by Jeremy Finn
Servant of Light
The Wars Within
By
Jeremy J. Finn
Christmas, 2007
[email protected]
Cover design by Jamason J. Finn
Dedicated to:
My parents,
who taught me to walk in the Light,
and walked in it before me
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction 7
Prologue 11
Premonition 15
Upon the Eve of the Dedication 23
Dark Revelations 35
The Intercessor’s Invitation 53
DaNyang’s Charge 69
The Festival of Lights 79
Darkness Falls on Hanasan 91
Flight at Dawn 103
Into the Fog of Reality 119
The Castaway of Ka-pyun 133
Crossing Over 147
Dawn Breaks Amidst the Storm 171
The Shadow of the Light 185
A Fish Out of Water 199
The Fallen Realms 211
Passing of the Old Life 219
A Lamp Unto My Feet 239
Typhoon at Midnight 271
Civil Wars 295
Commentary and Glossary 309, 319
INTRODUCTION
This story is the result of nearly four years of writing in my spare time and when the urge came to me. While writing this book has served as a hobby and pastime for me, I hope that the end result is a tale that can at least be enjoyed by those who tolerate fiction and creativity. To my surprise, I find the writing least difficult. It is the story and the scenes which must take time and effort, often coming to me in sudden memories or ideas that spring from simple things like a visit to a quiet Asian garden.
Thus, I think that I cannot go on without explaining how this story evolved, for very little sprung from my personal imagination and it would do discredit to claim the work as solely my own. Predominant among those who have served to build my ability to see another world are writers such as J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, James Fennimore Cooper, and Robert Jordan. Tolkien’s foundational work in fantasy sets a standard and a model for all who would write of other worlds and dangerous times. The triumph of good against overwhelming evil and the seeds of his religious beliefs add a deeper level to his story that draws us in and makes us want to be a part of the epic tale. In a different way, C.S. Lewis writes similar stories of good and evil. While Tolkien conveys his beliefs in very general forms, Lewis brings them into the spotlight in symbols and characters that cannot be misunderstood for what they represent. Robert Jordan, though far less influential to me, stands in my mind as an example of a writer who is able to weave a compelling tale, and as a master of detail and description. His method of describing sword fights is unique and inspirational. Finally, Cooper seems out of place among this list of fantasy writers. Nevertheless, I admire his work greatly. He took his experiences and the beloved landmarks of his rustic New York home and transformed them into a set of stories that seems very real and believable because they are based on places and feelings he personally experienced. He never attempted to make the hero of his story, Natty Bumpo or Hawkeye, a “great man” as so many other writers do with amazing feats and romantic allure. Rather, he created a genuine, simple man whose greatness rested in his pure character that could suffer no deceit or dishonor in the face of diverse circumstances. I also received inspiration from Natty's view of God and religion. He disdained the mask and ceremony of religion practiced by many in the town social circles. He chose rather to experience and truly witness God’s presence in the magnificent creation God left as His signature on the love letter He has written for us (St. Bonaventure would admire the man). As I read these authors who have lit my literary desire, I cannot help but think that they are often coming from a similar position of that which has served as my own inspiration.
I have drawn many, if not most, of my ideas and environments from places I have been and things I have done. This book serves not only as a fictional story, but also as a distorted sort of history of my experiences, travels, and relationships. To me, there is often a feeling or atmosphere about a place that can range from dreadful to sublime. It may cause me to want to flee or to make my dwelling there forever. I have tried to recreate some of these places as part of the story. In addition, names of people, towns, countries, etc. are nearly all derived from a root word that is actually related to the thing that inspired the form. Many may be difficult to read/pronounce, but again, it is creation and amalgamation and I do not wish to take the normal path. Many other worlds of creation do the same. Just think of Star Wars or any of the written works mentioned earlier. You will find few familiar names. If you know me well, you may pick up on some of the nuances in the names throughout the text. Still, though, I have made the setting intentionally ambiguous. To set an actual geographical location or assign familiar nationalities to the characters would seem to me less than creative and would take something away from the essential otherworldliness of the tale. Finally, it must be said that my whole person is drawn out while writing. As such, I have found it difficult (though I have not attempted to suppress it) to write anything from poetry to stories without brining my relationship with God into the design. This will become quite obvious in this story. I decided to add a commentary at the end with notes on each chapter explaining some of the background of the people, places, experiences, etc. that influenced my writing. Please read it after each chapter or at the end of the book, if it interests you.
I hope that you enjoy this adventure and that it can possibly inspire you at least in some small way as other writers have deeply inspired me. My mind foresees a trilogy in this world, though as Robert Jordan said shortly before his death, there are so many other stories in here (my head) contending to be written first. I only hope they shall all make it out onto paper at some point. Perhaps if I do not live long enough, I will take Randy Alcorn’s view and imagine myself continuing my tales on the new earth. Regardless, it serves as a fun, inexpensive hobby. So as you now embark on your journey into my mind, I hope you will be drawn into the fantasy and inspired to contemplate “reality”.
PROLOGUE
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood,
but against the rulers, against the authorities,
against the powers of this dark world
and against the spiritual forces of evil
in the heavenly realms.
–Ephesians 6:12
The chill of the autumn night wind blew against Qeter’s form as he glided swiftly through the dark canyons of the aging city’s buildings. Tiny pin points of light occasionally sparkled in the landscape around him, emanating from the smooth, onyx walls of the office buildings and appearing at intervals in the river of cars below him. Each point of light burned his eyes and fueled the hatred which existed perpetually within his heart. Tonight, however, his gnawing hunger dulled the ever present hatred. Qeter hungered for light.
In a wicked twist of irony, Qeter had been transformed into a creature who loathed all things of light, yet who constantly felt an insatiable desire to consume light. The light he consumed, though, was a different kind of light. He did not hunger after the lights of electricity or chemical reaction, but after the light that shone from only a few in any crowd of human beings.
Although most human creatures appeared to Qeter the same way they would to each other, a scant few possessed a light that shone brilliantly among their dull brethren. While their human companions could not see this light, it stood out like a beacon to Qeter. These were rare. In their own tongue, they adopted the name of the Servants of Light. But Qeter’s target toni
ght was not one of these servants. Rather, his master had sent him after a man whose appearance was as mundane as the myriad of others that shot by Qeter’s vision as he slipped through the corridors of the dense city. The master had not given Qeter any reason for the urgency of this task, neither had Qeter questioned him. To do so would mean pain…agonizing pain.
Qeter was among the best of the assassin breed, the Seirin. Many of the servants and even some of the Lords of the Darkness feared him. Thus, he knew his task tonight was nothing frivolous. His master would not sacrifice his powers of cunning and deceit on a task that a lesser assassin could handle easily.
Qeter rounded the corner and caught sight of the location of his target in the distance – an apartment building that looked like the many others surrounding it in the forest of concrete structures spread across Haniang City. This one, however, held the source of his desire.
He smiled, if it can be said that his form could smile, in wicked delight as he sensed the pain of a human in a building he passed. His kin were at work throughout the city, getting stronger each day and reaping a harvest of human souls at a rate Qeter had not witnessed in all his long days upon this world. Soon this city would be tightly within their control, and the Servants would be a rumor and a memory.
Closer the apartment building came, growing larger in his sight as the distance closed. Ah, yesss, Qeter hissed in the silence of his rotten mind. He could distinguish the individual souls of the humans in the building ahead, and he could see his victim clearly. The man was sitting on the balcony of his apartment gazing into the city lights, ignorant of the horror rapidly approaching him.
There was no need to worry about being seen by this man. Ordinary humans could not see the creatures of darkness. Only servants had the ability even to sense them unless the dark ones voluntarily revealed their form. To his surprise, Qeter noticed three servants in this same apartment building. Their lights glowed radiantly through their windows. Fortunately, though, two of these were probably not even strong enough to sense him, and all of them were too far from his prey to stop him from accomplishing his task before it was too late.
“Just a matter of seconds now,” Qeter mumbled anxiously. Closer the window came. Stronger his lust for taking life grew. This was so perfect, so easy. Consuming a servant’s light would be better, but he would still enjoy feasting on the pain of this dying man, after which he would return to his master for a reward.
Qeter spread out his form, revealing a circular mouth lined with descending rows of jagged teeth. If he had chosen to reveal his presence, it would appear to a human as a grotesque, horrid mutation of an oversized goat-man with wings and a terrible mouth something like that of a squid and shark’s combined. Little of the pleasant characteristics of either human or animal would be evident, though. Only a twisted similarity would mock both the human and animal forms and present a disturbing image that would strike fear into even the bravest of the weak humans. Thirty meters to the window. Qeter could feel it. He could feel his power just beginning to draw the life from the man’s defenseless body. Twenty meters to the window. Unusual, he suddenly thought. This man has sensed my presence! But it is too late! He is mine now! Ten meters to the window. Delight filled Qeter’s form and spilled into vile laughter. Five meters to the window. Then there was a flash. A burst of incredible brightness instantly formed an impenetrable wall between Qeter and his target. In agony he struggled against the wall, grasping and reaching in blindness. After just seconds, he could stand it no longer. As Qeter reeled away from the burning wall, he felt the searing pain of a blade delved deeply into his back. The pain shot through his spine and nearly caused him to loose consciousness. Qeter flung his arms wildly and struck something, which caused the lethal blade to tear out of his flesh. In a mad panic, he turned toward the street and dived deeply into the darkness below.
If only I can make it to the sewers, he thought, I can escape! In a sudden reverse of fortune, Qeter had changed from the hunter to the hunted. So rapidly the tables had turned and left him fleeing with a terrible wound! Qeter had no idea what had stopped him, and he had no intention of turning to find out. Whatever it was held a great deal of power and a blade unlike any he had tasted before. Fear tinged with insanity filled his heart now as he reached the drainage vent on the curb of the street and slid into the sewers below.
Fortunately for Qeter, his attacker did not pursue him into the sewers. He settled into the stinking river of sewage and let it carry him away as he suffered the pain of his injury and wondered if he would live through it to see another night. If he did, though, Qeter swore he would take vengeance on the being that struck him and caused him to fail in his mission. With even stronger conviction, Qeter swore deeply within his vile, bitter heart that he would not rest a breath until he had drained the last glimmer of life from that cursed man in a manner that caused him to shriek and wail in utter torment and hope of death.
PREMONITION
When fear grips the heart
And one cannot find the purpose,
Perhaps there is a part
That sees beyond the surface.
James Huener sat quietly staring out the large glass window in front of him. He had set a little couch out on the indoor porch of his simple apartment so he could look out over the cityscape at night and let his stress fade away. These days, that stress seemed to fade less and less. He came to this country from his home on the other side of the world in an attempt to start an adventurous career. Fortunately, luck seemed to be on his side, and he found a decent job quickly after arriving.
James had graduated from a good school with a degree in graphic design, but the job market back home was tough, and everyone seemed to want someone with experience. Through a friend of his, James heard of a country far away where young people with his skills could make a decent amount of money and have the opportunity to earn some prestige in the business. In this country, the multimedia industry was just beginning to boom, so schools and businesses were paying well to get people from James’ country to come train their students and employees. So, with high hopes and all the money he had managed to save, James set out for a new world with expectations of bright horizons ahead.
Immediately upon entering the country, James met with success. While he was checking in at a hotel downtown, a slick, middle-aged man in a dark suit approached him and made inquires about his profession. As soon as James mentioned his schooling and major, the man whisked him out of the hotel and into a swank modern restaurant down the street.
“James,” the man began over a glass of red wine, “we at Skyline Industries are extremely reserved about who we select to fill positions in the company. We want you on our team as a trainer and pioneer. I am prepared to offer you a deal you cannot refuse, but only if you will take it now.”
“Well, I’m not sure,” James stammered, “I would like to play the field and see what is out there.” It seemed to him that if Skyline Industries was so reserved about who they chose, they would not have guys like this roaming around and pouncing on any white-skinned kid just off the airplane. But he did not have enough money to be able to hold out unemployed for long so the proposal was certainly enticing.
“I totally understand,” the man countered, “but listen to what can be yours tonight. Skyline furnishes all its employees with a four bedroom, two bathroom apartment in the Hochon district. We offer a starting salary comparative to those of most other companies’ mid-term employees. And most importantly, you will be working with the best in the business. You will be a key member of a team breaking new ground in this country. So, can I sign you on tonight?”
For James, the offer was too much to turn down. He signed on with Skyline that evening and returned to his hotel to prepare for his move to the Silver Tower Apartment Complex the next day. It all seemed to be working out like the man promised. Of course, though, there was a catch. There always is. Once James began his job as the chief of graphic instruction at Skyline, the reality of the cost to him
became apparent. Skyline gave a comparatively good life to its employees, and in return, expected total dedication from them. For nearly a year now, James had spent fourteen hours a day, minimum, at work. His weekends consisted of Saturday night and Sunday morning, which did not offer much rest since his supervisor expected him to go out drinking Saturday night. This often resulted in a late wake up on Sunday morning.
So, once again, James sat out on his favorite couch this Friday night, gazing intently at nothing. His mind was lost in thoughts of work and reminiscing about things he missed from his country. The quilt-work city sprawled out before him, glistening with multicolored lights and humming with the dull sound of automobiles, trains, and planes taking people to destinations both near and far. Peace finally began to settle in his heart, and James’ eyes began to narrow as fatigue crept in.
Suddenly, James felt a shock of fear in the depths of his chest. It was an unusual fear, brought on by nothing, but immediately escalating to the point of panic. He felt this kind of thing before, not often, but every once in a long while. His parents explained it to him as a trick of the mind that everyone experienced, nothing more. But this time it did not begin to fade, as it usually did. His mind raced wildly. Why was he feeling like this? Surely this must be some sort of nonsense brought on by his weary mind. Just when he felt his heart was about to burst in fear, the feeling left, as suddenly as the flame of a candle when pinched between two fingers.
James took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He looked out into the darkness before him. Nothing had changed. The lights still twinkled, the cars still wound through the streets, nothing was different.
Well, James thought, I must really need some rest. My mind is beginning to play all sorts of games with me.
