Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  He stalks the halls of his palace, anger erupting now and again. Three servants have been burned into piles of ash just because he had seen them when one of those bursts of anger had come upon him. A waste of good help, but it had made him feel slightly better each time. They have failed to kill her. The thought rekindles the burning temper within his chest, and he lashes out at a vase of blue roses, reducing them to a twisted dead heap. Six hours of endless slaughter, even with the aid of his magic, and the best they could do was freeze the entire island with her trapped on it. She will escape and she will seek revenge for his betrayal.

  He shakes his head bitterly; she was one of his biggest mistakes. All of his carefully laid out plans for the conquering of Atlantia had fallen to nothing upon her birth. Oh not the birth of Sahwin Nu’Veli twenty suns ago, but the birth of the Sorceress, Sahwin’s rebirth. He and his five followers had each given her powers. Lorelei’addet had given the power to see the ties of destiny, to follow an action to see where it leads. Durward’maken had given her the power of command and control: a gift he was proud of discovering. Vilen’tyrn had implanted the knowledge of the old world and of machines, and the gift of scent. Crul’envett had blessed her with the power to twist images and perception and to use words to plant ideas into the minds of others. Hanger’veil had gifted her with the ability to walk upon the air and to use weapons to create mighty powers. Maddox’est had given her the main of her powers, curse his stupidity, blessing her with the gift of summons and shadow work. Within a few seconds of the deed, she became unstoppable and twisted. Oh, she allied herself with him and the others, though she was never theirs as they had planned. And when things started to go wrong and she tried to take over, they discovered that she was almost invincible.

  Fleeing from their island in the Sive Ocean to take root in the north on the Isle of Rain, she created a breed of Angel that was as twisted and cruel as herself. But in that state they could not be controlled. She had killed most of them herself before starting another race by mixing Angels, men, and the shadow. The Dark Clan were born without souls—so it was said—though Maddox’est found that hard to believe. To make something unconnected to the earth consciousness is not impossible, yet the creation is always mindless. The Dark Clan is anything but. That was her second mistake. Third, He thinks to himself. Her first mistake was not following me. Anger rolls over him and unfortunately for the young woman with long wavy red hair down to her waist she is in the wrong place.

  The wind gusts and the serving girl staggers sideways hitting the wall, knocking the tray from her fingers. She lifts her head and then drops it so fast at the sight of her master that she winces and begins to beg for his forgiveness. The huge man ignores her now; his eyes follow the movement of rose petals as they drift slowly out of a nearby window and then fall as the breeze carrying them ends abruptly.

  Heat burns across the world as the wind shifts in haste blowing the sands of the barren desert of Flambour. It lifts and for a moment, is still, before diving down. The dunes become tough grass and shrubs. A small farm comes into view, no more than a single story house and a lopsided barn with a few cattle tethered outside. A few men on horses gallop down the dirt road, but the wind rushes ahead of them.

  Saeed Halamen ducks under the table in the kitchen, the light frilly tablecloth keeping him hidden. Playing hide and seek has always filled him with excitement. He holds his breath. He had woken early and gone out to feed the cows his mother kept behind the house. The barn had fallen down a few months before, and his father has not had time to put it back up, so they are just tied up under a tree. He likes the cows and used to play with them when he was very young. But not any more, not now he is a whole five suns old. His father sometimes tells him that he is the strongest young man he has ever seen. Saeed can believe it to.

  Apart from his parents he has only seen three other people in his whole life. The man who brings the wagon to take away the cows when they are sold to slaughter, whatever that is; the woman from the town who comes to collect their money in exchange for food and her daughter who is a skinny thing with large teeth. The woman is also very thin, and he could push both over with just his little finger. The slaughter man is very fat and breathes very heavily and wipes at his brow with his hanky every few seconds. Tall as he is, he would become weak quickly and then Saeed would have no trouble with him. He liked to think about fighting. That is what he used to play at with the cows.

  Footsteps on the kitchen floor snap him back into the real world, and he studies the dark leather boots that circle the table. His breath burns in his chest and he exhales loudly without thinking. He clasps a hand to his mouth, eyes darting everywhere. The leather boots have stopped. He turns his head slowly, breathing in once again and holding it.

  The hand snatches at his ankle before he knows what is happening. The tablecloth comes away from his hands, the vase of wild flowers smashes on the boards. Kicking at the man with his free leg, he lets out a cry. His foot connects with something hard and he falls, hitting his head on the floor. Getting up, he sees the man holding his nose, blood streams down his face. But his eyes only stay on the man for an instant. Beside him in the doorway is the body of his mother. Her dark hair glued to her face with her own blood, the sword that had killed her, still in the man’s hand.

  “Problems with the boy?” A woman’s voice slurs from behind. Saeed cannot take his eyes away from his mother’s body, and even when two more men take his arms and start to lead him away they stay fixed.

  They take him outside into the warm sun. It is still only spring in Gamblet but the sun shines as if it is a summer’s day. In the yard he sees his father kneeling beside the slaughter man. Both have blood on their faces. His father’s blue eyes move in his direction. Instead of them being full of joy like he has always seen before, they are full of sorrow. “He has to see,” again the woman’s voice. One of the men holding him grabs the back of his neck, forcing his head to stay looking at his father. “He cannot close his eyes. I have forced them open with magic, but too much power will be detected so hold him well. Do it.”

  From behind his father the man from the kitchen appears, his nose still gushing with blood. He looks at Saeed with dead eyes. The sword, still with his mother’s blood wet on its blade slides easily through his father’s back and out of his chest. He had not realized he is crying until his vision blurs with the tears. A second scream fills the air and the loud thump of the slaughter man’s body follows just behind. Without being able to move his head or close his eyes, he just stares at the two dead bodies before him. The man bearing the sword turns to him with his glazed eyes, still without feeling, almost unseeing. The blade goes up. His eyes open and head forward; he has no choice but to watch the blade slice into his flesh.

  The wind screams as it rises and the cruel eyes of the hooded woman shift around her. The boy slides down the blade but as the veil parts the wind sees that he still lives, as she knew he would. These events make up more of the future and the mind behind the wind can trace them all as far as the last battle, but no farther. Now is the time to act, now is the time to speak with her brother—now is the time of prophecy.

  PART ONE

  FROM THE LIGHT THEY COME...

  TO ATLANTIA THEY MUST GO...

  “Three will rise from the light, born to the earth within two suns and bearing the gifts of the Earth.

  One will see all and dream the future;

  One will command the air and the seas, his mighty blade ready to sunder the ground;

  One will summon the power of the elements and use the holy might to tear into the shadows.”

  “With them will be a grand Summoner with a heart of light and a soul of darkness;

  A girl who can walk with the dead and move within the stars;

  A hand to lift the souls and a body to hold the host;

  A warrior will be the arms of the beast, and an Angel without wings will be the protection.”

  “Together they will protect the L
ast Princess of Atlantia.

  Hope to all of the lands, born as an only child and unable to bear a child of her own.

  The name of the monarchy will cease to be and darkness will push its way into the light.

  The three will come under the sign of D and pull the world into chaos.”

  (Godking Dalornious, Prophecy of Ages, 256 BS)

  1

  DARWIN’T’S DREAMS

  Standing at the top of a tower, the sun cresting the mountain range in the far distance, wind rushing in his ears, Darwin’t Utsa manages to utter the single word, why? The scene before him changes. A boy is running from a flock of raptor birds, his red hair trailing behind him. A shadow moves off to his right. Something about the shadow seems important but the boy keeps running. He does not see the snake-like tentacle snap out of the lagoon. The boy screams as he is pulled under the red waves. Darwin’t calls out, yet it is too late. Now he knows he is having a nightmare. He always dreams of Damilayas before one of his true-dreams.

  He is back at the top of the tower. He scans the country around him. It is mainly flat, green plains beyond a sprawling city, which grows like a forest at the base of the tower. Not my home country, then. He looks for any symbol, crest or coat of arms to focus his memory on but cannot find one. He turns his attention to the door of the tower and shrinks back as a man with two ravens perched on his shoulders runs towards him. Before he can see much of the man, other than he has a beard and has deep black pools for eyes he disappears.

  The world is darker now, the sun setting. The sun. He looks at it drop below a mountain range on the other side of the tower. Where am I? Before the answer comes, he is standing by a lake. The sky is blue and the sun is at its zenith. Nine white swans glide passed like ferryman's boats on feast days. He notes the number and as he does so the world begins to burn. The water bubbles and hisses into huge clouds of steam. A shadow swoops from the sky, screeching like a firework. Darwin’t raises his hands defensively to stop it from hitting his face, yet the strike does not come and the roar fades to nothing.

  Slowly he drops his hands to find he now stands in a grand garden. Three huge towers rise all around him. The top of each of the towers shines gold with the sunlight. The sun now rises again. These must be the towers of Atlantia. There could not be more than one set of towers this huge in the world. He glances around him at the gardens. There is no city near the towers. So the first tower in this dream is somewhere else.

  He takes a step towards the tallest tower, one with a dome at its top when the world becomes a huge sea. He wobbles at the edge of a cliff. A few stones fall into the crashing waves below. “Can I die here?” he muses as he steps backwards. In the distance he sees a tree growing from the waves. The beauty of it fills his eyes for only a moment before he is in the dark. Tree roots and dirt ceilings press down on him, fire rages everywhere. He screams and is back by the lake. His skin still feels the heat from the flames. He sees a blackbird in flight, followed by two doves. The doves fighting to be beside the blackbird. He wonders what it means as slowly the sun sets into night. A girl wearing a maid’s dress bends her neck to a man not much older than her. Both of their faces are hidden by shadow. As she stands, he kisses her. A secret affair maybe. Sand blows into his eyes and he clenches them closed.

  He takes a step into an empty but grand arena. A man appears in the centre of the stadium brandishing a short sword. He jumps and vanishes into the clouds. Clouds, the sky had been clear. Rain pours over him, lightning flashes fill the sky, thunder bellows into his ears. A galleon breaks through the blackening sky, a flag of skull and crossed bones ripping into the wind. The sky flashes white and he is standing in the middle of a field. It is sunny and dry; however he still drips from the earlier rain. He scans the sky for the galleon, but it is gone.

  Suddenly he recognizes where he is. The large field in his home village of Gressgs. They have all of their feast days in this field with a maypole and dancing and one sun, even fireworks! He turns to see if the maypole has been erected at the western end and stumbles at what he sees. A monstrous castle fills his vision for less than a second before he is standing at the top of a mountain, the wind trying to blow him over the edge to his death. Can I die here? The wind stops. A tower rises in front of him. It must be a day or more ride to it from the base of the mountain going by the amount of open plains between. But he can still see that the tower is huge and flat at the top. The sun is behind him. The sun. He turns to look at it and finds himself surrounded by trees, though only for a second, and then he is standing back on the tower again. He stares at the distant mountain range – the mountain he had just been standing on. The sun is just about to break from behind the tallest peak. Something about the sun seems to be important.

  The two ravens from before swoop down and peck at him, their beaks digging and tearing at his flesh. Blood runs freely down his arms. He sees the lake and Damilayas’ hand sinking beneath the water. A boy running on the wind flashes across his vision. A shadow slinks behind a tree holding the hand of a girl. A man sleeps on the back of a wagon, colors swirling around his head.

  The images change as soon as they have begun. Darwin’t spins this way and that; with each turn a new location and a new person. He sees a stoat woman with flames and water in her eyes. A girl waves her hand and a hole opens in the sky. A man in black runs down tower steps tears streaking his face. A large man with a sword falls to his knees over a pool of black fluid. A girl in white smiles into the night beside a woman also dressed in white, who strokes her stomach and the knife on her belt. The man from before with the serving girl falls with blood soaked clothes. A dragon streaks in front of the sun. Night falls and six shadowed figures race towards him. A baby falls into water. The earth splits. Blood floods from the ocean over the land. The dead crawl from their graves.

  A voice screams into his ears. “The Last Princess must be protected. Or all this will happen.” A woman appears in front of Darwin’t with a dagger and plunges it into his chest.

  Can I die here? The pain is real.

  Darwin’t Utsa opens his eyes. The crack on the ceiling slowly coming into focus as the film across his vision disperses. He blinks twice before jerking upright, left hand searching for a knife wound that is not there. A dream. What had it been about?

  He gets to his feet and stumbles lazily over to the chest of drawers standing in the corner, pulling a clean shirt from the already open top drawer. Darwin’t Utsa is almost an adult by Hillsbough law as he is about to reach his twenty-second sun – and what a sun it will be! He will soon be bonded to the girl of his dreams and given a plot of land to build a home upon. That prospect is almost enough to make him run into the hills and hide until he is too old to be married. It is not that he does not wish to be bonded to Canace Al’drea, though the very idea of settling down and giving up his time to work and not have fun... And children. Canace has always dreamt of having a large family. He shakes himself out of his immature thinking and summons a more mature mindset. Being bonded is not a sentence but a blessing. The chance to build a new life and to provide for the community and to have a profession. He is already trained as a weaver, like his aunt, though that is not really a man’s job. Pulling the shirt over his head he strolls out of the room and into the kitchen where his aunt is preparing a breakfast of oats and honey.

  “You are up late, my boy,” she chirps in her song-like voice. “And I think you wore that shirt yesterday. I can smell it over the honey.” She turns to look at him with those soft eyes. He knows what she is seeing. His short dark brown hair is uncombed and messy, nothing new. He cannot remember the last time he ran a comb through his hair. His wide blue eyes would be rimmed with red and he probably has dark patches under them too. His eyes are always like that after a restless night. He is not a tall man, nor is he short, standing at about five and a half steps. His skinny frame, pale skin and high cheekbones mixed with his short sharp nose, narrow jaw, thin pink lips and his dark eyebrows and hair make him look permane
ntly ill. He is not an unattractive man, but he is on the plain side. His aunt considers him for a moment before slipping the bowl of oats in front of him. “You look like you need it. I don’t think you should drink so much kaff. It doesn’t let you sleep right.” She takes a seat at the other end of the table and eats her breakfast without another word.

  He makes hard work of the oats, and by the time he is done his aunt has already left the table and is readying herself for the work ahead. Darwin’t sighs to himself. If he could get out of doing anything for the rest of his life then he would. But what could he do instead of working? He glances to the window, and for the first time notices the sun has crested the top of the trees. He really did sleep in. With another sigh he pushes out the chair and staggers into the yard. The sun stings his eyes momentarily and he has to blink them to adjust his vision. In that brief instant without sight he bumps into his aunt and then the pony she is tying to the wagon. He apologizes to Snowflake, so-called because of the hundreds of white spots covering her dark body. Not that he has ever seen snow, but someone had told him about it once. The idea that ice could fall from the sky is amazing. He would love to see that one day.

  He grins at the pony as he turns to face his aunt. The small house they share lies on the outskirts of a village called Gressgs approximately forty minutes away. Between them and Gressgs is a small wood known as Hill Wood or Rise Forest depending on your age. He calls it Hill Wood whereas Aunt Maida still calls it Rise Forest. It’s a wonder older people can get anything done. Maida still uses fingers as measurement instead of thumbs, which had been established eleven suns before, saying it was perfectly fine the old way. Better way she would have put it. Darwin’t would not have a clue how long something was if they said sixteen fingers, but he knew right away if they said seven thumbs. What is the point in changing things if only half the world changed to use it? He shakes the thought from his mind and lets the sun warm his face. The house is small compared to the ones in Gressgs, but it is big enough for him and his aunt. Made of large stones brought up from the river Sai it has two windows at the front and one at the back. The roof is made of thatch, which could do with a tidy, and needed some replacing. He has his own room around the back, beside the kitchen; and his aunt sleeps in what should be the loft. He had suggested that they swap due to her aging legs and all the stairs. However, she had seen through that and declared that the largest room in the house would remain hers.