The Age of Darkness: Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness Book 1 (The Etera Chronicles Series Two - Wrak-Wavara: The Age of Darkness)

by Leigh Roberts

  “May we come in?” Pan asked.

  Moc’Tor waved them over, and they all knelt down beside their parents. “Mama,” Pan said.

  E’ranale reached out and smoothed the hair on the top of her daughter’s head. “Shhh.”

  “Please tell us you are going to be alright?” Pan asked.

  “I am sorry, daughter. I do not believe that I am.”

  Pan sobbed openly and covered her face with her hands. Dak’Tor stared at his mother, frozen, while Vel and Inrion also started crying.

  “No, no. This cannot be. The Great Spirit cannot be so cruel.” Pan’s voice broke.

  “We must accept this, Pan. All of us. It is not what I want. It is not what your father wants. It is not what anyone wants, but it will be what it will be,” E’ranale said softly.

  “If the Great Spirit takes you, I will never serve him again,” Pan cried.

  “No, daughter,” said Moc’Tor. “Do not say that. I know you are hurt and angry. I am sorry you are learning so early how hard life can be.”

  Dak’Tor finally found his voice, “I do not understand. What has happened?”

  “Tell them, please. Tell me; I want to know,” E’ranale said.

  Moc’Tor explained reluctantly. “The offling is in the wrong place. It is not in the water cradle. It is growing in an area inside your mother where there is no room for it. In time it will—” Moc’Tor could not continue.

  “You are going to die? How can this be? Maybe Oragur is wrong!” Dak’Tor’s voice shook.

  E’ranale squeezed her mate’s hand. He could almost hear her reassuring him that their offling needed time to accept it—that they all did.

  “Oragur is looking for medicine to ease your mother’s pain,” said Moc’Tor. “Let her get some rest now. You can all come back later and visit again. Why not bring food from the Great Chamber so we can all eat here as a family?”

  Before leaving, Pan pulled herself together, leaned over, and gave her mother a kiss.

  The moment she was back in the corridor, Pan flew into Rohm’Mok’s embrace. As she felt his strong arms around her, she broke down again. “Mother is dying. My mother is going to die,” she cried.

  Pan pulled his arms more tightly around her, “The offling is in the wrong place. It is going to keep growing until it ruptures her insides, and then they will both die.” Spoken into Rohm’Mok’s thick coat, her words were muffled and barely understandable.

  Rohm’Mok pulled her closer, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” He held her until her sobbing slowed.

  “First Liru, and now my Mother? I cannot bear the pain of this world,” she cried.

  “I am here,” he said softly. “We have each other, although I know that cannot make up for losing your mother.”

  “Oragur cannot find what he needs, so he is returning to the Deep Valley,” said Dak’Tor. “He said he will be back as soon as he can and that you should stay here,” he told Rohm’Mok.

  “I would not leave now, anyway,” Rohm’Mok answered, leaning his head on Pan’s as she stood still nestled in his embrace.

  Moc’Tor left E’ranale’s side only to conduct the bare minimum of duties and to continue Pan’s Guardian education.

  He taught Pan how to implement the Ror’Eckrah, the One Mind, and when this ancient ritual could and should be used. Although Pan said she could not imagine what it would be useful for, Moc’Tor knew the time would come when it would be needed.

  One day, Dochrohan approached Moc’Tor to tell him the sentries had been recruited. There was no trouble getting volunteers, much to his surprise. “The watchers are in place, Adik’Tar.”

  “Watchers? Is that what you are calling them?” Moc’Tor asked.

  “It seems appropriate since that is what they are doing.”

  “The title is good. It differentiates theirs from the other roles. As for you, I believe your title from now on will be High Protector.”

  “That sounds important.”

  “It is. You are the one who assigns the days’ tasks to the other males. And now that we have a viable threat, you are also in charge of these new watchers. I believe the title will give others a sense of security.”

  Dochrohan bowed his acceptance. “Adik’Tar,” he said more quietly. “We have heard of E’ranale’s condition. You can understand that news like this travels quickly. All our people, including the males, are very saddened for both of you. And your family.”

  “I do not remember in our history losing anyone in this way,” said Moc’Tor, “When she said she had pain, I thought it was just discomfort from the first weeks of being seeded. Now—” Moc’Tor had dropped his guard, and he composed himself again. “Thank you for your concern. Please tell the others we appreciate it. If any are inclined to pray, I would appreciate that too.”

  As they were talking, one of the sentries came into the Great Entrance. “Straf’Tor is approaching.”

  In all his grief, Moc’Tor had completely forgotten sending for his brother.

  Within a few moments, Straf’Tor appeared. Moc’Tor walked to meet him and reached out to put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. He was pleased that Straf’Tor did not pull away.

  “I will admit, I have missed you, brother, son of Sorak’Tor,” Moc’Tor said.

  Straf’Tor took a breath and then exhaled deeply. “Despite our philosophical differences, I have missed you too. I wish we were being reunited under better conditions.”

  “Do you want to talk now or later?” asked Moc’Tor.

  “Now is as good a time as any. Let us use one of the meeting rooms.”

  Straf’Tor sat, but Moc’Tor remained standing.

  “How are matters here at Kthama?” asked Straf’Tor.

  “E’ranale is sick. It is serious,” Moc’Tor answered.

  “How sick?”

  Moc’Tor told him about Oragur’s diagnosis. “She is going to die, Straf,” he said.

  Despite their differences, Straf’Tor’s heart went out to his brother. “There are no words to comfort you, I know,” said Straf’Tor. “I can only imagine if I were to lose Ushca. I doubt I would want to continue living. When you decreed that mating could only be between one male and one female, I thought you mad. Now, having shared these years with Ushca, I see that a good pairing is one of the greatest blessings. One female is enough if she is the right one.”

  Moc’Tor paused before asking, “How is Ushca?”

  Straf’Tor hesitated a moment before answering, “She is seeded.”

  Moc’Tor nodded. “A great blessing; I am happy for you. The circle of life goes on. The life-breath of the creative spirit enters and leaves this realm, taking our loved ones home and bringing new loved ones to Etera.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “I appreciate your coming,” said Moc’Tor. “I know this is not a good time to be away, with Ushca seeded and unrest at Kayerm.”

  “You will remember that the rebel, Ridg’Sor, and his followers moved into Kayerm and were there when we arrived,” said Straf’Tor. “I thought that in time he would accept my leadership and make the best of it. Instead, he has sewn discord and riled others up to believe they have a right to Kthama Minor and should return to take it. I intercepted them on the way here and turned them back to Kayerm, threatening them with banishment if they continued on to Kthama.”

  “Did they acquiesce?”

  “Yes. Ridg’Sor reluctantly returned once the group abandoned him.”

  “As I remember, he had only a small following,” said Moc’Tor.

  “Had is the operative word. Many have joined him; his years of poisoning their minds against Kthama have produced fruit.”

  “When we went down this path centuries ago,” said Moc’Tor, “we agreed that the division of our people was Etera’s greatest hope. I did not realize you had such struggles at Kayerm.”

  “Ridg’Sor’s bitterness is great. He is angry with both of us—you for throwing him out of Kthama and me for taking over Kayerm, which he
staked out before we arrived. He is only controlled by threats. Fear and threats are all he understands,” said Straf’Tor.

  “So the time is approaching to end the Wrak-Wavara. Is that what you are saying?”

  “Yes. I believe that without our final intervention, Ridg’Sor will eventually rile up his followers again. Whether they could take Kthama Minor from you, I do not know. But neither of us needs that battle,” said Straf’Tor.

  “Very well; I will call the Leaders together, and I will send for you when it is time.”

  Straf’Tor stood to leave. Before he walked off, he placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders.

  “I am truly sorry, Moc’Tor,” he said. “I cannot fathom the suffering of your entire family. But especially you. I know you love E’ranale as I love Ushca.”

  “Thank you, brother,” Moc’Tor replied.

  Together, they walked back to the Great Entrance where Straf’Tor left to return to Kayerm.

  Moc’Tor sent messengers to the other communities to call the Leaders together.

  In the meantime, Oragur had returned from the Deep Valley.

  “Take this, but look at it first.” He passed E’ranale a handful of herbs. “Chew it well and swallow it. It will ease your pain, and I am leaving the rest here in a basket by your bedside. Take only the amount I showed you, twice a day. You can increase it by a quarter if you need to, but do not exceed that amount. As I explained to you before, while this will help with the pain, too much will cause you to return to the Great Spirit.”

  E’ranale took the pile of leaves from his hand, stuck them in her mouth, and chewed slowly. She wrinkled her nose.

  “I know it does not taste the best, but you will be glad of it in a few moments. There is more than enough here to last—” Oragur stopped talking.

  E’ranale nodded her head slowly; she understood.

  The Healer stood and turned to Moc’Tor, Dak’Tor, and Pan, who were all watching. “I will stay for a few days to ensure it is working and to make certain that E’ranale understands how to adjust the dose. Other than easing her pain, there is nothing more I can do,” Oragur said. “Moc’Tor,” he continued, “step down the hallway with me a moment.”

  The two males stepped outside.

  “Do you understand that given in a large amount, it will do more than ease her pain?”

  “Spit it out, Oragur, it is not like you to be so sensitive,” said Moc’Tor.

  “My new mate is having a good effect on me. Moc’Tor, the time will come when E’ranale’s pain will be unbearable. At that point, it is time to let her return to the Great Spirit. Give her a large amount of the medicine so she will fall asleep and suffer no longer.”

  “You are telling me to kill my mate.”

  “I am telling you to help her return home. The desire to keep her with you as long as possible, that I understand. But at some point, it becomes entirely selfish. It is no life for her, living in excruciating pain. And if you wait too long and the offling ruptures inside her, she will suffer unbearably before she finally dies, and nothing will relieve that pain. That is what is awaiting her.

  “And in case it has crossed your mind, there is no saving the offling. Even if it could be removed, it will be too young to survive outside of her. And cutting it out of her—”

  “Stop!” Moc’Tor held his hand up. “Stop; I understand. There is more than enough here, you said?”

  “Yes. There was a generous supply at the Deep Valley. Moc’Tor, I know my leaving put you at a great disadvantage. If you identify a Healer, send him or her to the Deep Valley, and I will provide extensive training. I also did not realize I had left your Healer’s stores in such low supply. The medicine is harvested from the A’Pozz plant, the orange flowers with the profuse, furled petals that bloom in the late spring and through the summer heat. It is something you should always have on hand. Fortunately, there was a large supply at the Deep Valley. Otherwise, there would be no choice for E’ranale but to die a terrible death.”

  It was the longest Moc’Tor had ever heard Oragur speak. “Thank you. For everything,” he said.

  Back inside the Leader’s Quarters, Pan and Dak’Tor sat one on either side of their mother, each holding one of her hands and keeping her company while they waited for the medicine to take effect. After a while, Pan could feel the tension leave her mother’s body, and before long, E’ranale was sleeping peacefully.

  Over the next few days, the messengers returned with word that the other community Leaders were on their way to Kthama. Dochrohan prepared the meeting room, making sure everything was in order.

  “What is the purpose of this meeting?” asked Dak’Tor.

  “When Straf’Tor and his following left Kthama, he and I both feared that a day would come when, to keep our People apart, we would have to put measures in place that were stronger than our directive alone. My brother and I knew that life at Kayerm would not be as easy as life here,” continued Moc’Tor. “And in my error of judgment, I let the breeding with the Others go too far. We are fortunate that Straf’s followers did not continue cross-seeding their females as we did, so the strongest Mothoc blood flows in their veins.”

  “And now, because of the rebel Ridg’Sor and the ideas he has planted in the minds of others, they are a threat to us because ideas have a way of spreading,” commented Dak’Tor.

  “Yes. So it is time to seal the end of Wrak-Wavara. It is time for this dark stain to pass from memory. Somehow, Kthama and what happened here must be removed from our history. And we must take so strong a measure that no one will dare break the division between our people.”

  “So that is why the Leaders are coming.”

  “Yes. You must be prepared to pick up where I leave off; you are heir to my leadership.”

  Dak’Tor frowned. “You know I do not want to be Leader and that it should fall to Pan,” he answered. “She is stronger, and the people have faith in her and recognize her as one to follow.”

  “Pan has her own responsibilities as Guardian. I have said it before; you are the one born to lead our people.”

  Dak’Tor shook his head. “Regardless, that is so far in the future.”

  “No. It is not far in the future,” Moc’Tor continued. “The time is coming soon when you will have to step up and lead our people. You must focus on gaining their trust and taking your place. You need to step up, Dak’Tor. Their eyes must be on the future, on you, not on me. I will have to disappear into history along with the rest of this story.”

  Dak’Tor frowned. “I do not understand. Are you leaving?”

  “Remember when you were young, and I would tell you to stop focusing on your weaknesses. That a warrior who nurses his weaknesses will never build his strengths?”

  Dak’Tor nodded.

  “You have often nursed your weaknesses instead of building your strengths. We have had many conversations about it. From now on, you must think of yourself as the Leader of the High Rocks and act accordingly. In your actions, in your stance, in your words. Accept the mantle of leadership and do not disappoint me,” Moc’Tor said sternly. “Soon, you must walk Etera without either your Mother or me.”

  ‘I do not understand! Where are you going?”

  “I cannot answer that, son. I can only say that before long, you and your sisters will be the next hope for Kthama. Do not speak of this to them. I will shortly tell them myself,” Moc’Tor added.

  Dak’Tor walked away quickly, trying to control his feelings, clenching his teeth and his fists. He desperately struggled to push down all the pain and fear that filled his soul. He was not strong enough. I cannot do this; my Father is wrong. It is one thing to take over the leadership if he is here to guide me, but how can he expect me to take over without him? What would I do? Was he to lose his father and mother at the same time?

  After Dak’Tor had left, Moc’Tor sought out his two oldest daughters. He asked them to sit on the grassy bank and sat between them where he could put an arm around each. “Inrion, V
el,” he said. “Your mother is dying. I know you know this, and I am very sorry to be so blunt. There are hard times ahead for you both. You must carry on now, with your brother and Pan. To tell you what is coming would not make it any easier. Just know that no matter what happens, I have faith that you can handle it. Help each other through this; I am counting on you all to be here for each other.”

  Inrion and Vel didn’t understand what he was saying but realized he was trying to comfort them. As Dak’Tor had done, they pestered their father for answers, but he would give them none. He was convinced that knowing what was coming would provide no benefit and do nothing to soften the blow, and there was a risk they might even try to interfere. They must walk the hard path in front of them and reach into themselves to find their strength within.

  Though he knew his visit would be short and that he would be called back to Kthama very soon, Straf’Tor was relieved to return to Kayerm. Wosot was the first he saw. “How is Ushca?”

  “She is well. The females are all stirred up and chattering nonstop.”

  Straf’Tor smiled, the first time he had in a while. “What about Ridg’Sor?”

  “Pouting. But contained. But I fear it will not last forever.”

  Straf’Tor nodded.

  “As for the rest who went with him, they only returned because of your threats. In their hearts, I believe they still want to take Kthama.”

  “I am sure you are right. But, in the event that it should come to this, my brother and I made a plan to end it once and for all,” Straf’Tor replied.

  Chapter 11

  Word had spread through Kayerm that Ushca was not far from delivering Straf’Tor’s offling.

  “So. Another ‘Tor is about to enter Etera,” sneered Ridg’Sor.

  “Why do you hate the House of ’Tor so much? Is it because Moc’Tor killed Norcab?” asked Laborn. “But that had nothing to do with Straf’Tor.”