A New Dawn

by J. J. Johnson

  “You have no need to fear, Khaleena. I am not a tyrant like those whose hands you have fallen into before.”

  Khaleena could find no words as her eyes remained fixed on Eloy. Finally, she mustered up the strength to speak, “Is that truly him, Imari?”

  “It is, though I can hardly believe it myself,” he replied.

  Eloy’s gaze turned to him. “You doubted what Geralt told you? Even after the dagger I gave him?”

  “My King, you must understand the insanity of the claim! From Geralt, no less.”

  “It is typically those least expected who make all the difference. But who the messenger is should not concern those who receive the message.” Imari felt the small rebuke but it did not hamper his amazement. Here was Eloy in the flesh before him, but suddenly his mind was flooded with a question.

  “High King, I tremble at asking such a thing to a man of your… power. But, if you have returned, why has all this happened? Why has Titus been killed and Kingshelm besieged? Are you here to save us now?”

  As the words left his lips, tears suddenly streamed down Eloy’s face. To Imari it felt like an intrusion to a depth of sorrow only this man could feel. In his presence reality somehow became more so, and Imari could sense even Eloy’s grief was held within a fuller reality than he could comprehend. Its richness held a nuance that no mortal man could grasp.

  “It is one of the great sorrows that has passed in an age full of them,” Eloy said. “I am afraid the night has not yet reached its peak.”

  “What are these cryptic words of yours?” Khaleena asked. “Have you not come to defend your people?”

  “Khaleena, do you know who you speak to in this way?” Imari scolded.

  Eloy gave her a gentle smile as he raised a hand to Imari. “Princess of Khala, you speak with boldness and truth.”

  “What kind of king am I is your real question. One who will bring the weight of judgment upon his enemies and one who will extend life to those who call him friend.”

  “Life? What kind of life? Was this Titus your friend? Because I see no life in him?”

  The insult bounced off the High King with no effect. Instead, Eloy stood silent, his eyes peering at her as if searching the depths of her being. It made Khaleena squirm, the feeling of her heart being laid bare before this man.

  “You believe Imari is not fit for Khala. You came here to end his reign one way or another did you not?”

  She stood mute as Eloy continued, “It is Sahra that has wounded you, indeed those that rule Sahra. They have taken your sense of dignity. They have stripped you of peace and now you cannot live peacefully with your world or yourself.”

  Her head shook unsteadily, yet Imari could see her body was frozen even as she looked to turn and run away.

  “You think that by shutting everyone out you can protect yourself, you can find peace. But, you know it is those you love who you need the most. You are chained by your pain and you cannot escape.”

  Tears streaked down her cheeks and Imari could see she barely concealed her sobs. Still, Eloy pressed forward.

  “I can break those chains.”

  “How,” she said in the faintest whisper.

  “Let go. Let go of all the hurt.”

  “I can’t. Where will it go if I don’t hold onto it? When will the justice come? Who will fight for Imbaku, my parents, me?” she questioned at the top of her lungs.

  Slowly, Eloy moved to her as she slumped to the ground. “I will, Khaleena. Soon, very soon, all this evil and this pain, everything will be dealt with. The New Dawn is coming, and in its rays the night will be vanquished.”

  “How can this be?” she said, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.

  “There is a gift that belongs to me. I will share it with all who call me friend,” he said.

  “Can I… can I…”

  “Yes, Khaleena you can.”

  She wrapped her arms around him in reckless abandon. Lombaku stepped away in shock at the sight. Imari knew more than words had touched Khaleena. Deep within all the torment, all the pain, something had broken and in its place, life had sprung once more. Eloy helped raise her to her feet.

  “Imari,” he said.

  He felt himself standing at attention at the call of Eloy. “Yes, High King.”

  “You have come seeking answers on what to do, and I have come to tell you. Take your forces and those of Kingshelm and go to Sahra.”

  “Sahra, my lord? You must be…” but he stopped before finishing. How could he say such an absurdity to this man?

  “Yes, my King.”

  “Very good. There is dark news you will find on your return, but take heart. The dark of night may come…”

  “But the dawn will follow,” Imari said, finishing Eloy’s words. “It is the ancient proverb.”

  “I am glad you know it,” Eloy smiled. “I must go, but there is still unfinished business here.” His eyes motioned to Khaleena.

  “I understand,” Imari said turning to his sister. As he went to return his gaze to the High King, Eloy was gone. The moments easily could have been taken as a dream if the residue of his presence had not so drastically changed them.

  Khaleena’s eyes raised to meet his. “Brother.”

  “I know, Khaleena.”

  She shook her head. “What I have done… you are a worthy Khosi.”

  Imari swallowed, fighting the emotions that threatened to overtake him.

  “Do you remember that day on the boat? When we were returning home for the first time?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Could you ever trust me like that again?”

  He smiled as he knew the old Khaleena had returned. Not the old, he thought. That would overlook all she had overcome. This was his sister reborn.

  “I would have it no other way.”

  13

  Lydia

  Valkara was not far now. The sound of late spring snow crunched under Lydia’s feet, indicating the last grasps of a Valkaran winter clinging to life. Before her was the picture of a pristine wonderland of snow-crusted woods. The pine and spruce trees stood clotted with the white substance. Everything was just as she remembered from her childhood days exploring these same woods. That was, until they neared the city.

  She could hear the gasps of horror from those marching behind her. Even her brother who had been accustomed to all manner of gruesome sights stopped in his tracks. Along the road on either side hung the corpses of men. Their rotting flesh was erected on wooden poles that traced the path to the city. Some whose tattered clothes remained bore the symbol of a ram, others a lion. These men had been taken captive in their fight near Forest’s Edge.

  Carrion birds circled overhead, ready to pick apart the remaining flesh of the bodies that ushered them home. Even the most battle-hardened of the group turned aside at the horrendous sight. Yet the memory of those haunting dead eyes would not leave them. Jorn’s message was clear: no mercy, no quarter, no return for those who tread these lands.

  Lydia turned and saw the fire in Aiden’s eyes. Such violence would not deter him, it only fueled his hatred. With a cool nod he motioned for them to continue. On and on the nightmare ushered them until the peaks of the Valkaran fortress came into view over needled tree tops.

  A hoarse voice caused her to jump as it choked out a warning from above. One of the men crucified clung to his last breath of life. His skin was crusted and cracked from long exposure to the elements. His blood red eyes hauntingly stared at those who passed by. The stench from his naked and rotting flesh induced a feeling of vomit at the back of her throat. The dying man drew in a final breath, his bare ribs throbbed from the effort of his last words.

  “Turn… back,” he moaned with fading strength. “Turn back,” he said again before his head slumped in a sickly motion.

  She turned away in horror, fighting back the sheer vileness of it all. Just as it began to overwhelm her, a hand clasped her
shoulder. She jerked from its grip in fear until she met the eyes of Geralt. He glanced at the hanging man and then back at her.

  “You alright, lass?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but let's just finish this.”

  She forced herself to stomp forward in the ankle deep snow, ignoring the remaining atrocities along the road. Soon her home, Valkara, lay before them. The dark stone of the city sat nestled into The Crowns Mountain chain. Its buildings and walls sat sleepily under a blanket of snow. All was still. No bird sang, no wind blew, no sign of life could be heard behind the city’s walls. She felt Aiden move beside her.

  “It’s time, sister. Time to take back our home,” he said with the grin of a warrior.

  For the first time, she felt uneasy about coming here. Until this moment it had felt clear. They could finally slay the monster that had destroyed their family. She could get some sort of satisfaction for all the pain she had endured, but now an ill feeling came over her. Would this truly satisfy her? It wouldn’t bring Titus back, or her father, or Brayan, or Nara, or her mother? All of them were gone, and like the city she once called home felt empty and void. She could feel the waiting eyes of Aiden.

  “Yes, it is,” was all she could muster.

  With an eager smile he turned to the officers behind them. “Begin cutting down the tree line. Build ladders and rams. We will begin our siege when the work is done.”

  As her brother left to help give the order to the other men, Geralt came to her side once more.

  “Something is off in the city,” he said. He stared suspiciously at the emptied walls.

  “You feel it, too?” she asked.

  He let out a sigh. “Best help with the preparation. Not much we can do about it now.”

  He stepped away, leaving her alone in the snow filled clearing. Her eyes lingered in one last look at the city she once called home. For good or ill this place would never be the same. Turning, she found a nearby captain. He gave her the task of stripping the felled trees that would be turned into the weapons of war. He handed her a small axe made of wood and iron. She approached the tree line with axe in hand and set to work.

  The afternoon and evening were filled with the sounds of collapsing trees and the thud of axes. It amazed her what a few thousand men could accomplish in less than a day. Dozens of ladders and several rams had been fastened to conquer the New Valkaran defenses. Even with all the noise, no activity could be seen or heard from within the city walls.

  “What was Jorn doing in there?” she thought.

  Many wondered if Jorn and his men were even in the city. Rumors of ambushes or disease spread across the camp, but Aiden was convinced the man was there. When the sun faded from view his belief was realized. It started as a low rumble, but soon broke out into a bellow of deep and dark menace. A horn sounded from behind the walls, one of unnatural and devilish origins.

  “Men! Prepare for battle!” came the echo down the line. Soldiers scrambled into formation, each taking with them a ladder for their respective company. Small, dark figures scurried to line the ramparts above. Dark armor engraved with the mark of a silver fox flickered in the dying light of the sun. The men of New Valkara wore the familiar mockery of the ancient battle helmets. The mask once made to honor the ancient king Odain now resembled a snarling fox.

  The backdrop to the drawn battle lines depicted a sun of deep orange and crimson fading over the treetops. The men beside her stirred, anxiously awaiting the first order that would break the silence. As the sky darkened, one by one the archers along the wall engulfed their arrows in flame. Soon, a string of dancing light illuminated the haunting forms on the wall. Without warning or cry the flaming arrows filled the sky. For a brief moment their sinister light exposed the battlefield below and transformed the blanket of snow into fire. As the arrows sank into shield, armor, and flesh, the order was given to charge.

  With a roaring battle cry, the forces of Kingshelm, Leviatanas, and Aiden rushed forward with shields overhead. Another volley came soaring and, with it, more lay dead on the snowy clearing. Finally the first of their forces reached the walls. With hooks they anchored their ladders and began the deadly ascent. Lydia led a force of her own to the main gate. Its iron capped wood was ready for the battering it would soon face.

  They reached the protection of the wall’s arch just as the next volley of flaming arrows poured out. She shouted the order to begin their barrage. Thunder reverberated off the walls as the wooden ram tipped with iron smashed into the gate. Its greeting was met with a slight bending of iron and cracking of wood. Again it sent its greeting and was met with even more give.

  Her ears perked up as a bubbling sound churned above her. As she looked she could see the rims of cast iron pots being poured over slitted openings.

  “Oil!” she screamed throwing herself out from under the covering of the gate just in time. As she recovered, the sight of molten pitch rained down. Men screamed in agony as the blazing hot ooze engulfed them. In a terrorizing scene two flaming arrows zipped downward, lighting all entrapped in the inferno. Every one of them now gone in the blink of an eye.

  She felt a firm hand lift her to her feet. The gaze of Geralt met hers. “Are you mad? What makes you think it was a good idea to go with the ram?” he asked.

  She stared at him stunned, still mortified by the smell of burning flesh.

  “I couldn’t ask our men to do what I would not,” she muttered.

  Geralt didn’t reply but lifted his eyes to the ramparts above. The hail of arrows had ceased and in its place was the ringing of swords.

  “Come, your brother has forged a path up the walls,” Geralt said.

  “What of the gate?”

  Both looked at the flames that climbed up the dark stone.

  “It will be some time before that fire dies down and another ram can be sent. This is our best bet.”

  She nodded in agreement and followed him to a nearby ladder. The shouts of men sounded out into the field. Their cries of agony and rage were the horrific symphony of the night.

  How long must it be the song of their age? Lydia thought as she placed one hand in front of the other. Geralt disappeared over the parapet above. Steel on steel rang in her ears and a body came tumbling over the edge beside her. She watched as the corpse lifelessly plunged to the ground with a thump. It had been one of Jorn’s men. Yet the sight brought her no peace.

  Now it was her turn to reach the ramparts. With a turning of her hips and a push off the ladder she landed in the midst of chaos. Men on both sides fought vigorously for every inch of ground. Steel met flesh in a bloody dance of blades. She could see Geralt just ahead cutting his way toward Aiden. She chased after him and took care with her footing on the bloody and oil-soaked ground. Bodies from both sides lay strewn about in a ghastly array, a tripping hazard waiting to take another with them to the grave by a deadly fall off the wall.

  With carefully placed feet Lydia darted across the path. Sword held high, she repelled the blades of any who dared to assault her. One of Jorn’s men took his chance and found himself on the terrifying end of a trip to the ground. Another swiped at her legs, hoping to sweep her off her feet. She quickly jumped, dodging the blow, and sent a counter blow crashing down onto the man’s helmet. The strike cut through the helmet and mask leaving a scar across its surface and a marred face beneath.

  She pressed forward until she found herself just behind Geralt and Aiden. They stood at the front cutting a way forward. For a brief moment, she looked out at the city. Besides the defenders awaiting them at the bottom of the wall, it sat silent and void of life.

  “Where have all the people gone?” she wondered.

  A flash of steel broke her thoughts as the threatening silver entered her vision. With raised sword she deflected the blow. Before she could counter, Geralt thrust his sword into the attacker’s side and, with the kick of his boot, sent him toppling over the edge. Eyes wide with terror, she gave him a
grateful nod.

  “Come, press the attack! We’ve almost won the gate!” cried Aiden.

  The order sent a jolt of energy through the men as they pressed all the more to overcome the city’s defenders. That final push was all they needed to vanquish the remaining forces on the wall. What remained of their enemy retreated to the streets below. Lydia found herself above the gate next to her brother, once again staring out at the vacant city.

  “What has he done?” she sighed.

  “He will pay with his life for all the blood he has shed in our home,” Aiden snarled. “Come, sister, let’s finish this.”

  She grabbed her brother’s shoulder before he could walk away. “Aiden, this has to be more than revenge. This fight is to see Valkara restored and peace brought to Islandia again.”

  He shrugged her hand away. “We will have peace when all the monsters are slain.”

  With that he gave the order to push the attack. Their forces poured from the wall and flooded the streets below. The time had come to take the fight into the city of Valkara. She watched Jorn’s men continue to retreat deeper and deeper into the heart of her home. She felt the calming presence of Geralt move beside her as she stared out at the scene.

  “Not a pretty sight,” he said.

  “I never wanted to see a city at war again.”

  The grizzled warrior let out a sigh. “Come, lass, it will be over soon.”

  As they descended to the streets an eerie calm had settled where they stood. The fighting had moved near the keep itself and in its wake were left the bodies of the dead soldiers scattered outside the empty dwellings.

  “Where are all the people?” Lydia asked, bewildered.

  Geralt remained silent at her question. They pressed forward into the heart of the city but still, no signs of life could be found. The sounds of fighting drew near as her family’s fortress came into view. A slight movement in an adjacent alleyway caught her eye. Huddled in the shadow of the buildings was a decrepit creature. Its ash colored skin clung to its bones. The creature’s hair was tattered and stringy. Haunted eyes gazed at her. Beneath their pools Lydia could see awe and terror.