Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  The King sits looking over the dead world that he had once ruled, if supporting can be considered as rule. He was loved and admired. His people called him “Father” and he called them his “children.” They worshiped him and he gave them love. They worked in his fields and he gave them food and homes. They gave him love and he gave them happiness. They took what he gave with gratefulness and honor and he smiled upon them and marveled at what he had created.

  War had torn the outside world apart. The Godking’s armies fighting those of the other five Colleges. He had wanted no part in it and so had gathered everyone in his kingdom together and sealed them inside a huge sphere of magic. The ground was fertile and they had water that would last forever coming though the void engine. The dome was so vast that it covered four of the world’s largest cities and would take months to travel around. A shining purple dome to shut out the death and chaos of the world.

  So long ago. The first had died one sun ago, and every day brought hundreds upon hundreds of new deaths. The world gave up and the spark vanished; the cause unknown.

  He is alone now within the dead walls. One of Atlantia's most powerful wizards and there is nothing left for him to do but sit and wait. Thunder cracks across the sky and he whips his head up. There was no weather inside the dome. The rain, wind and even the sun were all created with magic. Thunder was impossible. As he stares a large segment of the dome cracks and huge pieces of magical stone crash to the ground, destroying buildings not long empty. The corruption of this taint now spreading to the magic supporting his world.

  “It was him, you know, Dalornious.” The sudden sounding of voice makes the King drop to his knees, fearing that death has come for him, making him weep. “You have a right to cry. But you are still a very powerful mage. I could use your help. The Godking is almost unstoppable now. I know you wanted no part in this war, but after what he has done to you.”

  The King does not turn to look at the speaker, for he knows who that silky arrogant voice belongs to. He wipes the tears from his face and steels himself. “You have my help. But I am old and beaten. I will be of little use to you.”

  A hand touches his shoulder and pain lances through his entire being. “I can fix that.” The ground rips away from beneath his feet, the air stirs around his frame gripping him and tearing at his form, giving him flesh and a form new to him. Pain enters him and he screams with the agony of this new sensation and he knows what it is to be destroyed. He opens his eyes and stares at what he sees around him. Buildings reach into the clouds, shimmering in the light of a great fiery ball floating high in the sky. Green grows from within the greyness of the hard earth and people move around inside metal carriages without horses to pull them.

  “You have missed so much of the world changing, hiding away in your bubble. This is the city of Tremlydun. My home. And now yours.”

  The King stares up at the real sky for the first time in decades and laughs. A new world to begin again. “Thank you,” he manages to say.

  “Yes well, we have work that needs to be done. There is a girl I want found. She is a perfect vessel for what I have in mind. Her name is Sahwin Nu'Veli. And this is where she lives.”

  8

  RIOCHALD’S FURY

  Riochald’s eyes lazily open to focus upon the dirty pattern of the hallway rug. The memory of the girl talking to her in what looked like a medical center drifting away as consciousness forces its way back. She pushes herself up from where she had collapsed and crawls over to a hard stool, seating herself. She rests her head in her hands and tries to remember what had happened.

  The light.

  She had been washing out an old vase to fill with flowers. A gift for Canace. She was rushing because she wanted to make sure she was at Darwin’t’s house before he returned. He was a very kind-hearted young man if a little lazy and lacking direction. She was pleased at his choice to bond with Canace, but at the same time worried that he would let her down. She often spoke to women whose bonded drank too much or did not pull their weight around the home. Most men believed that it was the woman’s job to keep the house while they worked; which was true to some extent but not so much as the men wanted. Building and thatching was a man’s job and not that of a woman. She had boxed the ears of a few dull-witted bonded who came to her asking if she could talk to their wives about doing more.

  The light.

  Riochald glances at the shards of brittle porcelain covering the floor around the stool. The memory of walking into the hallway, a drying cloth in one hand and the vase in the other. There had been a light all around her and then... She had found herself on the floor. She glances back into the hall; the rug out there really needs a clean. She had not felt unwell or faint at all. It was as if a heavy sleep had come over her and she could not stop it from claiming her. A chill prickles across her back.

  “Think, girl,” she says reprimanding herself. Anger flares up in her chest and she screams at the walls. The stool is kicked out from underneath her as she takes to her feet, pacing up and down the room. Words try to creep into her thoughts but she pushes them away. Fear mingled with the desire to remember why she had fallen. Her eyes settle on the window. At first she is confused by what she sees but suddenly realizes what must have happened. The sun has gone down. It is night. How long has she been on the floor?

  Sweeping a cloak around her heavy wool dress she races out into the darkness. She must get to Darwin’t’s house. Her fall will have to wait. She has a man to boss around. A hint of a smile works its way onto her mouth.

  She closes the gate and scurries down the path towards her prized horse, Moonshine. The silver-white mare nuzzles into her as she reaches the barn and then allows Riochald to secure the saddle and saddlebags. As she is about to mount the horse, a sense of forbidding comes over her and she grabs a small hammer from a hook on the wall. She leaps onto Moonshine and kicks her into a trot. The horse moves swiftly onto the street and without further encouragement picks up her speed.

  She is approaching the trees when she hears another horse racing to catch her up. She pulls the reins in and turns Moonshine to face the dark shape moving towards her. Long grey skirts billow out from the rider and a head of wavy blond hair whips across her face. Not very sensible riding clothes.

  “Canace!” Riochald yells as the horse passes her without slowing but the rider does not appear to see or hear her. Riochald is about to call again when a large figure jumps at her from the concealment of the trees. Moonshine rears up in fright knocking her rider to the hard mud. The hammer falls from the cloak pocket and Riochald seizes it. The tall figure is a man in his late thirties. His face is dirty and he has thin grey hair. A nasty smell wafts from him, like dead fish. She clambers to her feet and places her hands on her hips, keeping her weapon hidden behind her back. “What in the name of the Creator are you doing? Jumping out like that. Scaring my horse.” She studies the look on the man’s face; it is unemotional with blank unseeing eyes and pale white skin.

  She suddenly remembers seeing this man before. He was involved in an accident two weeks ago, he had slipped getting out of his bathtub and cracked his head open on the slate floor. It was Riochald who had to tell his wife that he had died. “Hargo?” She says the name slowly, her voice shaking out the word. “Hargo Slithen?” The man runs at her, arms reaching out to grab at her, fingers knotting in her hair, mouth gaping open, saliva oozing from his dried lips, eyes rolling in there sunken sockets. The hammer swings a full ark into the temple of the attacker crashing into the skull. She is released from his grip but he is not stopped, merely knocked backwards. Slithen lets out a low wail – the sound of someone who has no vocal cords trying to speak. Looking at Slithen, now a creature, a bitter anger builds up inside her chest. His poor wife had been beside herself. She was with child and the loss of her beloved husband had caused her to lose the unborn child. She was grief stricken and heartbroken.

  And here he is. Standing in front of her, the cause of all that pain and sorrow. Oh he
had died in a stupid accident but that was men all over. His wife had not wanted the slate put down around the bath believing it to be a danger. But when does a man ever listen to his wife or bonded? He wanted it and so he got it. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” she screams as she lunges at him with the hammer, knocking his jaw crooked with the first blow and caving in his skull with the second. The creature slumps to its knees but still does not die. It looks up at her with its ruined face and tries to smile. The skin around its mouth cracking as it does so. Fury overtakes her senses and she rushes at the thing in a frenzy, clubbing at it with hammer and fists. Her hatred for the monster building into a fever which breaks with the last blow. The corpse ignites in a ball of flame. Riochald falls backwards, horror surging through her veins. The living dead man thrashes around as its body is consumed by the flames. It burns brightly and fast until there is nothing but the charred dirt where it had lain. Tears come to her eyes and she clambers to her feet running after her horse and the safety of home. As she scrambles onto Moonshine she sees the body of a dying girl clutching at a deep knife-wound crawl towards her. She knows it is only in her mind but she still shrieks away from it. Her memories return of how she ended up on the floor; the light and the dream of the girl. She steadies her nerves and turns the horse back into the trees. She has to get to the boys and she has to get to them now.

  The long dirt road through Rise Forest is treacherous at the height of day but at night it is a suicidal undertaking. She slows Moonshine down to a brisk canter; wishing every other second that she had brought a lantern with her. A branch snaps off to her left and she pulls the reins tight to stop her horse. The shadows seem to move in on her, shimmering over one another like the negative of sunlight on the surface of water. Hands grasp at her cloak from behind her and she wheels the horse about. Dark shapes lumber out of the woods, mumbling to themselves in low tones she cannot understand. They rush at her, arms reaching to grasp at her once again. There must be at least five of them moving towards her. She reaches into her saddlebag and pulls out a small glass bottle. It contains deep red powder used for treating open sores; but it is also very painful if it gets onto healthy skin. She snaps the stopper from the top and shakes the contents into the breeze. She cannot see the result of her attack but the shadowed forms drop backwards into the night, howling and wailing.

  Moonshine whines and dances around in a circle, shaking her head and stomping her hooves. From the darkness the other side of the wood more shapes emerge; too fast for Riochald to react. The horse explodes into a frenzied gallop, racing forwards, heedless of the dangers before it. Its front hoof catches on a lose stone and it staggers, the other hoof dipping into a pothole. Riochald screams as Moonshine crashes to the dirt; front legs snapping under the force. A bush breaks her fall but she is not without injury herself. She crawls back to the path and stares at the lifeless mass of silver horse. Tears spring into her eyes but a fury knocks them aside and she limps towards her attacker; hammer held tightly in a white knuckled hand.

  The darkness around her shifts at all sides. Things emerge and take shape, revealing themselves as twisted, hideous creatures who once must have been people. They are a mass of torn open dry skin and crumpled features. One on her left lurches onto the path and she swings the hammer at it, catching it in the chest, forcing it back. More come from behind and she spins, arching the hammer but missing both of them. The first one staggers back and grapples at her wrist. She pushes at it but the others come closer, reaching out, taking hold of her hair and arms. More dark shapes move off to her right and straight ahead. A terrified high-pitched scream erupts from her throat as she pulls the hammer clear and begins swinging it wildly without purpose and without a selected target. She misses more then she connects and she is soon tired. A bony hand slaps her across the face, another scratches deep into her scalp, blood pours between her eyes and down her chest. A punch to her stomach doubles her over and one of the creatures jumps on her back, driving her into the dirt. She vaguely hears the rumble of thunder overhead as she closes her eyes to rest her aching body from the pain surging through it. Darkness sinks into her flesh and death is soon to take her away.

  “Riochald,” the girl’s voice drifts on the wind towards her and she forces her eyes open. She is on the dirt path in the middle of Rise Forest, covered in scratches and bruises. Her horse lays dead close by. She panics and scrambles to her feet as a large shadowed figure thunders towards her but in a flash of lightning it is revealed as Canace upon her stallion. Riochald lets the elation of her savior’s arrival suffocate the dread she had felt only moments before. But as soon as she feels the happiness it is squished from her by a vice of terror and she runs into the waiting arms of Canace.

  “I was going to die,” she stutters out. “We have to go. They will come back once they see you are not a soldier.” She hurriedly scans the surrounding woods but they appear empty. “Where did they go?”

  “Riochald, you fell from your horse.” Canace frowns sadly over at the still form of Moonshine. “You must have bumped your...”

  “I am not some silly girl who has fancies of monsters and attackers Canace Al’drea. I know what I saw and I will not have anyone make it seem to have been all my imagination. Now we have to get to the boys.” She wipes at the blood on her face with the sleeve of her dress before holding out a hand for Canace to take; pulling her up behind her in the saddle. Riochald, leans into her friend’s back and lets its warmth sooth her. “Thank you,” she whispers into Canace’s ear.

  9

  A KILLING in the ROAD

  Darwin’t looks back over his shoulder at the flashes of lightning striking over his village, now just a dark mass in the distant hills. His horse whines with the rumble as the thunder passes seconds later. He coos softly and pats the dark brown gelding on the top of the head. He spurns it forwards to catch up with the others.

  They had disappeared and then reappeared when the light had engulfed them beside the well. It had taken only a few seconds according to Tye, who had not been within the light’s reach. The ghoul had screamed and the light burst from her, taking them into what seemed like a deep sleep. Tye had fallen back and watched as the light grew until he could no longer see them. All sound ceased, and when the light vanished so had his friends. Panicked, he turned and fled but stopped when he heard the sound of Tarfleam whimpering. When he turned they were back. However they were not the same.

  Derry’n was the first to mention that he felt different in himself. Suns of being lost in a country that was not his own, for the first time he felt a sense of belonging. The path he had seen and what the girl in his dream had told him made sense and he knew it to be the truth. He would follow her warning and advised the others do the same. Whoever “they” were seemed to be connected with the ghoul from the well. “If we stay here then they will come again. I don’t know about you, but I am not ready to die. We should leave.”

  Everyone had looked at him as if he were a crazy man. All except Darwin’t. His mind had turned back to the nightmare from the night before. It was all too much. He had to get away and think things over. He had slipped away from the others when they were not looking and walked back into the village where his aunt was waiting to return home. The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable as always but he noticed little of it, his focus turned inwards. It was however noticed by Maida who complained loudly and kept his mind from placing the dream into an order that made sense. Once home he made an excuse and went to bed. It was there that he felt the change which Derry’n had been talking about. Deep within his memories were hundreds of nightmares all following the same path and theme—his death.

  He was always with the same people. Danlynn stands at his shoulder, a long golden hunter’s bow strapped across his back, quiver of arrows hanging lose at his waist. Tarfleam slinks somewhere in the background, head down, fear driving him onwards, whispering to himself, throwing guilty and sometimes sly glances all around him. Riochald sits with a wide warrior tending to a wo
und on his forearm; a dark shroud slides across them but they do not seem to notice. Canace sits upon her mount looking into the distance; never looking his way but always saying his name. Derry’n tends the cook-pot and fire; he wears a daft pair of baggy breeches and a silk scarf tied about his head. Three others are always there but he never sees their faces. There is a small girl with wings made of light. A young woman who wears a flowing gown with twin swords buckled at the waist and a baby sleeping at her feet. The last is a man who Darwin’t can guess to be a member of the Dark Clan. He is tall and slender with black garb covered in intricate gold lettering. He carries a large volume in his arms which he never stops reading. Darkness rolls off him like a mist but kindness shines from his eyes, which are the only part of his face that Darwin’t can remember.

  The dreams are always like this. A scene from a time yet to be but always so mixed up and confusing. However, now he knows something new. The girl he saw today in his waking dream, they all had, is the girl with the wings of light. She had told them to leave and seek out the Angels and to protect the last Princess.

  When night fell he was woken by horses approaching the house. Aunt Maida was shouting for the riders to be quiet but there would be no calming them. He grabbed a sack from the floor and bundled some clothes into it, leaving the room without looking back. His Aunt had tried to stop him but he had to leave. He could not explain the reasons for going but told her he would return. He left a message for her to give to Canace before leaping upon the gelding Derry’n had brought for him to ride. Once they were clear of the house and into the wood he had called a halt.