It’s nobody’s fault, save for that devil’s spawn, Victor.” He clinched his fists. “He’ll pay for this, in this life and the next.”
“What’s the point,” Torin said with outstretched arms. “It’s over. Who cares about Victor. The Prophet’s dead… the Order is gone. There’s nothing we can do to bring our family and friends back.” He looked down with teary eyes. “The Order is dead.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Rico spat. “What the hell happened up there?” Rico asked, pointing to the Lodge.
Torin didn’t answer. He just stood there, shaking in a cold sweat. Rico shook his head and began to limp off towards the Lodge.
“Where are you going?” Torin asked. Rico didn’t reply and continued up the hill. “What are you doing?” Torin pleaded, falling in beside him.
“I’ve got a high priest to kill,” Rico grunted. “You can forsake it all and give up if you like. That’s not me.”
“Rico…”
Rico stopped and turned. Torin felt the pity in Rico’s gaze; one that said he was looking at a broken man. Rico shook his head and continued up the hill.
Torin followed. “It’s folly man. What are you going to do? Storm the capital alone?”
“If I have to,” Rico said, cresting the hill. He stopped at the door. “No way he lives.” He opened it to find the horror that lie inside. His eyes went wide as he reverently walked the main hall. Master Coll, the man he admired most, caught his eye. He walked to the old master of arms and dropped to his knees.
Tears filled his eyes as he paid the man his last respect. “He was like the father I never had.” He touched Coll’s face and closed the old man’s eyes. Rico motioned with
his hand and offered up a prayer — one for the master and one for vengeance. He reverently took Master Coll’s sword that lie beside him and rose to his feet.
“What are you going to do?” Torin asked, suddenly feeling alone again.
“I’m going to Kingsport,” Rico said, turning to him. “Check out the place. Hide in the shadows, wait, and watch. Take my time. I’ll strike when the time’s right. Come with me, Torin.”
Torin pursed his lips and shook his head. “I… can’t.”
Torin held his head down as Rico walked by, leaving him standing, alone. Rico paused before leaving the Lodge, and turned back to the man who used to be their leader — to the man who used to be brave, and one of the strongest men he knew. “Is there anyone left?”
Torin spoke with his back to Rico. “I instructed Arkin to leave with the survivors. They made for the camp. I haven’t found any sign of Cain.”
“Stubbs?” Rico asked.
Torin shook his head and stared at the blood-soaked floor, finding shapes in the stains that mixed with the grain in the wood.
Rico glanced around the hall one last time. “I hope you can make peace with it, brother. You’re still alive. It’s not over, and we still need you,” Rico said.
Torin didn’t move.
With the dying of the day, Torin stood among the dead and watched as Rico struck out on the road towards the Crossing — the road that would lead him to Kingsport and to the vengeance he so desperately sought.
FOUR
Victor climbed the steps of the palace to a roar of applause. His white robes were tattered and soiled from the battle with the Order at the Grand Highlands. He had no desire to bathe or change his clothes — Sarie had been the only thing on his mind the entire trip. He only wanted her.
A crowd of people met High Priest Victor and his general, Karn, upon entering the capital. The crowd grew, along with the noise, as word spread of Victor’s return. The people praised Victor and his defeat of their enemies, despite the sure loss of fallen loved ones.
Sarie heard the commotion from the balcony of the king’s room and saw Victor approaching the palace. She had woken early that morning to make sure she was presentable for him, that she was properly bathed and her hair fixed just the way he liked it. Oils from the garden scented her body and gown. Excited to see his safe return, she ran through the palace to meet him on the steps, her silk, ebony gown flowing behind her as she ran towards him.
