by JW Baccaro
So badly did Darshun want to tell what truly happened to Alaric, how he while out of his mind killed him, yet couldn’t—not yet at least. He didn’t have the heart. “And Kaylis you say hasn’t arrived. That troubles me. He should’ve made it by now, especially getting a three or four day start before me. Although, I swear I could’ve felt his power, or some type of power similar to his presence during my travels. Waves shot right through me. It was only for a mere second, but the power ran deeper than anything I have yet witnessed, besides Abaddon of course. Not even my Ascension can compete with it. I thought it might have been imagination, or perhaps a dream.”
“Neither. What you felt was very much real. I felt it too. The power got unleashed through desperation, pain of loss, and anger. The same traits that unleashed your power while attacked by the Dream Assassin long ago. Except I don’t think Kaylis awakened it completely. I doubt he can transform, what we felt was just a taste of what one day shall arise, a day not in our time, or at least mine.”
“What are you talking about?” Darshun asked, raising his brows.
“From what I’ve sensed he is more than likely the one with the Fifth Magic, not Earth, not Water, not Fire or Air, but Sun—the Sun among the heavens. Nasharins of ancient times wrote about this magic telling how one day it should arise in one of us at a time of great evil. But all prophecies have a time set in stone, and my heart tells me this is not the time. However, those who shall witness this event, providing we win this war, will see what others only dreamed about, the Sunarae Wizard-Man, meaning the ‘Golden Nasharin.’ ”
“I knew there was something special about Kaylis.”
“Indeed. I’ve sensed this in him since he was a boy. Yet my heart stands troubled because something drastic had to of happened in order for him to have unleashed that, a battle most likely. For now, there is nothing we can do. Perhaps he’ll cross our path a later time.” An expression of sorrow shifted across his face. “Onto another matter, my son, one I wished to avoid. But you must know.” He sighed deeply. “I am sorry to inform you that your Uncle Seth, I’m afraid is—”
“I know father. I saw his grave on the way in. That’s why I haven’t asked about him yet. Still, it’s hard to believe, or accept. I’m so sorry.”
“Though Asiel had gotten another healing leaf from the field, it wouldn’t work. Seth used his Lifeforce as a last resort to save Loreus from the Dark King. And once that energy goes, there’s no returning it, no matter how much magic is used. He died in my arms and his last words were ‘Do not despair old friend, there is still hope. Darshun’s spirit will emerge before the end and the Light shall prevail. My heart has foreseen it. Goodbye brother.’ I then buried him. That night the wolves, birds, and all creatures of the forest mourned. He was a great loss, but died in honor.” Mirabel turned his head away and a tear strolled down his cheek.
Darshun touched his arm. “I loved him too father.”
“I know my son, I know.” At that moment Mirabel stood up, drew a familiar sword from his sheath and handed it to Darshun. “This belongs to you.”
“My sword!”
“I found it back at Zithel, in a field just outside King Adeleric’s Tower.”
Visions of that horrid moment swept through Darshun’s mind, the moment when he was shot in his chest with a poisoned arrow by the Queen of Asgoth, and when he dropped his sword after seeing her face, realizing Aurora, the woman whom he once loved, was the Dark Queen herself who’d deceived him. He cringed. “I remember,” he said sadly. “Thank you.”
Abruptly, much commotion erupted from outside the castle. Peoples’ words became louder than common talk and their tones sounded anxious and even afraid. Then another knock came upon the King’s door. Loreus opened it to see a guardsman having a face of concern.
“My King, there is someone at the front doors claiming he’s here to see Darshun. Yet many of the men are suspicious of him.”
“Could it be the Elf?” King Loreus asked, turning to Darshun.
“It has to be.”
“Let us go down to meet him,” Mirabel urged.
They abandoned the King’s chambers and made their way downstairs to the front doors and ventured outside. On the street, stood a figure hooded and cloaked in gray as still as could be like a statue, his eyes preying on the three as they approached him. He looked tall, slender with a hairless face—bare and bald like a child while his long black hair hung out through the sides of his hood. His mysterious black eyes with glistening speckles of blue took them in. He threw back the hood his ears were long and pointy. "May peace fall upon you," he said. "I believe you’ve been expecting me, Darshun.”
“—I have. How did you know I was he?”
“Your image was shown to me in a vision of our Lord. My name, Caelestias, son of Athanasius of Ashhaven. You will come back with me. My people—your people shall aid you on your quest into Syngothra.”
“My people?”
“Elvish blood flows through your veins. That makes you our brother. Enough said.”
“Oh, all right.” Darshun did not know why but he trusted him, probably because Aurelius’s prediction of the elvish lord now proved to be accurate. “Listen Caelestias,"—the elvish lord seemed annoyed, clearly wanting to leave for Ashhaven with no time to spare, but Darshun had to ask this—"I am aware that some Elves have let go of Nasharin hatred. Even so, how do I know there are not still some who will attack on sight? The hatred runs long and deep…does it not?”
“I give you my word not a single Elf of Ashhaven shall offend you. Times are different.”
Remembering Kelarin spoke the same thing Darshun responded, “So I’ve heard. Still, I think I’m going to have to see it for myself.”
"Of course, why take my word for it?" Caelestias commented.
Darshun couldn’t be sure if that was meant for a question or mockery, but refrained from speaking anything else. Caelestias seemed a little…odd, rude to be precise.
"May I accompany?" Mirabel asked.
“Mirabel the Great, savior of the East,” Caelestias greeted him and slightly bowed. "Of course."
“Heard of me, I take it?”
“By the choice and manner of speech in my words you should think so. Your courage, strength, and legend has reached even Ashhaven. There stands great honor in the name ‘Mirabel.’ That was no minor war you fought a hundred years ago. From word of mouth to early writings by those who witnessed these events, speaking about the evil you faced with the trials you endured and the battles you won helped my people abandon the hatred toward your race completely. How could we dishonor warriors like that?"
“I’m glad to hear those words. In these times of darkness we cannot afford to be separated by our differences.”
"Such 'differences' are folly—deplorable. Disunity and dissension hurts the Light, as we have discovered. But I grow tired of standing here."
Then someone riding fast on a black horse approached them, someone Darshun hoped to see again, even though they left one another on bad terms, Nayland Winveil. The dark haired Nasharin circled Darshun, his gaze uneasy, as if studying Darshun crudely from head to toe. Then, a tiny smile shone off his face. “The last I saw you…You were not even twenty years of age,” Nayland noted. “But that was a little more than a month ago. Though you are marked with battle scars, you look like a true warrior who’s accepted his calling.”
Smiling, Darshun answered, “I have indeed accepted my destiny as Guardian. And I look older because I trained at Shajin Island.”
“I thought so and that makes it seven years of growth indeed.” He stepped down from his horse. There they were, rivals of the past, once again face to face. Except this time it seemed different, Darshun had changed; regardless of his battle-scarred damage.
Nayland could sense his great strength in body and mind. Nayland seemed a little different too, less bitter and self absorbed in vengeance; though ‘mysteriousness’ still flowed through his dark eyes. “Darshun, I give no apologies for
my past actions against you, but know they shall never happen again.”
“As you said, it’s all in the past. Let’s forget about it.”
“Then may I still aid you on your quest to be rid of this evil, as I once vowed to do?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way Nayland.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Now let us go to Ashhaven with the Elf Caelestias. From there, he and his people will help show us the safest route into Syngothra.”
“Caelestias? Ashhaven?” He turned to Caelestias, exchanging a glare. He was no stranger to this elvish lord, at least by name—a great murderer of Nasharins!
As if reading his thoughts Caelestias commented, "They deserved to die, those Nasharins you mourn. The sins they committed could only be dealt with by execution. Pass judgment against me if you like. I have no quarrel with you, just do not commit folly in my presence, and you will live."
For Mirabel, and even Darshun, Nayland would withhold his feelings and comments of this self-righteous Nasharin murderer, at least for now.
"The path we will go is too thick and dangerous for your horse, he will slow us down. Leave him behind or else stay behind,” Caelestias prompted.
Nayland faced the others, ignoring the murderer and told of the horse. “His name is Shadow. I found him wandering the wilderness when he was very young and we formed a bond together. Though he is not mine. He travels to and fro throughout the forest and returns to me at will.” Turning to Shadow, rubbing his mane he said, “I will see you soon old companion."
Shadow whined then galloped off, trotting his way through the mid-morning city.
Nayland glanced to Caelestias. “Lead the way, Elf.”
“Will you not need any supplies?” King Loreus asked, wishing—hoping he could lend a hand.”
“Appreciated greatly, but no,” Caelestias replied. “I have all we’ll need.”
“Then—is there anything I can do?”
The elvish lord cast a look of warning at the King. "Tend to your kingdom! If we delay here any longer I will have to get angry."
"So be it." Loreus nodded and wished the others farewell.
They abandoned the city. Strangely, no more than a handful ever knew Darshun was there.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NIGHTWING
They traveled east, passing by Arundel Mountain and familiar woodlands. While they continued eastward none of the Nasharins, not even Mirabel were familiar with the area. All heavily wooded with giant red cedar; at times it looked dark even during the radiant hours, not much light could penetrate through the tops of the thick cedars.
A great silence ensued as they traveled; Caelestias seldom spoke at all. Though none cared to converse much with the Elf. He didn’t appear to be the friendliest character for company.
Nayland stayed as far from the elvish lord as possible, often trailing behind.
This stance could be because the number of Nasharins sadly killed by Caelestias ranged to about twenty, maybe thirty. They were dark ones indeed, having hundreds, perhaps thousands of peoples' innocent blood on their hands. True, most Nasharins never committed such crimes, but the crimes committed by these few were catastrophic, ruthless and unforgivable. Therefore, Darshun cast no blame on Caelestias. He would have done the same.
Nayland, on the other hand, held an incredible pride for his race. Part of the reason was because he grew tired of typically hearing how his people carried a ‘curse’ and were ill favored by the Light. He suspected the elvish lord took pleasure in sending those Nasharins to the grave. Possibly, were he to get the chance, he would show this Elf just how powerful a Nasharin truly is, and worthy of respect.
Caelestias may have even read these feelings in Nayland and didn’t seem to care, didn’t even seem lose a moment’s sleep over them. Rather, his only concern seemed to be getting Darshun to Ashhaven hurriedly, silently. He would gaze to the sky quite often, scan the trees, and mind their surroundings as if looking for—something or someone who may have been following them.
Soon, the woods became lighter. They crossed over a creek by way of a fallen tree, using it as a bridge, ventured around musky swampland, cut across a meadow and entered another forest consisting of blue and green spruce, golden oak, weeping willow and scarlet maple trees—all so very majestic.
“We’re close now,” Caelestias announced. “We should rest while we can.”
They agreed.
For the coming darkness, Caelestias insisted on starting a fire. He took seven reddish-orange stones from out of his sack and cupped them in his palms, speaking a prayer in elvish—the words sounding reverent—and the stones began to glow like hot coals. He set them onto the ground. Within moments, a small fire blazed and with every passing second, the flames grew higher until they were about three feet and then remained steady, producing a pleasing heat.
“What type of—fire is this?” Darshun asked sensing it seemed unnatural.
"Fire that shall protect us during the night."
"...Protect, how? Shall we gather wood?"
Caelestias glanced at Mirabel, squinting his eyes. "Does your son always speak like a child?" He then turned to Darshun, irritation written all over his face. "For the sake of qualified, proficient conversation, do not ask me two questions back to back before receiving an answer to your first. It is rather a false aquatint."
"He was only curious," Nayland defended, casting a glare his side of the flames. "The boy hasn't lived as long as you, elf."
Ignoring Nayland’s ill-toned comments, the elvish lord advanced his words with Darshun, "Lastly, let your heart remain untroubled. If I say the fire shall protect us during the night, it will do so. You need not gather wood. This fire will burn as long as the stars of the night shine, and tonight they will shine brightly. Now, let us eat and take rest.”
“Ah, another dinner of bread and vegetables only huh?” Darshun asked disappointedly. For that’s all they’d eaten for days, green leafy lettuce, clovers, red and yellow peppers, white beans and raisin bread—all delicious, more so than any bread or vegetable he had yet to taste. Though by now, Darshun craved poultry or elk.
“Instead of grumbling, you are welcome to hunt if you so desire,” Caelestias countered. “But as you now know, I do not eat meat…most Elves do not. So either fill your belly with what I brought, or do your own thing.”
“No, I’m fine. More vegetables will do. May I borrow your kettle? I’d like to venture back to the stream we recently passed and collect water for tea.”
A joyful smile filled Caelestias’ face. “How very kind of you Darshun. Of course you can take it. It is, after all, nearly empty.” He retrieved the scarlet colored kettle from his sack, dumped out the old water and passed it to Darshun, his smile yet to fade. “We could all use some tea about now.”
I think I am starting to get this Caelestias, Darshun thought. He is literal all the time, speaking what’s on his mind always, offensive or not. Well, at least I know he won't lie to me. But I do hope the other Elves are not like him. My stomach already suffers from enough stress and irritation.
As the night crept in they ate, had tea and fellowshipped a bit, the topics mundane.
Except for Nayland; his participation seemed to be to simply lay back and listen, smoking his pipe.
Soon, they all seemed to grow tired and took on sleep, especially Darshun who probably wasn’t up to taking this journey in the first place. He’d been slowing everyone down due to a lack of rest from his journey to Loreladia, which no sooner did he arrive then Caelestias showed up to bring him to Ashhaven. So, it could not be helped and none seemed to pursue him about it.
Darshun and Mirabel slept close by the fire, Nayland in the shadows and Caelestias remained in the trees—and that was creepy. For many nights would Darshun awaken to see two dimly glowing white eyes in the trees, at times looking as if the gaze was directed at him…and a fierce gaze too.
Yet, this seemed to be how Caelestias often appeared when asleep. His eyes remained slightly open
with a dimly lit shine, and the slightest movement could penetrate as danger would awaken him. Tonight was one of those nights.
* * *
At times, the essence seemed close, then would suddenly fade away only to reappear again later. Feeling restless, Mirabel got up and inspected the grounds. Darshun and Nayland were asleep, Caelestias sat high among an oak, gazing at the sky.
Mirabel decided to find out what might be going on, what the elvish lord knew.
“You should sleep while we are here,” Caelestias suggested as Mirabel came climbing up the tree, quietly going from branch to branch until beside him.
“I cannot,” Mirabel answered. “There is a fowl in the air. I can sense its evil—and I think you can as well.”
“The Nightwing.”
“A Nightwing? Why, they are assassins of the Dark.”
“Spoken wisely, assassins and spies. They prowl the night sky searching for victims. Their mere presence is shadow, only detectable by moonlight and starlight. Many have been passing over Ashhaven for a few months now. The Demon Lord fears that my people will oppose him before the end, so he has sent the Nightwings to watch over our every movement. But we are not as foolish as they think. And this one in particular has been circling us for a while. Look to the night sky. He should be passing again at any moment, right about—now!”
Mirabel did as he instructed and witnessed a faint image of the creature as it quickly passed by the moon and stars, its image unmistakable, standing out like a bat in daylight.
“He followed me for a short time when I was going to Loreladia; I lost him before I reached the city. It seems he’s picked up my trail once again. Now he’s preparing to attack. Before his hands of filth molest any, I shall slay him.”
“The fire! Darshun lies next to it. He’ll be seen!”
“Calm yourself,” Caelestias said, turning to look him hard in the eye. “Your son already has. That is whom the Nightwing intends to kill first. Being assassins it’s their unique nature to know or feel when an individual holds great value among the Light. But you must not wake Darshun. If the creature senses a disturbance, he’ll disappear only to try again when we are most vulnerable. Right now we have the advantage—”
