The Coming Of The Light (Guardian Series)

by JW Baccaro

  Portentously, each Demonic Crystal shot out rays of light: blue, red, green and yellow beams brightly flashed and flickered like fire throughout the lair. The Dark Crystal seemed to draw this light into itself becoming transparent, unraveling the mysterious sacrifice.

  Abaddon could scarcely breathe when witnessing who it was—who she was. "How perfect,” he grinned.

  He gathered the crystals together and placed them into the black sack Tanarokai left behind then took a secret passage, a little corridor, leading to one of the square towers atop of Castle Volborg. Facing the north, he placed a hand at each side of his mouth and unleashed a terrible roar, the power shooting out of his lungs like a volcanic eruption. The sound waves traveled across the sky surrounded by a red mist. It traveled for miles upon end, even into Syngothra. Every animal amongst the forests hid for their lives upon hearing it. Then Abaddon closed his eyes and remained still, his appearance like a freakish gargoyle. He now awaited his ‘pet.’

  Several hours later, there came a great rushing wind.

  Abaddon peered to the sky, witnessing the creature he’d called for, the Dragon Melgothris, Guardian of Syngothra.

  Though they knew it belonged to Abaddon, the citizens of Asgoth nevertheless trembled at its sight, taking cover under whatever they could.

  It flew to the Demon Lord and hovered beside the castle, overshadowing the entire south side.

  Tightly holding the sack containing the crystals Abaddon climbed onto its back, securely stationing himself just below the neck. “Melgothris,” he muttered while rubbing a hand over its scaly dark skin. “Take me to Syngothra, to my home Castle Astaroth.”

  The Dragon roared terribly, shattering hundreds of ears, then returned to the sky.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HIDDEN POWER

  For days, Kaylis had been traveling alongside the river. When the brush became too thick, he would venture off a short distance to find an easier passing, always making his way back to the water. The journey so far seemed peaceful. Kaylis enjoyed the sounds of nature, the birds, locusts and wind along with the steady currents of the river, even the smell of the water.

  Beautiful trees of all sorts aroused his vision with ornamental cherries their luscious green leaves and clusters of dark-pink flowers, the orange-red locusts flickering like fire as the wind blew against them in the light of day. Then, to see the most magnificent of all, the Silver Willow, its heavenly silver-gray leaves shining like newly fashioned steel.

  Occasionally he would spearfish, catch about three or four, usually rainbow trout and cook them over a small fire, then rest for the night. Though this became seldom, for he felt eager to find Loreladia, always searching for the tree called, ‘Merlin’ standing as high as a mountain—Arundel Mountain, according to what Darshun foretold. When he finally saw this, Loreladia would only be days away.

  After another day of fast, heavy travel he grew hungry. He decided to settle and catch a few more tasty trout. Then a freak storm hit. The sky darkened, winds picked up and a hard rain fell, causing the waters to rise rapidly. A sound echoed, one he’d not heard since he’d been a child. It roared across the landscape while scarcely he spied and witnessed it—a tornado!

  Tearing trees out from the ground, throwing debris everywhere and destroying all things in its path.

  He ran, hoping to find cover or a cave of some sort. There seemed to be nothing except woodland. The giant gray cone continued its way wrecking havoc, no more than a few hundred feet behind him.

  Suddenly, it took a leap over the river, sucking up some of the water and began tearing apart the other side of the forest.

  Relieved, Kaylis now had time to get away, until he ran directly into a patrol of Dark Elves, attempting to flee the same storm, their burgundy skin dripping with rainwater.

  “Look, a human!” one of them shouted over the winds. “Get him!”

  Before Kaylis could make an escape, three quickly surrounded him, armed with long swords. He’d forgotten how fast they could move—and how ugly they were with their dark spacey eyes, long pointy ears and crude narrow faces—not to mention their height, exceeding his own by about a foot and a half.

  “Make this easy and come with us boy.”

  Despite the odds, he wasn’t going to be made slave a second time, especially at the Dark King’s castle. Far too long did he live behind bars, forced to do things against his will, with death all around. Well, not this time. By the desire to be free he drew his sword, slashing one of them across the chest then hacking the head off of another, and a third he engaged in a short duel with, before stabbing him through the gut.

  Realizing what he’d done, the rage in his enemies beginning to sprout, he turned and ran his heart out.

  The others pursued, gaining on him every second.

  He maneuvered around trees, slid down muddy slopes, jumped over ditches and tore through heavy brush—including great thorn bushes, cutting open his cheeks and hands.

  The entire patrol still continued pursuing right behind, getting closer and closer.

  Kaylis approached the river again and stopped at an embankment, nearly collapsing from lack of breath. He could not cross. The water seemed too fast. Not to mention the tornado still on the opposite side, wrecking havoc. To swim would be suicide, he would most definitely drown.

  However many options there were, it became too late anyway. The Elves surrounded him yet again, this time pointing their bows, ready to fire. “Drop the sword human!”

  “I won’t be taken slave anymore,” Kaylis retorted. “Just kill me.”

  Before they could react, the horrible, frightening thunder-cracking sound of the tornado became louder, winds increased dramatically and the rain scattered up, down and horizontal. Their faces dropped.

  Kaylis turned around to see what seemed so terrifying to them and there it was, spinning chaotically no more than three hundred feet away, directly across the water.

  In an instant, this horrifying vortex of nature leapt into the air, over the river and above the Elves, sucking them up along with a mass of trees—roots and all.

  Fortunately, Kaylis had gotten knocked off the land, accidentally kicked by the foot of an Elf on its way up into the cyclone of death. He belly-flopped onto the water and got carried downstream quickly. Desperately, he tried staying afloat, hoping to avoid an undertow, for the currents were deadly strong. Then he saw a tree stripped of its branches and leaves raging through the river about to pass him. With all his strength, he reached out, grabbed onto two stubs left by torn branches and climbed atop.

  The tree seemed thick—a giant log making it easy to rest on, but it bounced up and down with the currents, causing him nausea. Nevertheless, he moved away from the tornado and hopefully the unpredictable thing would not follow. Still windy and growing darker, he seemed to have no choice but to remain on the log. Though in a way, it seemed to be a good thing because he would get to Loreladia twice as fast now, rather than the long journey it could have been. Exhausted, he slowly drifted into sleep…the warm rain hitting the back of his neck feeling like little stones.

  He remembered now of the time before his enslavement, when his father lived and the day his life changed forever.

  * * * *

  “Stand firm boy, keep your senses alert. Let nothing distract you!” Magnus commanded. He attacked again with the sword but still Kaylis couldn’t counter the blow nor hold onto his weapon as Magnus knocked it from his slippery hands. “Damn it! What is the matter with you?!" He smacked the little Nasharin on the head. "Do my words simply pass through your thick skull?"

  Kaylis shrugged.

  "Retrieve your sword."

  Passing a sigh, he knelt to the ground, taking the handle of the weapon once again, for it already found its way out of his hands five times today.

  "Now put it away. Let us practice your punching."

  "If you say so," he mumbled.

  "Get into position."

  Kaylis set his right leg out, keeping his left
behind arching the foot a tad, and then held up his right arm, fist clenched, while keeping his other close to his lower side. The right served for his strong attack, while the left to protect his kidneys and belly….Kaylis did have the stance perfected.

  "Good, now strike me."

  Kaylis hesitated, never liking this part.

  "I said hit me!"

  He launched forward a punch.

  Magnus caught it in his open hand."Too slow. Try again."

  Kaylis hurled another his way, and another and then another.

  Magnus caught them each time. "Not bad, son," he said, giving his palm a shake from the sting. "With each throw you increased the speed. Now I will try."

  Remaining like a statue, Kaylis kept his eyes focused, knowing the blow would come like lightning. For never has he been able to side step or even catch one of his father's punches. This time however, he desperately wanted to make his father proud.

  Fluidly and quick it came, hurling forward.

  Kaylis threw up his arm, hand opened his father’s fist crashing directly into his palm; but unexpectedly the force threw him back. He lost balance and fell onto his bottom. His palm looked beat red, stinging as if he'd set it into a beehive. "Ouch," he complained, giving it a shake. He got to his feet while feeling frustrated.

  For the first time ever, he’d caught his father's punch.

  One thing had always been true, Magnus could hurl his fist a lot quicker if he wanted to, but finally, today, Kaylis at least intercepted the attack, something he never could do before. Only—it was to no avail. It wasn't even a true counter for the blow tossed him down like a doll. "I don't understand. Father, your punch was no faster than my own, yet you managed to catch them and remain in your place. What is wrong with me that I could not do the same against your attack?"

  Squinting at him, Magnus responded, "I should not have to explain that to you. A Nasharin ought to know."

  "Well—I don't."

  "It is not just speed that plays a factor in punching power, Kaylis. But the inner strength within your body, mind and spirit."

  "I just do not understand. Neither am I finding it inspiring."

  "Inspiring?" Staring at him a few moments, Magnus seemed to get an idea. “Come, let me show you something.” He brought Kaylis out of the woods and into a meadow.

  In the distance, Kaylis’ younger brother Nayland was training hard by himself. Viciously but smoothly, he swung a battleaxe in all directions, practiced balance in many different stances, threw series of kicks and punches.

  Then, to Kaylis’ amazement, he transformed while having black flames surround his presence. “Nayland learned Transformation?”

  “Ah, yes, that boy is special. Never have I witnessed a Nasharin becoming so powerful at such an age. The blood of a true Nasharin warrior flows through him. And if he can do it…" He glanced back to Kaylis. "…So can you, my son.”

  “But—”

  “No more excuses. I want you to become like us, a warrior—”

  “I can’t! Father I am sorry, but I just can’t. I do not have the will to become what you want me to."

  “No will to become a Nasharin warrior? No desire to continue in the tradition and arts of our people?”

  He shrugged his shoulders, not understanding it himself. "I have no taste for it. The feeling is empty. I do not know why, honestly. I wish I did, I really wish that. But my nature is different. I don't feel what you are always telling me I should feel. The curiosity and will just isn't there. I'm—sorry."

  Looking at him long and deep he then answered, "So am I. Besides, I am finished trying to train you. With your piteous weak mind I should have known anyhow. You’re a disgrace, a waste of talent and not my son.” He began to walk away, venturing back to the village. Then he stopped in his tracks, turning around on a heel, eyeing Kaylis. “You should return also, there are many things around the hut your mother needs help with. A lad like you will fit in nicely there, don't you think?” Saying that, Magnus then stepped into the woodland and disappeared.

  Kaylis sighed and fell to his knees. “What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I have any desire to be a Nasharin? To indulge myself into our people's tradition… history. Father's right. I am a disgrace! Oh, I wish—I wish Mirabel were here. If only I went with him instead of father. Though, I could not have abandoned my mother, Mirabel said not to, promising we shall meet again. I’m still holding you to those words Mirabel, wherever you may be, you and your adopted son Darshun. Never will I forget. By now, he’s got to be twelve, like my little brother.” He glanced up at Nayland, still in the far distance—the center of the meadow, practicing his skills. “Just look at how he moves, amazing!”

  Unexpectedly, Nayland became still, rose up his arms and shooting north screeched a loud wind.

  The tall grass swayed, trees moved to and fro with broken branches and little rocks flying along the breeze as well. Yet, it seemed odd how only that side of the meadow grew windy. By Kaylis, things were as calm as could be and nothing stirred not one blade of grass.

  Until Nayland lowered his arms, thrusting them downward quickly, throwing his elbows back as if he were trying to unleash some kind of energy. Instantly, wind swirled everywhere, blowing in all directions. Not chaotically but enough to fly light debris through the air. Clearly, Nayland was the cause of this. It seemed he could create or cast wind in any path of his choosing: north, east, south, west or every direction at once. Turning around and noticing Kaylis, Nayland stopped and descended. “Brother?” he shouted and started walking to him. “How long have you been watching me?”

  Kaylis waited to answer until Nayland came within speaking distance. "Long enough for you to impress father." He rose up from his knees. "Then, have him scold me because I’m not like you."

  “Father was here?”

  He nodded. “He said I was not his—his—”

  “His what?”

  He sighed. “Doesn’t matter. It’s just as I always thought, father hates me.”

  “Father does not hate you big brother. He only wants you to learn the arts of our people, like I’m doing. The traditions are very important to him. One day, I’ll be the best!”

  “You may. Father is very impressed. Though as for me well, my will is either sleeping or non-existent. I favor not the life of a warrior."

  Nayland looked at him puzzled—the same face Magnus often made upon hearing those words.

  "Oh, if Mirabel was here, he'd understand—”

  “Let there be no talk of that creature!” Nayland snapped.

  “Why do you side with father on that? I knew Mirabel personally and he’s not the way father makes him out to be.”

  “Nonsense. Father said he betrayed our race, nearly brought it into extinction, showed mercy toward the Dark and caused the death of our aunt and cousin. I hope he and that adopted boy he stole are both dead!”

  “Darshun was the name Mirabel gave him, and like you and I, little brother, he is Nasharin.”

  “That may be so, but a Nasharin who learns by the ways of Mirabel cannot be worth anything. Now please, no more talk of this.”

  Hearing Nayland speak this way surprised him. He seemed much older than he appeared. “You talk as if I am the younger brother. You won’t change my thoughts about Mirabel, but I’m glad you are on my side. I have nothing, no skill whatsoever.”

  “You are Nasharin, therefore something dwells within. One day you will unleash it, I promise.”

  “If you say so—”

  “Get down!” Nayland whispered, tugging Kaylis into the tall grass.

  “What is it?” he asked, startled by the strictness in his brother's tone.

  “Shhh.”

  Unsure about what concerned him, Kaylis remained still, gripping the handle of his sword, watching Nayland creep his head up slightly.

  Nayland caught quick flashes of black fur scurrying to and fro throughout the grass and he smelled something awfully fowl and saw glimpses of red eyes. “We are not alone.”
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  “Who else is here?”

  “A group of wise beasts. Stay in your place.” Nayland took out his axe and became like a statue. His dark eyes bent on one direction, his long black hair swaying from a light breeze—he looked ready for anything. “Down!” he yelled.

  Kaylis bowed as low as he could, his face touching the dirt.

  Nayland swung the axe over his head, striking a ravaged wolf-like beast with black shaggy fur and saliva dripping fangs. It must have been creeping up through the greenery…the blow hit it on the skull.

  “What is that?” Kaylis asked while staring into its lifeless red eyes.

  “Shhh, follow me.”

  On their knees, they crept through the grass, circling around the meadow. At first, Kaylis thought Nayland might be trying to escape, but soon realized he was leading them further into battle as they prowled deeper into the vegetation. He sought the intruders scattered throughout the field hunting them. Closing in behind one, unaware of their presence, Nayland took a dagger off his belt and threw it into the thing's right side. Quietly, it dropped dead.

  Then a breeze began to blow, carrying the scent of blood and the smell of the two boys with it, against the creatures’ noses. One howled, followed by another and then another until all shouted aloud.

  To their surprise, there were more than just a handful—and now they were coming. The boys stood up.

  “Stand your ground!” Nayland shouted.

  The creatures closed in fast, at least nine, hideous, terrible—all snarling showing their fangs.

  Nayland transformed. With an axe dancing in black flames, he viscously swung back and forth as the beasts darted for their throats. One, two, three he struck down and then four…five while protecting not only himself but his brother who seemed to be trembling without ceasing.

  The wolf-like creatures circled and circled, trying to form a better strategy, then attacked at different angles at different times and would quickly retreat.