by Nikolas Rex
Marcus? The Oracle said.
Marc raced up the stairs behind him and burst through the door into the magically lit hall.
Marcus!
Everyone jumped at his sudden and abrupt appearance.
“Marcus?” Laura was the nearest to the door.
Marc marched down the hall, ignoring everyone.
“Let me up!” He said briskly to Cydas as he passed the man.
“Why?” Cydas was confused.
“Because this whole thing is stupid and ridiculous and a waste of time!”
He stormed down the long hall and stopped when he was standing on the platform in the circular room.
Cydas didn’t move, unsure of what to do.
Everyone was silent, shocked at their friend’s words and actions.
After a few moments, when Marc realized that Cydas wasn’t going to start the elevator and take him up to the house, he stepped off the platform and trudged over to a part of the wall that obstructed him from view of the hall. He unlatched the Sword of the Phoenix and let it fall unceremoniously to the ground a short distance away from him.
“I have never seen him like that,” Zildjin whispered.
The Oracle’s voice came into their minds, except for Marc, from the open door.
Sometimes it is hard for a person to dip into their future and see the many possible outcomes it may have. Some Marcus may not like. Some he might utterly despise. But the hardest, and most likely I think, for Marcus, is that he does not believe that what he has seen, he can ever achieve. His future carries the weight of not only one world, but two.
“I will go talk to him,” Laura stood and walked down the hall to the circular room with the platform.
Yes. The Oracle agreed, That should help greatly. In the meantime, Zildjin, could you come in?
Zildjin nodded and entered the Oracle’s chamber, shutting the door behind him.
***
Laura stood at the end of the hall and peeked over to where Marc was sitting.
“Marc?”
He looked away.
She took a number of hesitant steps over.
“Can I sit with you?”
Marc shrugged.
The Sword of the Phoenix lay on the ground, half falling out of its sheath. Laura stepped around the weapon and sat down on the floor next to him. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” was his short reply. “I used to do this when I was a kid. It’s a habit of mine.”
“Oh,” Laura responded.
They were both quiet for a moment until Laura spoke again.
“Why are you so angry all of a sudden Marc? Yesterday you were fine, and last night—” she trailed off.
Marc didn’t answer.
“You seemed anxious to meet the Oracle, to learn more about the Sword of the Phoenix and all of this.”
“Yeah,” Marc finally responded, his tone slightly hostile, “Well what if I don’t want to know anymore!? What if I wish I never heard of or even seen the Phoenix Blade!?”
“But you already have. It’s sitting right there at your feet.” Laura said calmly, trying to sooth Marc.
There was another short moment of stillness before Marc sighed loudly and said, “Yeah— I know—” Then his voice got a little angry again, “I just wish that things didn’t have to be so hard all of a sudden. Now just because I have this ancient powerful sword, all at once I have to go out saving the world and whatnot! I mean, why does it have to be me? I’m just a kid! A lost kid in a place I don’t belong! I’m just a nobody!”
Then it was Laura’s turn to get mad. “Silence your tongue!”
Marc was startled and looked at Laura who was staring him down. “You are not a nobody! You are somebody to me! And what do you mean you don’t belong? You belong right here with me! I need you Marc! Did you ever think about that while you were over here wallowing in self pity? I might have no one else out there who cares about me. I never knew my parents, Kaelynn took me in when I was a child after my parents died and it seems like soon her and Kimira will be killed because of some dark magic and an evil force of reanimated dead, probably led by an even more evil leader. Isn’t that enough reason to fight against evil! So many innocent people killed at the hands of someone so sick and twisted!”
“I know!” Marc said, struggling to explain his feelings. His voice broke as he tried to speak, “I know! It’s just that—I can’t—Laura you don’t understand! I can’t—” He turned away from her not being able to bear the sadness coming over him. He put his face in his arm and pounded his fist on the floor.
Laura didn’t understand, “You cannot what Marc!? I do not understand? Cannot stand and fight!?”
“No!” Marc brought his head up enough to speak. “In my dream I wept over a dead body in my arms. It was you Laura! If that’s what it means to wield the Sword against all the evil in the world then I won’t do it! I can’t do it! I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you died Laura!”
Laura went quiet with surprise. “Marc I—”
But Marc wasn’t finished, “If I must endure a lifetime of being called a coward to keep you alive and here by my side, then I will bury the Sword of the Phoenix somewhere no one will find it. I will throw it into the deepest ocean! I— I love you Laura!”
“Marc, I—” Laura tried to speak. Powerful emotions flooded through her. It was what he should have said the night before, what she was expecting back, and was finally content to hear him confirm his feelings. “Oh, yes—” But words were no longer important, could no longer express their feelings for each other. Marc turned around and sat up next to Laura.
“I hope you can forgive me Laura. I didn’t mean what I said back there. It was rude—”
She looked into his eyes and leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Marc, caught off guard, sat there for a second, then lifted his arms and wrapped them around her.
After a moment Laura broke the kiss and laid her head on Marc’s shoulder. She hugged him tightly and spoke softly. “I do not think you are a coward Marc. Of all the most important and regal men I have seen while in the Order of the Leaf, you are the bravest of them all.”
Marc smiled and stroked Laura’s hair. “Thanks.” He said simply, for that was all that was needed to be said. He looked down at the Sword of the Phoenix half out of its scabbard. Marc patted Laura on the back and they separated as he stood up. Without saying anything he reached down and picked up the Phoenix Blade. Laura stood up and helped him buckle the belt around his waist.
“Alright, now I just need to apologize to everyone.”
Chapter Forty Seven
Drake’s Vision
Drake was the last to speak with the Oracle.
Everyone else had returned to the house above to eat and think about what they had seen.
Close your eyes.
She told him.
The men’s dark red cloaks flapped lazily in the cold breeze, matching the visual appearance of the nearby blood running down the cobblestones of the courtyard.
It was such a stark contrast to the white snow on the rooftops of the nearby wood and plaster buildings.
The day was a dreary gray, the sun forced into hiding by several dark clouds.
“NEXT!” the largest of the soldiers present cried out.
There were at least a hundred fully armored soldiers in the town square. All of the residents of the town were there as well, in two groups. The first group stood in a line between soldiers, their hands tied, the rest of the people surrounded the square, forced to watch the gory spectacle. A tall thick wooden post was set in the middle of the town square with some ropes hanging from it. A soldier, different from the other soldiers because he was less armored, stood next to the post, a whip in his hands. The whip had pieces of bone and metal fragments woven into the ends of it. A small pile of fresh, still bleeding, corpses was positioned short distance from the pole.
Two soldiers gripped the arms of the woman who was next in line. Her eyes were sad, defeate
d, her dress was simple and dirty at the hem.
“Please,” She begged, “Please, it was only bread, only a little bread.”
One of the soldiers backhanded her, his metal gauntlet cut her cheek and lip open as her head flew sideways from the blow.
“NOOO!” A young boy burst from the crowd. He dove at one of the soldiers holding the woman, grabbing on to the flowing red cloak.
“Noooo!” He cried, “Leave her be!”
The soldier kicked violently at the boy, “Get off me you filthy little wretch!”
The boy refused to let go, taking the hits, tears streaming down his face.
“Not my son,” The woman cried, “Please, he is young, he knows not what he does!”
Two soldiers broke from their formation and swarmed the young boy to resolve the situation. They pounded furiously on the boy to subdue him. He held on valiantly until a strong blow shook his teeth and he let go. Beaten and tired, the boy slumped into the iron grips of the two soldiers. He watched helplessly as they dragged his still crying mother to the wooden post.
They tied her hands and hoisted her up, her front facing the pole. They ripped the back of her dress away, revealing her bare skin. She cried and pleaded futilely.
The boy let out a sob.
“Sasha, Telnor of Lihat, you have been found guilty of stealing from the Krynn’s wagon supply train. To steal from the Krynn is to endanger the safety of all, the same goal as those who conspire against the Noble Kingdom. Your sentence is death.”
The man with the whip raised his deadly instrument.
“STOP!” A voice echoed through the town square.
A man had made his way through the crowd and stood at the beginning of the courtyard.
He was dressed all in black with thick dark laced up boots fit for combat and black leather armor, breastplate, shoulder pads, and gauntlets etched with intricate interlocking designs. He had long brown hair, matted and pulled partially away from his face in a ponytail. Strapped to his back were two long slightly curved swords, katanas.
The soldier who appeared in charge of the whole operation looked in the direction of the stranger.
“Who dares to prevent the Krynn’s justice?”
“I am death, the destroyer of worlds,” The man answered.
The lead soldier was confused and upset at the interruption.
“I have come seeking a young man!”
“Arrest him and silence his tongue!” The commander directed two specific soldiers to go deal with the new problem.
The man drew his swords.
The two soldiers stopped.
“He aims to fight m’lord!” One of the soldiers said.
“Kill him then!” the lead soldier ordered.
The two soldiers drew their weapons and began to approach the man warily.
“Even without your participation all the warriors standing arrayed in the opposing armies shall cease to exist,” the man spoke.
He did not seem to be speaking to anyone in particular but rather to himself aloud.
“Therefore, get up and attain glory. Conquer your enemies and enjoy a prosperous kingdom. All these warriors have already been destroyed by Me. You are only an instrument.”
The man stood defensively, both swords raised, but made no move to attack.
The two soldiers finally arrived at a close enough range that any closer would most likely mean death. One soldier was younger, nervous, sweat on his brow. The other composed himself with a hardened posture of experience.
“Throw down your weapons or die!” The older soldier said.
The man lowered his weapons but did not drop them.
“I have no eyes,” the man said.
He closed his eyes. He appeared completely relaxed.
“Hmm?” The older soldier was taken off guard.
“I make the flash of lightning my eyes.”
“Silence you fool!” The more experienced soldier said.
The younger soldier saw a moment of opportunity and dove forward, his sword outstretched.
The man’s eyes whipped open in a flash and he spun his body around, his two swords out, in a powerful arch. The young man’s sword was knocked high and free from his grasp. The man in black continued his spin and brought both blades around, cutting deep into the young man’s exposed throat and leg just above the knee cap. The young man’s blood splattered outward, drenching the older soldier in red.
The man followed through with his movement, swinging both katanas towards the remaining opponent.
He continued to speak as he moved.
“I have no ears, I make sensibility my ears.”
The older soldier raised his broadsword to defend himself but the man in black deflected the attack with one sword and brought the other katana down and through the gap between the shoulder armor and chest plate of his opponent with a loud squelching crunch. Blood gushed out and the older man cried out, dropping his sword.
The man in black withdrew the blade and quickly cut the throat of the second soldier.
The on looking crowd gasped and withdrew a number of paces. Most of them secretly and silently applauded the defiance of the man in black to the crushing grip of the Bloodcloaks, but some of the town leaders present knew that only bad could come of a single individual stirring up trouble. The local Krynn would blame the town for the dead soldiers, not just the man in black.
“KILL THAT MAN!” The soldier in charge roared. He made gestures for about half the unit to surround and take the new threat.
Almost forty soldiers drew their weapons and charged the man in black.
“I have no limbs,” the man straightened, flicking his weapons in a flourish to clean them of blood and prepare for the force coming at him. “I make promptness my limbs.”
Ten soldiers converged on the man first.
The man in black remained still and composed until the absolute last moment. He bent and leapt into the air with impossible swiftness and agility. He landed on the shoulders of one of the men with a powerful crushing strength, forcing the man to his knees. He brought his two blades down at the same time, skewering the faces of the two soldiers on each side of the one now on his knees.
“I have no body, I make steadfastness my body.”
The man in black withdrew his blades and jumped upward, blood like two miniature volcanoes erupted from the dead soldiers messed up faces as they crumpled forward. He vaulted through the air, performing a backwards somersault and landed on another soldier behind him with his two legs on the man’s shoulders. Immediately the man in black trapped the soldier’s head between his legs and swiveled around, snapping the soldier’s neck. At the same time he brought his two weapons arching powerfully and widely up with his swivel, cutting the soldier who was on his knees from chin to forehead. The soldier on his knees was forced violently backwards, his face now a torrent of blood.
“I have no parents, the earth and the sky are my parents.”
He landed on the ground and rolled, avoiding the clank of several swords as they struck the cobblestones with heavy thunks. He spun on the ground, bringing his blades slicing through several soldier’s legs in the gap of armor between their shin and feet.
“I have no principles, I make adaptability to all circumstances my principle.”
Using the body of one of the falling soldiers the man in black jumped forward, pushing the armored soldier into several of the others nearby.
The attack of the first ten had been frustrated.
But there were still many more.
“I have no means, I make understanding my means.”
Instead of waiting for the others to reach him the man in black turned and rushed towards the oncoming force.
His face began to change and distort, almost as if another translucent but dark face was projecting outward from his own. His eyes almost glowed with an unearthly light.
“I have no strategy, the opportunity of the moment is my strategy.”
He leapt high into t
he air over the second swarm of soldiers, diving blades first into the third group. Swords went up but he dodged them with uncanny precision.
One katana dove deep into a neck, while the other, into an exposed shoulder joint.
The man in black was a whirlwind of death, impossible to kill, impossible to even hit.
Ten more soldiers were quickly dealt with, blood and limbs flying through the air.
“I have neither life nor death - eternal life is my death.”
“KILL HIM!” The leader cried.
More charged into the fray. The two soldiers holding the young boy threw him to the cobblestones and drew their swords to join the carnage.
The boy hit his back and head and stars exploded across his vision. He gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of him.
His vision blurred and he felt sick. It was as if a sudden great weight had been placed atop his chest. He moved slowly, like he was half submerged in a pool of thick mud.
He could hear the sounds of screams around him, not just from the soldiers.
He finally got to his knees but his head pounded and swam.
People were running all around him, bumping him.
Someone stepped on his hand and he cried out.
He was pushed to the ground again.
“Stop!” he tried.
“Help!” he put his arms up over his head and curled up into a ball.
He remained like that for a long time.
The sounds around him began to die down until all the boy could hear was the whistling of the cold wind.
A light peered through the clouds, resting on the young boy for a moment, only to be blotted out in the next moment by a dark figure.
It was the man in black.
The young man looked up at him, finally seeing him up close since his sudden arrival. His appearance was one of awe inducing terror. Blood covered the man from head to toe. He appeared as if he had not slept in a hundred cycles.
“Please, do not kill me,” the boy whimpered.
He remained on the ground.
The man shook his head.
“My time is at an end,” the man said, “I will finally be free.”
As the man spoke the boy was able to look around.
