Rise of the Fallen

by Ivory Autumn

  As the night wore on, Coral strummed on her harp, singing softly, as she did. The harp had a golden frame with golden ivy engraved into its stand. The harp’s strings hummed, even before she strummed her fingers across them. The melodious music was soothing to Andrew. He looked over to Lancedon who gazed at Coral, transfixed by the music.

  He hadn't realized it, until now, how much he would miss Coral. She had been his sun these past dreary weeks, warming his cold world in more ways than one. He would miss her independent nature, her wit, her glowing face, her beautiful soul.

  Her warm music filled the hall, immersing its listeners in visions of pleasant summers, warm fires, balmy sandy beaches, until the room grew pleasantly warm. Lancedon embraced each word with his heart, feeling the magic of her songs, more than anyone in the room. He closed his eyes, listening to the music so intently that he was transported to a time and place when he was very young, and Danspire was still great. He could see his father standing by the first horse he had ever owned, in a green pasture filled with yellow sunlight. He could feel the fresh air wash over him, and the warmth of a brown and white horse as it nuzzled his hand.

  “You'll take care of her, wont you?” his father's rich voice asked.

  “Take care of her? Of course!” his younger self said.

  “If you take care of her properly, treat her right, and give her enough freedom, food, love, pasture, and proper training, then, I believe you will be able to one day, take care of Danspire. If you treat this horse right, it will love you. And if you treat the people of Danspire right, they'll love you too.”

  “Really?” the small boy asked, wonder in his eyes.

  “Yes,” Lancedon's father replied, his face sincere. “They will love you, as I love you, son.”

  The vision faded as suddenly as it had come. Lancedon gazed around the warm room with a dazed expression. The room had become less noisy and the hum of people had died down. Andrew, Freddie, and Ivory had gone off to bed, but Talic, Gogindy, and Drogan were sitting in a corner, arguing with a bunch of leftover veggies, and food that refused to be thrown away.

  Lancedon turned back to Coral. Her voice that had swayed with the summer, now swirled with an autumn tang. Two Curleelew lovers swayed and danced with the music. Their dresses and skirts twirled, and waved with their movements, like waves on the sea. They were so concise, so rhythmic and beautiful that Lancedon was mesmerized. Visions of the lonely autumn months that he had passed as a prisoner flooded over him---months that were spent alone in a dark cell, with no one to talk to. He'd talked to himself a lot of the time, memorizing everything he would say to his father once he was free. When he wasn’t in his cell, he had been sent to work with other prisoners. And what arduous work it was! Those seven years were the loneliest time he'd ever spent in his life---especially the first years away from his father.

  Coral’s sad music strummed on into bitter winter, and Lancedon shivered as cold visions filled his mind; seeing the guard, he so hated, whose teeth had nearly rotted out of his face. “This,” the guard had said, pointing spitefully at Lancedon, “was once a prince.” Then the guard laughed and pointed to a host of dirty prisoners, knocking them to their knees. “These are your humble servants. Bow! Pay homage to your lordly prince, you beggars!”

  Lancedon closed his eyes, trying to blot out the scene.

  Then, just as suddenly as the chilly music filled the air, the dawning of spring caressed his ears, and his mind was filled with the birth of new hopes, and dreams. The haunting past fell away, and he was lulled asleep by happy images.

  He was coming home once again.

  ~~~~

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Departure

  Coral’s eyes were misty with tears and her heart was torn as she watched Lancedon prepare the horses to leave. Coral would be losing both a beloved friend and a brother today.

  Her father, king Rylee, made sure that each of the travelers were given packs of food, water, and warm blankets made from the star leaves that grew in the forest there, that had special abilities to warm them from summers passed. He also gave them flint that would spark even in the coldest and wettest of weather.

  Not only that, King Rylee furnished the party with horses, which were a talking breed of horse. Though they had not uttered a word to any of the travelers, King Rylee insisted that the horses had told him which rider they'd prefer.

  Talic stayed on Flags, worried that a talking horse might be hard to control. Lancedon kept his own horse, Follymane. Sterling, the king’s son, rode his own brown and white horse, Rainbow.

  Andrew was picked by a brown-orange cinnamon colored horse, named Oragino. Coral said that it was well that Oragino had chosen Andrew, because his gait was smooth and Andrew would not be jolted up and down like on other horses.

  Freddie was chosen by a strong black horse with a white tail and mane, called Starfire. Freddie immediately loved the horse. They both bonded when Freddie handed Starfire a piece of sugar.

  Ivory and Gogindy were chosen by a gray horse, speckled with white spots all over its body. Its name was Dandelion. Both Gogindy and Ivory loved it. Or at least, Gogindy loved its name.

  On the hour of their departure, the towns’ people of Boreen came to see them off. King Rylee, his daughter Coral, Sterling's small son, and Drogan, stood by, watching their departure with misty eyes.

  Before they left, Coral gave Andrew a hug that was so comfortably warm that it made his bones tingle and the cold feeling in his veins vanish for a small moment.

  “Thank you,” Andrew whispered, as she stepped back. Then she hugged the others in turn.

  “Take care of yourself, Andrew,” Drogan said. “And make sure you eat properly, and that Freddie dresses your wounds.”

  “I will,” Andrew said, hugging Drogan affectionately. “I’ll always remember what you’ve done for me.”

  “Ah,” Drogan murmured, fumbling with is beard. “I’ve done nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “You just saved my life, that's all.”

  Drogan looked deeply into Andrew’s blue eyes. “It was Lancedon who saved you. Not me. You must promise me, Andrew that you won't try to use your gifts until you feel stronger. You must save your strength for the most important task at hand. I promise that if you are patient, you will be able to destroy the Shade’s trees. Do not doubt that you can still accomplish your great task. Things once lost can almost always be found. Your gifts are not gone. You will find them when you need them most. Do not let this handicap keep you from doing what you were meant to do! Do you understand?”

  Andrew nodded. “I understand.”

  A look of relief filled Drogan’s face. “Oh, and there’s one more thing, promise me that you won’t use your sword until you absolutely have to. It may give you strength for a moment, but it also uses it. Such things will drain you if you are not careful.”

  “I promise, I’ll do what I can,” Andrew smiled sadly, hugged Drogen once more, and turned away as Lancedon helped him onto his horse. “Goodbye, my friend.”

  Sterling’s farewell to his father, sister and his small son was a sad one. After he said his goodbyes, he got on his horse and looked away, trying to avoid their pleading faces.

  “You’ll come back, won’t you?” King Rylee asked.

  “Fate willing,” Lancedon answered, looking at Coral with longing in his eyes. “We will.”

  “Promise me,” Coral murmured, in pleading tone, drawing closer to Lancedon, wrapping her arms around him, “that you’ll bring my brother back.”

  Lancedon pressed Coral her closer to him, basking in her warmth. Her touch warmed him so completely that he felt like taffy that could be molded into any shape. “I’ll…do my best.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, kissing him lightly on the lips. Her lips were so warm, and felt so wholly comfortable, that Lancedon’s mind became slightly numb. Behind them, he thought he saw a flash of lightning and heard a rumble of thunder. Lancedon smiled at the lightning and pulled away. />
  “Goodbye,” she whispered, her soothing warm voice flowed out, rippling warmly over him. “You know that I and my people would go with you, if the Barnacles’ power was put at bay.”

  Lancedon nodded. “Yes, I know. But, because you’re not coming with me…I know that I will have something to come back to.”

  “What makes you so sure I'll still be here when you come back?” she asked, turning away.

  Lancedon smiled, and called after her, “Because spring always comes after the winter.”

  She flashed him a warm smile. “Farewell.”

  At that, Lancedon bowed low, got on his horse, and cried, “farewell, good people. We go to summon the Fallen world to battle. For home, love, life, and liberty!”

  An echoing shout ran through the crowd. “For home, love, life, and liberty!”

  The crowd grew louder and louder echoing behind them as the travelers slowly made their way through the city gates, and into the chocolate forest. The sky swiftly clouded over, sending down a torrent of steamy raindrops over them, as if bidding them a last farewell. Andrew held out his hands, and gazed up into the sky, feeling a peace settle over him. Though they had fallen, like a tree felled to the earth. They would rise.

  The Journey to Danspire had begun.

  ~~~~

  Epilogue

  The Dark Time

  There is a Good Time and a Bad Time in all the earth. Where one of these times seems to predominate, the other time fades into the background. Bad Time drags on forever; it is painful and most always uncomfortable.

  On the other hand, Good Time runs out much more quickly than the previous. Good Time comes, graces us with pleasure, and then leaves. Some Good Times last, or live longer than others, but that is because Bad Time gets put far away into the forgotten corners of the universe, used by some miserable soul who has been overtaken by evil times, more than his share.

  Bad Time strikes like a bandit, with no thought for anyone’s well being. It consumes whatever the Good Time has left behind, trying to shut out any light from the Good Time it so hates. The Good Time of earth’s age had been struggling with a very Bad Time for many years. This struggle had caused the Good Time to become very feeble and weak. Good Time had put up an excellent fight, but as with every season and time, it must pass away. Good Time had been struggling far too long against Bad Time. Good Time had risen up several times over the years, and overshadowed the Bad Time. Nevertheless, through all of this, Bad Time still lingered in the shadows, working ceaselessly against his foe, waging war where it could, and weakening Good Time, year by year, hour by hour, minute by minute, until Good Time became too old, weak, tired, and feeble to put up much of a fight.

  Good Time peered down the long winding corridor, down a dark hallway, with fearful eyes. When he was absolutely sure no sign of danger was near, he slipped down the hallway, panting heavily, fearful someone would see him. His once-white cloak fluttered as he ran. The cloak was torn and marred by the blast of Bad Time’s dark wind. Good Time’s face was scarred and bleeding from the wounds he had received from the thousand battles he had fought against his enemy. His eyes were very sad and his lips were pressed together in a solemn line. His graying hair was thin. His wrinkly skin sagged with age and care.

  Good Time paused in a dark corner, catching his breath. He closed his eyes, feeling suddenly weak, and very sad. A terrified scream cut through the halls behind him, and was cut short.

  Good Time’s whole frame trembled, and he let out a sobbing gasp. “My children. My children. How could he do this to you? You were my heirs. My hope for the future. For a better Time than mine.”

  The sound of heavy breathing and shuffling feet sounded in the hallway behind him. He quickly stood upright, feeling cold, and stiff. He glanced behind him, seeing the dark outline of the figure that he feared the very most---Dark Time. He ran down the hallway, faster than he had ever run before, speeding up time. Then he slowed, and peered behind a dark corner. He held his breath, watching as the being chasing him passed by. He exhaled in relief, and made his way in the opposite direction of his enemy. His time was drawing to a close. This he knew all too well. He wondered what kind of time would take his place? With his death, would all the Good Times of years past, fade? His great grandfather, and his father, had spoken of a very Bad Time rising, but they never told him that it would be in his time.

  Making sure no one was watching him, Good Time glanced carefully about him, then made his way down a stairwell. He slipped into an obscure room and bolted the door behind him. The room was lit with only a few candles, yet the light they emitted caused his eyes to ache. This room held his only hope of a better future. In this room, he felt both older and younger than he had ever felt in his whole life.

  It was here that time stood still. He had never stood this still before. Such stillness caused his eyelids to twitch with the chime and tick of every clock that had ever been invented, reminding him that time could not stand still, or it would cease to be. Yet he stood still. With every non-moment, the room became tense, the floorboards trembled, the air became stifling, and the sundials and strange measuring measurements under his arms, chimed together with impatience. When the room felt as if it was going to explode from the tension, Time moved once again. Letting out a loud sigh, he walked nearer to a small cradle at the far corner of the room.

  He gazed fondly at the beautiful baby in the cradle, wishing this moment could last forever. He analyzed the precious moment he had with his son, knowing the full value of each second that he lingered. Was this to be his last moment? Why had he been in such a hurry so much of the time? With time, there was always so much to do. Now there was so little time left. While others slept, he had always been moving. Why hadn’t he paused more often? He gazed at the sleeping child with the eyes of a tender parent. He pondered his son’s future with sad heart. Would his last living son ever get the chance to grow into the beautiful time he had envisioned? Would his son stay infant, or would the boy be lost amid the Bad Time. Would his son suffocate under such a Dark Time, or would he turn into a monster?

  “We meet at last,” a dark voice tolled behind him. “I’ve waited long for this moment.”

  Good Time turned around and faced the intruder with dark eyes. “You haven’t waited long enough!” He pointed a stern finger at the unwanted guest. “Leave, while there is still time.”

  “Looks as if there’s not much of it left---on your part,” the dark being breathed.”

  Good Time stood firm. “Go! There is no place for Dark Time in this room!”

  Dark time laughed and grasped Good Time by the collar. “There is always room for my time. There always has been, and there always will be. Why do you think I lasted so long under your reign? But now you are weak. None of your children remain, except for this sleeping child here. Give up, and I will spare your son, though he will never see you or any of your kindred for all of eternity.”

  Good Time looked up. His eyes were fierce and his face firm. “Your terms are harsh as always. It seems that I have no choice but to submit to them. Release me for one small moment so I may say my last farewells to my son. You of all times can spare a moment, can you not?”

  Dark Time’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Yes, I suppose I can spare a moment. But only one.” He released his grip on Good Time’s throat, and stepped back. He folded his arms, watching.

  Good Time leaned over his son’s cradle. “My boy,” he murmured, stroking his child’s face. He kissed his son’s cheek for the last time. “Goodbye. Remember me, please.”

  “Time’s up!” Dark Time thundered. “Kneel before me, you wretched fool!”

  “Yes, my time is up,” Good Time sighed. “And such a time it is.” He stepped before the Dark Time and knelt down. “Do with me as you will.”

  “You were foolish to resist me for so long,” Dark Time growled. “Foolish to try to keep me at your doors for so long when you could have let me in, and avoided this long struggle.”

  Dark
Time paused, and smiled, listening to shrieks and wails that haunted the tall halls of Good Times wrecked home. “Hark, the offspring of all your efforts are now breathing their last.”

  “Stop! I cannot bear it. Have mercy on them.”

  “Me, have mercy?” Bad Time scoffed, clenching his hands around Good Time’s neck. “When was there a time that I did that? You of all creatures should know that I have no mercy.”

  “There’s always a first time for everything.”

  “And a last,” Bad Time howled, squeezing Good Time’s neck until his arm trembled and his face dripped with black sweat.

  “Remember,” Good Time choked out, “you will spare my son!” With those last words, Good Time’s body went limp, melting into the floor in a flash of light. The earth rumbled at his disappearance. A cold wind howled through the decaying house, causing Good Time’s infant son to cry out miserably.

  Dark Time let out a loud laugh, and stared at the spot of ground where Good Time had dissolved. “Don’t worry old, Timeless, soul. No matter the time, time must fulfill all its obligations.”

  Dark time turned to the screaming infant and picked the child up, inspecting it with cruel eyes. The child shrieked louder.

  Dark Time frowned and glared at the screaming child, his tall formidable shadow cast a dark blanket over the baby’s body.

  The child hushed, though its eyes were bright with fear, and its lower lip trembled. “There, there,” Dark time cooed. “I am your father now. And under such a Dark Time you will be raised. Under such a father, you will become darker than I! The world has never known such a Dark Time as this, nor ever will.”