Wings of Light Special Edition

by Lloyd Baron

  As he begins to laugh the rest of the room bursts into motion. The King falls backwards clutching his chest, his heart pounding out of control. His wife screams again and collapses on top of her husband, her tears falling upon his still form. Bosley grabs his wife and together they drop to their knees, grief for their children overcoming them both. Borg curses and charges forwards, sword raised. His men follow on his heels. It takes only a second.

  One guard places his hand on the shoulder of a comrade to hurry him forwards and sparks, like that of a fired sword being struck by a hammer, fly from his breastplate. He is launched backwards into the remaining force and they all spark and smolder. Borg staggers to a halt and looks at his downed army.

  “No man can stop me,” Sabastian chuckles. “It’s amazing what a little static can do.” Borg does not understand but fear and anger are controlling him now. He swings his blade and it strikes the man in the side of the neck. The blade bounces harmlessly off his skin as if he is made of rock and clatters to the floor.

  Sabastian grabs Borg by the throat and hauls him from his feet. His green eyes are full of insane amusement and he begins to laugh again, a sound not unlike that of a madman. He digs his fingers into Borg’s terrified staring eyes and has himself some more fun.

  20

  A PLACE of LIGHT and a PLACE of DARKNESS

  Calm drifts on the flows of air and power which enter the dome upon the top of the temple at the highest point in Gossa-Mesa. The world has returned to its regular peacefulness after the darkness of previous days. Days when in the west a dragon had been called and the dead had risen, magic was summoned and people had been slaughtered. Days when in the East children had been taken and twin evils had played a game of death and destruction with the royal family. Days when in the south the seas had bubbled and the river had burst its banks, the beasts of the mountains had become restless, and the Undine had begun their journey to the land. Days when in the north the armies of the great Empire began to march and the Kingdom of B’ret raised its defenses, the elemental creatures stirred for the first time in a thousand suns and the Angels in Gassa-Moso took to the skies.

  Now everything is at peace. But it won’t last long.

  Ori snaps his eyes open and drags in a shaky ragged breath. The last few days have taken it out of him. Molly still has not woken, and he has expelled most of his life energy trying to reach her. This morning he had been woken by his wife’s tears, and as he climbed out of his bed he had felt the reason why. His wings are shriveled and most of the brilliant white feathers have turned grey. He comforted Onoui until she was able to stand and lead the morning prayer. Then they had climbed to the city to show everyone his condition and allow the grief to spread. It is their way. One of them dies every decade and it is never easy saying goodbye to someone you had lived with for almost eight hundred suns.

  It is still early in his weakening but he knows deep down he will return to the spirits in the air soon and he has much to do before that time comes. He tries to stand but his legs won’t lift his weight and he tumbles onto his face. He cries out in pain and frustration. So quick is the deterioration of the Angel’s body once it has begun.

  Ko'u, Sitter of the Golden Throne enters and exclaims his fright at seeing Ori sprawled upon the floor.

  “I’m not dead yet,” he barks, shocked at the gruff gravely tone of his own voice. “I just took a fall. Help me up Wuooit or are you planning on standing there to watch me fall again?”

  The short fat Angel does not hesitate as he rushes over and takes Ori under the arms. As he lifts him a flurry of feathers cascade to the floor. Both stare at them for a long while. Tears falling down the Sitter’s cheeks. Ori pats his hands and removes himself from the lose grip to stagger over to the mirror of contemplation. A huge gold framed mirror used to reflect the sun’s rays into the caves below during the longest day following the endless night. His reflection brings horror to his face and he bursts into a body raking sob. He is not sad to be dying as it is only the beginning of the next stage of consciousness and he will walk with the Creator. He is sad only to be leaving at this time when Molly is sick and her powers are still a mystery to her. She will need guidance and tutoring that he hoped would come from him. Now however he knows that will not happen and the task will fall on the shoulders of his first son, O’us.

  “Ko’u!” he barks suddenly, composing himself and focusing his mind on the tasks at hand. “Calm yourself and answer my questions. Has my son returned?”

  “No,” the Sitter swallows. “No he is still in Senteluneu. The dragons and other beasts are still bellowing and are showing no sign of stopping. He sent word back that he will return this night.” Ko’u plucks at the fatty skin under his chin and sniffs back another sob. “He does not yet know of your condition.”

  Ori runs a hand over his shoulder and glances at his shriveled wings in the mirror. Sadness and regret flood over him and he has to steady himself against the wall to stop himself falling. Ko’u hesitates a moment, but decides to stay away. Good man.

  “Secondly,” he forces the words to remain even. “I have felt the movement of the Elemental spirits.” He waits for the horror to settle into Ko’u before continuing. “They have not yet all arrived upon our world but they are coming. As yet they do not know that they are coming , yet when they do—”

  “It could be the end of everything,” Ko’u mutters.

  “—they will seek us out first. Then they will begin to undo everything they have made to put the world right.”

  “But that would mean destroying everything. The humans, the beasts all the plants. It will be the end of the world as we know it.” He crumples into a heap, the shock overtaking him. He stares into space and moves his lips, but no words come.

  “We will stop it before that time, my old friend. But I think we need young Molly to wake up as soon as we can. I think she is our only real hope.” He rushes to his friend and sits behind him, engulfing him within his arms. “She will save us. She has to.”

  ***

  The village of Aris in the north east of Atlant is a quiet sleepy haven. Whitewashed houses surrounded on all sides by a system of tiny streams and buried deep in a valley give the place its nickname of “Chalk Town.” Travelers coming from the south reach the top of the valley and have a half-day trek down the steep slopes. It is a perfect place for a dark rite to take place away from spies and the following eyes.

  Three days in the back of a coach have brought Tak’arshi Bur’est to the quiet village. His journey had been made worse by his horse being stolen a few weeks earlier. The horse had been his for coming on nine suns and he had grown to understand the animal. He also believed the horse understood him. He had attracted a few stares on his way through the village. The market had come to an almost complete standstill when he entered. His kind always has the same greeting. Mothers pull their children into skirts and fathers step to the front, hefting anything they can as a weapon.

  He’d ignored everyone and kept on till he reached the first inn, shutting out the hateful world. Tak’arshi closes the heavy wooden door to his sleeping quarters and hurries to the centre of the room. He turns his satchel out on the floor and kneels within his findings. A red ribbon from the short blond girl; a bottle of medicine from the headstrong woman with the tight bun; a scrap of cloth from the tunic of the tall slow-looking beautiful one; the water skin from the moody one; the glass the joker of the group had drunk out of in Bray and a book from Darwin’t’s bedroom in Gressgs.

  He gathers them in front of him and tunes himself to the dark energies surrounding him and growing within him. His eyes roll up into his head and his breathing stops.

  Like the opening of a flower to the sun in the early morning, so is he awakened to his dark grace. Fire and ice spread across his chest, rippling under his skin and filling him with a burning cold power. Coils of shadow twirl and twine their way from his fingertips and into the objects upon the floor. He feels them at once, great power pulsating into th
e air around his dark magic.

  Images build in his mind and he pulls himself closer to them, grappling with the frost and ice which is beginning to cover the room. He sees his quarry entering through the large gates of the capital city. Their energy trails are so strong, even the moody one has a trail although small. He clears his thoughts and settles back into his study. Darwin’t’s heart pumps with green energy revealing that he is both of nature and purity. A good leader even if he does not yet know it. The joker pulses out reds and blues as does the butch woman. They will be powerful when trained. The small girl has an unusual trail which he does not recognize. She could be a danger to everyone if she is not controlled and her power developed for his benefit. The tall handsome man has a wispy grey aura, giving him the power of the wind but without any red he will not be able to summons his gift. He also has a second trail, which seems to leap out and grasp at any living thing he passes.

  It is now that he has them all together that he can see what they will achieve and what effect on the world they are already having. Lines of power erupt from them as they walk into the city and engulf everything and everyone. These six will change the world. He just does not yet know how they will achieve it.

  A thunderous banging breaks his concentration and the spell snaps out of control, slashing across the room, cutting the leg from his small bed. He cocks his head to the side and stares blankly at the leaning piece of furniture. The banging comes again and he glides from the floor, sweeping his black cloak across his shoulder.

  The man outside the door jumps back a step as Tak’arshi drifts out of the darkness to loom over him. He gulps and clears his throat before dry washing his hands.

  “Beg my pardon sir,” he says in a heavy northern accent revealing himself as a citizen of Alan. “It is that, well—. You see we are not meant to hire out rooms to—”

  “Dark Clan,” Tak’arshi finishes. The man almost drops down dead with shock and fear. His skin pales and he licks his lips repeatedly. “I do not understand why you would have a rule such as that. I mean we cannot harm a mortal such as yourself.”

  “Sir, please! You have to let me expl—”

  “Not unless you have a dark heart and you want to hide it from me.” Tak’arshi fixes his eyes on the man’s pupils in a way he knows makes others nervous. “Do you want me to test your worth?”

  “Sir I... No. I mean, you have this all wrong.”

  “How so?”

  The man takes another step back and rinses his hands again. “I meant to say— wanted to say… that we are not meant to hire rooms out to lone travelers this close to feast days. Others need the room. I just wanted to know how long you intended to stay and if you wouldn’t mind having someone stay with you.” He glances to the floor and then back up but does not make eye contact. “However, I can see that you will not desire a guest.” He bows woodenly and backs away.

  Tak’arshi waits till the man has reached the stairs before calling in his normal bland tone. “I will leave tomorrow. I have important business. You can have your room back then.”

  He steps back into the room and removes his cloak, dropping it onto the back of his small wooden chair. He turns his attention back to the objects on the floor and prepares to summon the darkness again.

  A beast screams. O’us stands abruptly and scans the horizon. Almost a week within the Dragon Mountains and most of it has been spent hiding. The creatures of the wild have gone completely insane.

  His body is a mass of bruises and scratches. His energy is quickly ebbing away and his mind is cloudy. This will be his last day in the wilderness. His mind drifts to thoughts of his family. His father is getting so old. The burden upon his shoulders is great and he does not allow it to be shared. His mother, Onoui, the Panarch of Gossa-Mesa is facing difficulties following the intrusion of the Skaven. People want to know how such a creature had stepped foot upon the sacred ground of the Great Tree. Barriers are in place to prevent any outsiders entering: magic spells which let out a flaring light and a shrill scream which alert everyone to intruders. However, they had failed, and nobody knows why. Then there is his sister. She still has a fever and has yet to wake from her slumber. Her body is under great stress and huge waves of power explode from her as the sun rises each morning. Power which she needs to retain to become healthy and to use to protect those destined to save the world. So small and helpless in that huge bed. The sunlight blocked by thick curtains to keep her in the dark to recover.

  He lets his eyes rove back into his camp and to the small fire which has almost burnt itself out. His gear is scattered and dented. Physical memories of the large scaled monster that had trudged through early this morning. He had been luckily woken by the tremors shaking the earth and had taken flight moments before. It was a flightless lizard, twice the size of a horse, with four massive, powerful legs and a whipping tail thicker than a tree trunk. Its head was tiny in comparison to its bulk and its intelligence lower than that of cattle. It sniffed around for a scent, though found none and so moved on.

  The evening before, just as the sun was setting, he had seen fires burning on the ridge of Sanchier. A rocky cleft far along the main trail from Inishis Cave, it is a place few would build a base camp. He’d decided to leave his investigation until the morning and the rising of the sun.

  He sits down on a burned stump and pulls a dry crusty roll of white bread from his pack. He tears a small piece off and pushes it between his lips, chewing it a few times before swallowing. He takes his water skin and empties the last of the cool liquid into his throat. He arcs his back and stretches his shoulders. He stands again and unfurls his huge white wings. They protest and ache to the stretching and he curls them in front of his to inspect where the pain is radiating. He grasps the tip of his left wing and splays out the feathers so he can see the membrane beneath. He frowns at the redness and puffy flesh. Some kind of sprain caused this morning as he took to the air. He will have to be careful as he flies not to get a cramp.

  He tosses his wings behind him, flexes them once more, left to right and then pounds them in a swift downwards motion to drive him upwards. He beats his mighty wings a few more times before diving into a glide, rushing above the treetops.

  The land is beautiful. Below him and covering the lowlands is a thick rainforest which spreads for miles in all directions. To his right the land slopes slightly upwards until it hits the base of the Dragon Peak, the tallest mountain to the range and shaped like a razor-edged tooth. Snow caps its peak and sparkles in the early morning sun. To his left the land falls away into a deep canyon; the mountains standing proudly behind. The canyon echoes with the sound of rushing water and a cloud of water spray drifts lazily over its rocky edges.

  He spirals on a wing tip and drops his height a touch, scanning the rocky clefts for the signs of life that a human camp leaves behind. He sees it at once and dives in, flashing the whites of his wings so he can been seen and known. Angels are a not a threat to any race or army and so can enter as they please. No Angel has been killed entering an unknown camp in over a hundred suns. He is a few yards above ground and his desired landing zone when his left wing locks up. Tearing pain rips through him and he plummets the last few feet. He pumps his wings once to slow him down but he does not stand a chance of stopping his fall. He hits the ground fast and tumbles into a frantic roll. Wings tucked in to prevent breakage, he bounces across the compacted earth. He stops abruptly, cracking his head against a rock. Pain flares and the world dims around him.

  He opens his eyes and stares up at the inside of a canvas tent. The wind ripples the materiel gently. Where is he?

  “Good, you’re awake!” a soft female voice drifts into the tent. “Don’t get up. You hurt your wings. Don’t want them to stop working, do we?” The woman steps into his vision. He is momentarily taken aback by what he sees. She is tall and slender, very athletic in build and powerful looking. She has small slanted yellow eyes, narrow angular jaw with a petite mouth, wide, flat nose and small ears poin
ted at the tip. Her hair is long and red, braided over her left shoulder. Her skin is a pale green. She places a hand on her hip and leans into it, appraising the man before her.

  “You wonder who I am,” she says smiling, showing her slightly sharp-edged teeth. “You can guess my race.”

  “You are a Goblin Hybrid,” he croaks, his throat dry. The female’s smile drops from her face and she shakes her head. Turning to retrieve a water skin; she hands it to him and helps him drink. He thanks her, though she looks unimpressed.

  “When will the world accept us?” she says abruptly, standing and strolling over to the side of the tent where a small folding table sits. She lifts a dagger and studies it closely. “We have not even been accepted by our own people and have been forced to fight just to live as they do. Even the King who they love is as you call a hybrid but they still feel the rest of us are weaker. Just because my mother was a human does not mean I’m any less a Goblin than others. My brother hates me for it and he is not even full Goblin.” She slips the knife into a sash tied at her waist and turns back to O’us. “I would expect nothing less from the likes of you, however, dry and useless in your tree. Looking after yourselves. The once great Angels reduced to nothing more than a group of librarians. Why are you here? It must be urgent for you to risk your life flying with an injured wing. You look a mess.”

  He studies her set jaw and feels like apologizing, but at the same time she has just insulted his entire race. Her eyes burn with passion and her body oozes sexuality. However, there is an uncertainty about her she almost manages to cover, but it is there in her stance. She is worried about it. He tunes his mind into the energy lines and follows them through the air. It is hard here, high within the mountains, too much interference from the dead energy of rock. The lines are like ripples across still water. Anger and fear push them closer together and make them more frequent and sharp edged. Happiness, joy and fun bunch them into huge waves which glow a brilliant white and caress the mind. This woman’s lines are balanced but very controlled. They tremble, yet she stills them trying to appear calm and in control. She is scared of something.