The Rising Past: Book 2 in The Keepers of the Orbs Series

by J. G. Gatewood

  He could see the horror written on his friend’s faces. Jaeden and Matt looked toward Liniana as she lowered her gaze to the table, not making eye contact with either of them.

  Raythum continued. “The lone surviving guard brought back word they were ambushed by men; men in military attire who led them to a camp hidden in the forest. One by one, they were murdered. It is said they humiliated and tortured Liniana, before they slit her throat.”

  Aglina gasped and stared at Liniana who shook. “Do you want to hear this Liniana? It can’t be easy.”

  Liniana brought her gaze back up and looked at her, before turning her head toward Raythum. “Well, it didn’t happen did it? It’s not easy to hear of your own death, but I think it’s important to answer your questions.”

  Raythum continued. “After a period of grieving, Lord Brukahn let his anger overwhelm him. He ended the alliance and declared war on Melina. It didn’t last long, though. Melina found the mercenaries responsible for her death, and handed them over to Havenbrook where justice was served.”

  Raythum grimaced as Jaeden—always eager to know more—looked as if he wanted to ask a question. Matt grabbed his arm and distracted him to give Raythum a moment.

  “They recovered her body and Havenbrook conducted a proper ceremony to lay her to rest. The relationship between the two nations never recovered while Brukahn remained alive. Too much distrust plagued both sides to maintain a harmonious association.

  “Lord Brukahn continued to rule Havenbrook until his death twenty years later. Without an heir, and with no other family to take the throne, my grandfather’s grandfather took his place. My house had noble blood, and had influential ties to Havenbrook, making the ascension logical. We have ruled ever since.”

  The room sat quiet as the table digested the information. Raythum looked toward Liniana who had a tear running down her cheek. He reached over and grabbed her arm. She smiled, before breaking the silence. “I’m okay,” she told him. “It’s more painful than I would’ve thought.” She looked toward the others. “At least you now know we are not related,” she smiled.

  This drew a chuckle from Jaeden, making the air in the room tighter and even more awkward. Jaeden realized his mistake and ran his hands through his shoulder-length, brown hair. When your only seventeen years old, it’s sometimes difficult to hold back your tongue. He knew he needed to guard it more in the future. He motioned for Raythum to continue.

  Raythum cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him. “I have been dreading this conversation, but I think we would all be well to move on. I don’t wish to sound insensitive, believe me, but this has already changed. When her father sent her to accompany me, we drifted away from that path. Had this not been the case, I wouldn’t have shared this information with you.”

  Norlun spoke up. “I know this is painful to communicate, Raythum, and painful for the rest of us to hear. But it is useful for us to hear nonetheless. It’s important to understand how easily we can alter the future. We must remain mindful going forward.” They nodded their heads in agreement. Jaeden tried to speak when Norlun interrupted him. “If I’m not wrong, I think Raythum has much still to share with us. We should hold back on the questions until he has finished.”

  “Yes, thank you. With the difficult part out of the way, I will start from the beginning. My beginning that is. I warn you, although my time is short, my tale is long. I beg you all to hear it through.”

  He waited for their acknowledgement before beginning. “I will try and provide as much detail as possible, but I’m sure you would all agree the mind grows fuzzy concerning matters of our youth. I was born to Syrelle and Lokan Stormdragon on an unusually hot summer morning. Tirell, whom you would all know as Lutheras, was already three years old, and none too excited by the prospect of having a little brother. The nations had been at peace for years, and my brother and I were being raised to inherit the throne….”

  Part I: A Look into the Future

  Earliest Memories

  The day grew long and the unrelenting sun had seemed almost too much for the six year old to handle, let alone keep his focus. Raythum turned red from the heat, and his hands had new blisters from the long afternoon of swordplay with his tutor—the former commander Guenter. He had bruises on his arms and dirt covered his body. He welcomed the dark storm clouds rolling in. The lack of sun felt good and the strong breeze rekindled his energy. After he parried his master’s most recent strike, Raythum spotted his steward running toward them. He told Raythum to find his brother and bring him in before the storm set in.

  Raythum bowed to Guenter before putting his wooden practice sword back on its rack. Thunder roared in the distance and he wanted to move. It looked as if lightning accompanied the storm, which scared Raythum. Given how late the afternoon had grown, he figured Tirell’s lessons with Norlun were through for the day. That left just one option.

  Raythum rushed into the palace and almost knocked over a servant when he rounded a corner. Without apologizing, he continued on his way and ran out into the courtyard. He caught the glare of several more servants as he ran into the gardens. The fresh aroma offered by the gardenias, lilies, and clematis assaulted his senses, but the overwhelming scent of ozone dominated the storm-charged air, replacing the floral notes of the flowers.

  He thought his brother would be in the courtyard. The question was where? He slowed his pace to a stop and he surveyed the earth below him. Lightning struck outside of town and Raythum could feel the rumble of thunder through the ground. He thought he spotted his brother under a grove of trees, so he headed in that direction.

  He followed the curving path through the garden when he spotted movement. He saw Tirell crouched on the ground. Raythum hid behind a tree to see what mischievous deed his brother participated in.

  Raythum could see his brother had something in his hand. He stretched his head around the tree to get a better look, and saw that his brother held a rat.

  “That’s right, I have control of you. What a pitiful excuse of a creature you are; even your thoughts are rudimentary.”

  Tirell’s vocabulary always impressed Raythum—even if he was only three years older. Then again, his affection toward books always overruled the sword. His brother scared him a little, but Raythum always looked up to and respected him. Most of the time, he wanted to grow up to be like him.

  The rat screeched and squirmed in Tirell’s hands. It didn’t like whatever he intended for it. “Yes, yes, my little pet. Feel the pain, harness your anger and channel it with your fear.”

  He spoke words Raythum could neither understand nor comprehend, before he placed the rat on the ground. It continued to scream and wail, but couldn’t move. It just stood motionless. His brother uttered more words, before he stood.

  Raythum shuddered with fear. He couldn’t believe what he saw. His brother tormented these little creatures for his own enjoyment and Raythum didn’t like it. At times like these he questioned whether or not he should even look up to him at all. Then again, unconditional love always trumped feelings of unease.

  “Come my minions, come. I have a present for you,” Tirell laughed.

  Raythum bent his head to see the minions his brother referred to. For several moments, he could see nothing, but then he spotted movement on the ground. Several bugs crept near the rat. In the thick, tall grass, Raythum couldn’t tell what they were. They formed a circle around the rodent, where he could finally identify them. The bugs were scorpions, and there were several of them. Somehow, they formed a perfect circle around the rat and stopped. Some of them were green, which allowed them to blend in, while others were orange and easily identifiable in the lush grass.

  Raythum watched from behind the tree while his brother stood, and lightning crashed around the city at several points. The ground trembled as if an earthquake would rip apart the dirt beneath their feet. A strong gust of wind blew through Tirell’s long, black hair. Raythum had often wondered how his brother had straight black hair w
hen he had curly, blond hair himself. He brushed it aside as he watched.

  Tirell raised his hands in the air when he reached his feet, embracing and welcoming the storm raging all around them. He laughed before he spoke. “Now attack my little friends. This is a gift from me to you.”

  There was an edge to his laugh, which frightened and confused Raythum. He had never heard his brother sound so menacing. It unnerved and unraveled him. He watched one of the scorpions break the formation as it crept closer to the immobile rat; the other creatures evened out their spacing to close the gap.

  An orange scorpion approached the motionless, still-screaming rat, who watched the insect draw ever closer at a slow pace. Once in range, it struck the defenseless creature with its tail, filling the rat with enough venom to paralyze it.

  Seeing the successful strike, the other scorpions closed in and attacked too. They ripped apart the small animal with their chelicerae—a claw protruding from their mouth—tearing the flesh from the bones; leaving the carcass picked clean.

  Tirell looked overjoyed by his success. He cackled as he waved his hands. When his laughter subsided, he uttered another series of words. Scorpion turned on scorpion, and the situation turned into mass chaos as claws collided, and carapaces cracked and ripped from the various arthropoda. The scene looked messy, and just one of the green scorpions remained, although one of its claws had been removed. Tirell walked over and stomped on the remaining creature, smashing it beneath his leather boots. A satisfied grin stretched across his face.

  Tirell’s eyes beamed in satisfaction of what he had accomplished. He knelt down and examined what was left on the small patch of grass. So much beauty surrounded them in the garden, but this little space displayed nothing but death and carnage…carnage he had created.

  Raythum couldn’t take it anymore, and seeing as how the battle had ended, he yelled for his brother. “Tirell, mother instructed me to fetch you before the storm hits.”

  Tirell turned toward his brother, perturbed someone watched him. His anger subsided when he registered the horror displayed on his young brother’s face.

  “You would be well served to learn it isn’t polite to spy on another person.” Tirell bent down and picked up one of the dead scorpions. He tossed it toward his brother who screamed and turned to run back inside.

  Tirell chuckled and started his walk back to the palace as cold drops of rain began to fall from the sky. They felt good on his exposed skin, a refreshing relief from the hot afternoon sun.

  That evening, the servants summoned the boys to the hall for dinner with the king and queen. This rarely happened, and Raythum basked in the moment, treasuring the small amount of time granted to spend with his father. They saw their mother every day, but their father’s many jobs kept him busy, and they could go weeks without laying eyes on him.

  Raythum always felt intimidated by a formal dinner. He and Tirell ate their meals in the kitchen—on most occasions—prepared by the cook, Maram. She knew the meals he liked, and always slipped him an extra cookie or muffin. In the dining room, there were always so many plates, and he didn’t know where to begin with the silverware. But growing up as a prince, he had to be prepared and educated in proper etiquette. It seemed unlikely he would ever take the throne—because he had an older brother—but he needed to know how to act anyway. It didn’t mean it was any fun, though. The dinners were long too, but getting to see his father made it all worthwhile.

  A steward named Bel accompanied Raythum and Tirell from their rooms, and through the palace. Her name was Belandra, but it had been difficult for the boys to say at a young age, and Bel stuck. She acted like another mother to them, although her age made it more likely to be their grandmother. She always expressed love in a kind manner; always there for them whenever they needed her. Her aged and weathered face, with all of its wrinkles, brought a level of comfort to Raythum when he most needed it. She always knew what to say to him to make him feel better, and tonight made him feel less nervous as they headed to dinner.

  She accompanied them into the dining hall and pointed them to their seats. The table had been set with enough dinnerware for seven courses. More candles than one would find in a dozen commoner’s homes, filled the room with a bright, orange glow. The table could seat forty people, but the boys each took a seat at the middle. Their parents would sit on opposite sides at the head. Bel walked to the outside of the room, and accepted an unassuming spot with her back against the wall. She would stay out of the way unless someone summoned her.

  Raythum hoped his parents wouldn’t be long. He felt starved and couldn’t stand the wait. He picked up a knife and fiddled with it while he waited. Tirell caught notice and shoved an elbow into his brother’s side. Raythum dropped it, glared at his brother, and rubbed his side. It already hurt and he thought he would have a bruise.

  The entire evening seemed to slip away from them, and it felt as if they would never get to eat. Finally, the doors to the dining hall flew open. Lokan stormed in first, issuing orders to a general in a gruff voice. Syrelle glided behind him and made her way to her sons.

  Raythum stared at his parents as they walked into the room. A smile spread across his face. His father was a big man, with broad shoulders and a thick midsection. He prided himself on his exercise routine and it appeared to pay off, as he was much stronger than his appearance let on. He had crystal blue eyes, thick dark eyebrows, and a full head of cropped dark hair. Syrelle looked much younger than her husband. She had long, dirty-blond, braided hair, with green eyes, and a milky complexion.

  Lokan spun on his heels and faced his general issuing one last order. “It doesn’t matter to me. The Minotaurs have agreed to stay to the icy south. The terms of their surrender dictate it. I don’t like that they have ventured farther north, terrorizing the farmland. It is my duty to protect these people, and I won’t stand for an attack on innocents. Lead an envoy south and put a stop to it. I’m needed up north at the end of the week and don’t wish to postpone it for this little mess.” He turned and looked at his boys for a moment. “I’m supposed to be eating dinner with my family and this should be an easy enough task, so go.” He waved his hand at the general, who bowed before taking his leave.

  Syrelle reached her sons first and gave each one of them a kiss. “How are my angels this evening?” She smiled and kissed them again. “I love seeing you both so cleaned up. I wish we could do this more often.” She took a step back and let her husband speak with their sons.

  Lokan walked over to Raythum first. He rubbed his son’s hair. “There’s my little soldier. Guenter tells me you have been increasing your skills.” He patted him on the back. “You will be quite the commander one day, my son. You make me proud.” He turned to Tirell. He didn’t rub his hair. “Norlun has informed me you are progressing as well. I wish you would find time to practice your sword skills, but keep it up.” He gave him a pat on the head before making his way toward the head of the table.

  Raythum looked at his brother. Tirell smiled, but his brother understood him better. Their father didn’t understand him, and always appeared uncomfortable around his eldest son. He tried to be supportive, but it always came off passively—as if he only tolerated him. Raythum felt bad for his brother, and wanted to speak up, but knew better than to question him.

  Syrelle followed in her husband’s lead and made her way to the other end of the table. They both took their seats, and the room became a flurry of activity. Servers rushed through the door, carrying trays of food covered with lids. One server approached Lokan, while the others waited to see if the king approved. He lifted the lid and displayed the first course. It contained an oyster shell stuffed with seafood. Lokan nodded his approval while raising his cup, calling for wine.

  Half a dozen more servers flooded the room and delivered plates to Raythum, Tirell, and Syrelle. Raythum looked overjoyed when he eyed his plate, and an array of different fruits greeting him. He grinned, knowing Maram had prepared the plate full of fruit for him.
She figured he wouldn’t like the seafood course.

  Raythum gazed over at his brother’s plate and saw the oyster shells. He couldn’t help but feel bad for his brother. Unfortunately, with age came the responsibility of leaving behind childish things, including children’s meals. He wanted to slide some of the fruit his brother’s way, but this of course wouldn’t sit well with their parents, so he refrained.

  Lokan ate his food, signaling the rest of the family to begin eating as well.

  The room sat silent as everyone started their first course. Syrelle was used to being in a family of males. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin between each bite, while her sons—and even her husband—used the back of their hands or the sleeves of their shirts. Syrelle grimaced. She could only do so much. She raised her children to use their manners while eating, but it seemed to be lost on all of them. Seeing as how their father exhibited these behaviors, what could she expect from her sons?

  Between bites, she took the opportunity to question her husband. “This issue with the Minotaurs, will you have to travel south?”

  Right on cue, Lokan jammed more food in his mouth and wiped his mouth with his hand before chuckling. “I think my generals are capable of handling the situation.” Ignoring the large array of silverware at his disposal, he used his fingers to scoop out the last bits of seafood stuffed in the shell; Syrelle grimaced.

  Lokan continued. “The Minotaurs understand and respect the agreement we have reached. However, complying with the agreement is another matter. They don’t like their confinement to a specific place, and grow weary of it from time to time. This leads to them pressing their boundaries, as well as our patience, and they need a reminder of the repercussions of their potential actions. And that is all this is; a reminder.” He smiled at his beautiful wife. “I’m afraid you will be stuck with me for a while.”