by JW Baccaro
"Why did you show me a future that will never be?" he whimpered.
"Because–I love you. Too long, have I visited those moments alone, too long have I watched and wished it reality. I had to show them to the one I cherish. Now, in a sense, it had been fulfilled, and the future that never was has become the past."
“Ironic indeed. Though I must ask, will you take these memories away when I regain consciousness, as you did in the other dreams?"
"For the sake of sparing you a troubled mind, yes Darshun, I will take them away. Once awake, you will forget about this conversation."
He sighed deeply.
"But you will forever remember our 'wedding night' within your dreams. That is a gift I leave with you."
"Then—this is really it."
"I am sorry. With all my heart, Darshun my love, I am truly, earnestly sorry."
He cupped her hands into his. "Don't be. You committed no crime. I am grateful for all you have done. Never have I known such a creature as you, mysterious, humble, a child of pure Light. No matter what spell you cast upon my mind, I shall forever love you with all my heart."
"Oh, Darshun." She rested her head against his chest. Suddenly her eyes widened and she looked to him as if there was something more to say, something of great importance. "One last thing you must know. Tomorrow, after becoming lost in the depths of Mt. Blackshrine, you will take a harsh fall cutting open your hand. As blood fills into the cracks of the earth, watch where it flows. Go the opposite way."
He glanced to her, confused.
"You'll understand when the time comes."
Time, he thought, an interesting, lonely concept, full of mystery, joy and sadness. "I shall never see you again will I?"
"We may be reconciled one day among the highest Realm of Heaven with our great God Abidan. Until that day shall come, I say farewell." She tugged him over, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. He tried speaking but she put a finger over his mouth; she began to sing a soft melody, romancing his heart, drifting him further into a paradise of lovely hypnosis. Then for the last time, she looked into his steel blue eyes.
He felt lost in awe; abandoned in wonder by an enigma, forgetting all the sadness and discouraging words she’d spoken.
Kelarin spoke what would be her last words, "Farewell my love…"
CHAPTER THREE
THE BATTLE OF MILROTHA
The sun rose, illuminating the night sky. The great day that would decide the fate of the world had come and the warriors of Light stood ready to march upon the gates of Castle Astaroth—all were prepared to leave.
Olchemy stood at the bottom of the hill Darshun had climbed, gazing at the landscape, Uriel by his side.
“You know he's not coming back,” Nayland said, walking up from behind the Wizard.
“Aye. Do you think I would've given him directions to Mt. Blackshrine if I hadn't known what he planned to do?”
Nayland stopped beside him, glancing to the red Dragon quickly and then Olchemy. “Of course not. I understand Darshun's part, but why are you letting him go alone.”
“He doesn’t need our help anymore. He is as ready now as he will ever be. It is better this way. Besides, we'll be needed at the battle.”
“Battle…yes. I wonder what Damacoles will be thinking as he looks onward for a few warriors and witnesses hundreds? Ha, what a surprise indeed."
The High Wizard faced him, wondering if the Nasharin even understood the dangers ahead. "Damacoles will not be frightened, rather pleased for the amount of violence that shall proceed. Nayland Winveil, what we face today will be like nothing you or I have yet to encounter—nor ever shall again, granted we live. The kind of battle soon to take place is likened to that which you read among historical scrolls of ancient times. And today shall indeed go down in history.”
Nayland pondered his words, how true they could be—how true they are! For the mightiest of the Dark, every creature with a will bent and controlled by Abaddon, including the dangerous High Wizard Levieth, lie in wait beyond the numerous valleys and thick woodlands. The feelings he felt, a little fear, a little excitement, were unlike any danger or battle, knowing the victor of this specific battle could determine the fate of the earth. He wondered if the warriors who fought the final battle in the First Great War had the same feelings. "Shall we march then?”
“Indeed you shall. I will climb the sky, soaring above the clouds and across Syngothra to scout the enemy forces. I’ll meet you at the field of Milrotha.”
“I understand.”
“Uriel, shall we fly one last time?”
He growled excitedly, the burly rumble trembling both Olchemy and Nayland’s chests. “It hopes master says that!”
Olchemy climbed onto his back, raised a staff into the air, and then flew off, soaring higher and higher until they appeared as a tiny speck.
The sound of footsteps approached, crunching over the snow. It was Magnus. “Son, Caelestias and Captain Mythaen are ready to lead the army.”
Nayland glanced over to his side and saw Darshun’s sister sitting around a dying fire from the night, alone. “You go ahead father, I’ll catch up.”
"Very well."
While Magnus departed, Nayland walked over and seated himself beside Minevara, her eyes never shifting to him. “Are you staying behind?” he asked.
“Of course not,” she answered, sadness in her tone.
To Nayland's surprise, there were a few tears strolling down her cheek. He reached out to wipe them away.
“I’ll be fine Nayland!” she said, throwing down his hand.
“I know, but I want to anyway.”
She faced him, gazing into those dark mysterious eyes, then found enough strength to curve a smile. “I’ve been up for awhile, thinking about many things.”
“Death?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Do you fear it?”
“No I do not. Nor battle.”
“So, what do you fear?”
“What fate holds in store for the world today…Will it end in darkness, death, hate? Will we ever get a chance to wander the luscious green forests again, where the temperature is warm, and birds sing their songs? Worst yet, will we see Windtros again? For there are countless things I wish to show him, tell him. I feel as if my long lost brother is lost again!”
Nayland remained silent.
~~****~~
As she spoke, Minevara’s eyes never shifted back to him. "These things I ponder, driving myself to insanity, fearing for everyone and it is draining my courage away." But was it? Were these things really the thoughts driving anxiety through her spirit? Indeed so; in truth another issue remained, one she felt she had to let go of, tell someone, just not Nayland—anybody except him! He must never know what took place in the Undead Caverns. Not now, not ever.
Perhaps it would all blow over fine and nothing come of it. Then again, she couldn't shake the thought of another great evil coming about because of her deed, which ironically was showing mercy to the unmerciful creature of the night, the Vampirae Iceshard, who at this very moment ventured somewhere among the world, carrying the son or daughter of Nayland in her belly. Over and over again, she couldn't help but to wonder what this Nasharin/Vampirae will be like after exiting the womb. She felt convinced no good would come of it, only dread, death and horror, making the falsehood of Nasharin myths commonly told by anti-Nasharins come true.
Yes, this bothered her above all, together the stress had begun to claim her strength, until Nayland came over that is, and surprisingly he seemed—uplifting, kind, respectful for once. He’d changed definitely, or maybe perhaps after the death of Mirabel, realizing any of them may be next, his feelings for her couldn't help but to come out. Whatever the case she liked it—liked him.
After listening to her concerns, seeming to give it some thought he said, "Forgive me, I haven't the proper words to answer your questions, not for satisfactory. All I will say is that in times of great trials and tribulations good h
as always withstood the flames, only to come out stronger. Races of good, especially mankind, a race whose blood flows within us as well, is not to be underestimated or taken for granted. According to the wisest, that was the mistake Abaddon made that cost him the First Great War. Still, even if today is to be our end, then we will make it such an end! The Light will not go out until every last breath we have flowing through our spirits is gone. That is what I can promise you.”
Not only his words, but also the way he’d spoken them with such confidence, gave her encouragement. "Then perhaps this is the last time I may speak with you alone. In that case, thank you for all that you’ve done in this war, and I sincerely mean that. Except of course…You trying to kill my brother."
Nayland lowered his head, almost in shame.
She said it as a joke; though it remained clear the memory bothered him. "You truly have come to love Windtros, haven't you?" Minevara asked.
"I've come to respect him and his father. Both great warriors."
"You are too, you know."
Raising an eyebrow and smiling he said, "Ah, so now you're admitting the skill I have over you?"
She rolled her eyes. "I said no such thing other than appreciation and gratitude—"
"You are welcome." He spoke firmly then took her hand and placed one of his arms over her shoulder, pulling her a little closer.
Bewildered, eyes widened, strange emotions flooding her veins; it was uncommon for Nayland to touch her, which is what she’d desired for many days now. She leaned against his side and there they sat for the next few minutes, quiet….Nothing intruded, except the wind and an occasional crackle from the fire shooting out a spark or two.
Looking out over the valley, the army—was almost halfway across.
"We best catch up," Minevara prompted. "I think it not wise to remain alone in this land. Who knows what else is lurking."
Rising to their feet, Nayland called out to Shadow. The stallion responded immediately, being no more than a few hundred feet away, trotting around with Astra the Unicorn.
"My friend." Nayland rubbed his smooth black mane. "I'm so glad you've come with the Elves and Humans. I thought I might never see you again."
“Captain Mythaen said your stallion led them here.”
“Shadow is his name.”
She squinted. “Yes Nayland, Shadow.”
Nayland smiled and climbed onto the stallion’s back then reached down for Minevara's hand. "Come on, we'll catch up quicker this way."
At first, she hesitated, looking over to Astra, but she’d since taken off, charging after the army. "Ohhh, I wanted to ride her!" Minevara said.
"She's a Unicorn and seldom will one allow such a thing."
She took his hand and climbed up, seating herself behind him, grabbing onto his hips. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I cannot try. You've managed to tame Shadow."
He glanced back to her, crudely smiling. "Shadow is not 'tamed.' He's an alley, belonging to no mortal." Saying that, Shadow stood on his hind legs, sprouting up with great force—Minevara gripping Nayland tightly—and shot off like an arrow, moving over the snow, through the valley onward toward the army; the cold wind drawing tears in both Nasharins’ eyes.
Traveling across vast icy plains, additional valleys and through the heavily wooded forest, the army of Light, finally reaching the snowfield Milrotha, could now see Castle Astaroth in the far distance.
The black-stone fortress seemed enormous and stood as high as a mountain, its shape unmistakable. The shape of a serpent! The image or symbol most often used by the Dark. It consisted of six levels that ascended in a spiral where the top at the serpent’s head, reaching the clouds of heaven, gazed out over Syngothra with two fiery eye-shaped windows.
How the inside of the castle was constructed, or its outer fighting parameters remained a mystery. As they drew closer they realized that at some point, they must have been seen, probably by scouts creeping among the woods, or maybe even by Nightwings lurking the sky. Therefore, across Milrotha soldiers of darkness were already banding together, hundreds upon thousands, like insects preparing to defend the hive, forming line after line in war formation.
While too far away to tell just how many there exactly were, nevertheless, clearly was the Light outnumbered. Reaching their mark Caelestias and Captain Mythaen commanded all to stop. There they would wait for Olchemy.
~~****~~
King Damacoles, fearless, eager for battle, lay within a mound of snow-covered boulders below Mt. Blackshrine, near the entrance to the Unholy Altar. Hidden by his white cloak he watched for any signs of Darshun and his companions, who he wanted to kill so badly—especially Darshun.
Ahh, come on Nasharin. Show yourself. There is no more room left for hiding. You’re already dead, died the night you challenged me. There’s no point in delaying any longer. Accept it, death knocks at your door, longing to drag you into hell, between the venomous teeth of all evil. Lost in a sea of insanity he was disturbed by a dozen Cullach, quickly approaching.
“My King,” one of them shouted aloud.
Drawn to anger Damacoles arose and said, “Fools! Did I not command you to stay at your posts and watch for the Nasharin?”
“We bring dire news. The Nightwings have been staking from the skies and witnessed no one creeping across the land—”
“Nightwings can be fooled. I’ve told you idiots that.”
“But my King, they did spot one other thing, an army consisting of thousands of Men and Elves exiting the forest the other side of Milrotha.”
Elves, he thought. So…Lord Satyrus failed after all. And the men I assume are of Loreladia, the only city holding such a multitude.”
“What are your orders?”
Can this be a diversion, something to take all eyes off Darshun, giving him easy passage? Or, perhaps Lord Satyrus was a self-deceived fool that did not know what he was talking about. Yes, I’m willing to gather there never was a golden crystal. I’ve seen it before; such a prophecy is for weak minds about to be destroyed. By their own fear do they invent foolish myths, looking for any miracle to avoid extinction from the mighty. He glanced down at his arms, clenched his fists and enjoyed the power flowing through his veins. Yes, the mighty! He laughed obnoxiously. “This army of Elves and Men truly believes it can defeat me, and in the heartland of Syngothra?” He continued in such obnoxious haughty laughter, more than even the Cullach could stand.
Then a shadow covered the sun for a moment. They looked to the sky and saw a red Dragon passing over.
Ah, the Wizard and his pet that won the battle against Asgoth. Seems they know I am present, for they have brought their greatest to try and defeat me. Soon, they will get a taste of my wrath. When a thousand carcasses lay piled upon the wasteland, including Darshun and Mirabel, then all will understand my power.
“My King,” the Cullach called impatiently, “The longer you dwell lost in fantasies, the longer it shall take to be rid of these pests.”
The rest of the soldiers were estatic that these words fell out of their comrade’s mouth, especially addressed to the King. As if suspecting what might take place next, they stepped away.
“Tell me Cullach,” Damacoles said, fixing his gleaming eyes toward him. “What other trait is commonly shared by the weak?”
Confused, he merely shrugged his shoulders.
“I shall tell you.” He rested a hand atop his long scythe. “Stupidity.” With a flash of the blade, the Cullach's head fell to the ground and rivers of black blood shot out from the arteries like a fountain. The lifeless body collapsed. Damacoles looked to the others.
Immediately they lowered their faces.
“Return to Milrotha. Prepare battle formations. I shall come soon.”
“Yes, my King,” they answered in unison.
Watching them scurry past Castle Astaroth, a voice spoke from behind him. “I gather you’re aware of the situation?” it said.
Recognizing the voice, he answered, “Nothing to be concerned
of great Wizard. A last stand by the Light which shall end in vain.” He turned around to find no one present, at least visually.
Then Levieth made himself known, uncasing his invisibility.
“Why, great Wizard, have you been spying on me?” Damacoles asked, with tone drenched in mockery.
“Why should one who’s given himself over to Abaddon think that? You’ve nothing to hide. Discovering the army, I presumed it to be a decoy and have been combing the landscapes. Though no small party of Darshun and the others could be found.”
“Of course, there never was such a party. That silly little prophecy about Darshun as some sort of fancy Guardian, carrying a golden crystal is myth!” He burst out laughing. “Yes yes, one last hope for the weak before I crush them.”
“Mythological perhaps, as time has proving other prophecies false. Though the Light must never be underestimated—”
“I am not to be underestimated.”
Walking a bit closer and casting a glare, Levieth said, "You speak too highly of yourself, overly certain. Cease from it. For surely does such a mindset lead to death. If you desire Rule in the New World, heed my warning." His eyes glanced down to the headless body of the Cullach, a pool of dark blood staining the snow. "And that is one less soldier you could have used."
"My hand spares no mortal who doesn't know their place."
"Then execution should have been brought after the battle. Already, you are proving to be an unwise King, committing mistakes the former King of Asgoth was known for."
Eyes flaring, he stepped closer as if to engage in battle. "Don't include me with that weakling! I am far beyond what any of you have seen. And after today, you shall thank me."
"Powerful you are, yes, that is not in question. Don't let power cloud judgment."
"Oh, you mean as it has to you Levieth, father of Olchemy—the son you attempted killing to please Abaddon?" He smiled conceitedly and the High Wizard just looked at him, expressionless with no words. "Yes yes, I know your story too well, many words get passed around Astaroth. Power is the lust you strive for in life. Since the Demon Lord took hold of you, nothing else matters, not even your very own heir. See, in the end you are not much different than I. The only thing that separates us is your satisfaction to remain Abaddon’s footstool. He is your power, where I give homage to no one—no one! I am my power."
