by Dan O'Brien
“The name that slices through the darkness is Xeno Lobo. He has defeated the Nighen, your carrier of death to the south, in Me’lein,” returned the voice.
“Xeno Lobo,” she whispered to herself, her eyes closed. Her left hand began to glow, the darkness swirling about her and then in a blink of an eye, a sword materialized.
The blade was etched in shadow and death, the hilt carved from human bone. The guard was a gnarled, twisted form of a shadow woman. She spun the sword with the practiced hand of a swordswoman and slammed it into the stone of her fortress. Splintering the rock, she turned back to the orb, chest heaving.
“Xeno Lobo.”
“Yes, they speak of Xeno Lobo. The caretaker of the crest of Devon,” replied the voice without inflection, without care.
She looked across her room and saw the twinkling jewel crest that rested upon her throne, the golden chain sparkling in the moonlight. The sight of it drove her mad, swinging and striking the walls with her blade. The whelp rose from its perch, searching back into the darkness.
It screamed the whole way.
“But I took that damnable thing from him once. Why does he wish for more pain, more regret?” she queried madly.
“I do not know, Mistress Karian, but I do know that he comes here for that crest. You are the bearer of his pain and regret.”
She calmed, the sword vanishing from her grasp. The darkness embraced her once again. Her body fell to the cold floor, hair spilled about her face. She remained there, cackling madly as the shadows encircled her.
5
X
eno sat upon his brown steed, the white mane whipping in the cold breeze that had sprung up a few miles outside of the castle. Uthen followed closely behind him, his posture relaxed. His dark eyes were fixed on the distance.
“How much farther until we reach Sel’verene?” called Xeno back to Uthen, who looked out upon the road distantly.
Uthen shifted his glance to Xeno, the glaze disappearing for a moment. Realizing that he was being addressed, he pushed his steed forward alongside Xeno.
“At least another night’s ride. It lays along the farthest border of Me’lein, abreast the mountains where the Tower of Darkness is hidden,” replied Uthen. Xeno nodded and continued to look ahead without response. “Why do you seek out the Widow?”
“She has taken something from me, something very dear to me,” replied Xeno without looking back.
“A trinket does not warrant such a journey, especially one that brings you against the will of one of the Towers of Darkness, and the wrath of the Widow.”
“What she has taken was valuable to me, valuable in a way that nothing else will suffice except to end what began a long time ago in a place far from this land.” Xeno could feel a coldness grip his heart, a somber feeling that claimed his emotions.
“I am sorry for your loss, but…”
“But nothing, Uthen, I do not wish to speak of such things. I appreciate your companionship, but I will not be candid about my past, or the events surrounding Karian,” spoke Xeno irritably.
Uthen nodded, not wanting to push him any farther. “Do we hope to purchase supplies in Sel’verene?”
“That would be the plan, but I imagine that Sel’verene would be a very dark place being so close to the Tower. I doubt we will find much guidance there.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” replied Uthen with a sigh and then gazed back into the distance again. The clouds there were aggravated and grey.
“A storm approaches.”
“I see that,” replied Xeno.
“Do we ride through?”
“You said it is a night’s ride, correct?”
“At the very most an entire night,” spoke Uthen, looking off into the distance.
“Then we ride through until we reach Sel’verene.”
“Then what?”
“Then we rest another night and leave at dawn for the Tower. Pray that the gods are with us,” replied Xeno.
Uthen nodded again, a habit that was beginning to form as he did not know what to say to a man who could best him in combat. Something he had never been faced with until now.
*
Dawn was breaking as Xeno and Uthen rode into Sel’verene. A sheet of freshly-fallen snow covered the majority of the street. The sparse buildings seemed more the part of tombs than businesses. They spied the sign that had INN sprawled across it in faded black paint and tied their horse out front, taking a moment to look up and down the deserted street.
Xeno grasped the rusted iron handle and turned it. Emitting a thin, squealing creak as the door swung inward, it revealed the darkened interior. With the exception of the dwindling embers in the fireplace and the dancing light of the lantern at the counter, there was little luminance of which to speak. They approached the counter, their snow-drenched boots leaving puddles of water and slush as they made their way.
Xeno peered over the empty counter, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. “Hello?” he called, his voice echoing in the chamber.
The rustle of footsteps and then the muttering of several small voices came from the staircase to their right. Xeno moved to inspect when a young woman emerged from around the corner, her white dress covered in a dark brown shawl. “Can I help you?” she whispered, her voice more youthful than her appearance.
Xeno stared at the young girl for a moment.
Producing a small satchel of coins, he laid them upon the counter. “My companion and I weathered the snowstorm and need a room for the day and part of the night. Can that be arranged?”
“We have many rooms,” she began, but was interrupted by a craven, bent man who emerged from the same corner as the girl.
His thinning gray hair was almost non-existent, and his glasses slid to his nose. The freckles and dried skin made him appear the part of a troll. His back was crooked and his clothes hung from him as if he were a walking skeleton that had just risen from his grave.
“From where have you come?” asked the man with a harsh tone, his voice raspy.
“Far away from these parts, we are merely passing through,” replied Xeno quickly, knowing full well that the man was wary of strangers; especially those who had come looking for spirits in the darkness.
“Far away, eh? Your companion looks the part of a soldier,” crooned the old man.
“No, sir,” began Uthen and then trying to think quickly, he continued, “I’m a––uh…”
“We are entertainers, from the west. We have merely lost our way,” finished Xeno, flashing Uthen a disgusted glance. The man regarded them suspiciously and then scoffed, disappearing around the corner.
“Entertainers?” queried the girl with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
“Storytellers mostly,” replied Xeno as he opened the satchel of coins. “How much for that room?”
“Seven gold is what we charge, but if you are entertainers….”
“Seven it is,” replied Xeno as he placed the seven golden coins marked with the emblem of the Nine Kings near the girl. She made them disappear beneath the table into an iron box.
“Would you tell me a story sometime? We don’t have many strangers who pass through, and none who can weave a wonderful tale.”
Xeno hesitated for a moment. “Of course, we shall tell a grand story of good and evil here tonight, after some rest. How does that sound?”
“Thank you, I will be waiting.” The girl skipped off. This was a change from the somber zombie who had stalked out to wait upon them.
“Was that wise?”
“Uthen, sometimes the Fates choose to play strange tricks upon us mortals, and it is best to just take them as they come.”
Uthen could not fault Xeno’s words, knowing that he would be reluctant to deny a few moments of peace to a town steeped in its own despair and misery. As they made their way up the stairs, they saw that snow had begun to fall once again.
6
K
arian wandered about her chamber, her thoughts disturbing. She spun lik
e a deranged youth, her head moving independent from her body. Her mind was incoherent as the she mumbled.
“Ariana of Devonshire, you have committed a tremendous sin. Sin against your family and sin against your code,” called the ethereal voice from the shadows of the room.
The were-beast did not move at the sound of the voice nor did the whelp stir from its slumbering perch. Karian stopped mid-spin and looked around, bewildered.
“You cannot escape your past, your choices that have led you here.”
“I have no fault. I am Karian, mistress of the lords of darkness,” replied Karian. Her eyes searched the darkness that she occupied.
The shadows parted and a glowing visage emerged: a white-cast figure that at first did not seem to be form at all, but instead comprised of air and light. As it came closer to Karian, it took form.
It was a mirror image of Karian herself.
“No creature of the shadow can ever truly be complete. You yearn to make things right, to rectify the things that drove you here,” called the voice again, this time challenging Karian.
“You are a ghost. An apparition conjured by the Light to confuse me, to break me from the bond that I have with the lords of darkness. But you cannot, I will remain strong,” screamed Karian, her voice quickly becoming hoarse and strained.
Her hand plunged into the shadow. The weapon of darkness materialized once again, the craven disfigured steel was meant to be menacing to the brilliance of the apparition.
“You have chosen to fight. That is wise. For it is the only way you can ever free yourself from the bondage that confines you.”
The image shimmered and a blade emerged from her hand as well, a contrast to the shadow steel. Instead, the hilt was carved of pearl strands and the guard the wings of an angel.
“I will show you the power of darkness,” roared Karian as she charged forward, the blade spinning and wheeling with decisiveness. The image backpedaled to the right, the translucent blade parrying the strikes easily.
“You cannot defeat what you wish to become, what you once were: a servant of the Light,” spoke the angelic mirror image.
“I was never a servant of the Light,” screamed Karian again as her eyes faded to black irises and her blade exploded in shadow fire.
Her strikes returned, this time with renewed force. The apparition materialized around the room, her teleportation making Karian’s attacks seem like the fleeting actions of a child. The Widow screamed in frustration, anger blinding her attacks.
“Your powers have dwindled during your service to the darkness. There was a time when your brother could not best you half of the time.”
“Never speak of my brother. He is poison. He abandoned me.”
“You are wrong, Karian. You abandoned your brother when you began to serve the lords of darkness. Your choice separated you from the only family you had.”
“Lies. All you have are lies.”
“You should be used to it then. The darkness is founded on lies and deceit.”
“No, I….”
Karian dropped the blade, the shadow weapon materializing back into the darkness from whence it came. She fell to her knees, her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed in the darkness, alone. The apparition dissipated back into the shadow. Only the lingering words that it had said remained for Karian to carry, until a choice would be made for her.
*
Night had returned and with it a blizzard of tremendous proportions. The whipping winds and torrential snowdrifts assaulted the minuscule town of Sel’verene. Its people could feel the grip of the storm’s power.
The inn had no occupants other than Xeno and Uthen. Their progression down the stairs drew strange glances from all of the townspeople gathered about the common room. The girl who had tended the counter sat closest to the fire, her youthful face intent upon the flickering flames. She turned as Xeno and Uthen entered the room, her face bright in wonderment.
“Master Entertainers,” she called as she rose from her seated position.
“My lady,” returned Xeno with a slight bow and then nodded his head to the other surly members of the room. Uthen followed behind Xeno and sat across from him as they took their seats closest to the fire. “Whenever you are ready, young miss.”
“Please begin.”
The others turned their miserable glances and furrowed brows to Xeno. He cleared his throat and rested his arms along the arms of the chair. “As you wish, my lady. Do you know of the kingdom of Devonshire far to the west?”
There were mixed murmurs and acknowledgments. Some of the older townspeople were perturbed by the mention of Devonshire, their hands covering their mouths at its utterance.
“The kingdom of Devonshire,” whispered Uthen.
“Devonshire was a grand place, a bustling metropolis of men and women who had stood the test of time against the failings and trappings of the Towers of Darkness. The warriors were called the Masters of the Spirits and the Song Maidens of the goddess Devonshire. The most powerful king to ever rule Devonshire, Giorden, Son of Gallion, had two children. They were his warrior son and the most beautiful Song Maiden in existence, Ariana.”
Xeno paused for a moment. As he cleared his throat, he began again. “The dark armies of the Towers of Darkness rode upon Devonshire, their legions extending far off into the horizon. Their mission was to eradicate the stronghold of Devonshire, taking away the only pillar left of man. Giorden had battled the legions of shadow as a youth under the command of his father, Gallion. He knew that they were not invincible. He rallied his armies, led by his warrior son, and together they met the legions of darkness on the battlefield. A grand battle ensued. Many lives were taken; some became servants of the Towers. But at light’s dawn, the armies of Devonshire had beaten back the legions. They saw victory, but a false victory it was.
“When they re-entered the city, they saw the damage the legions of the Towers had inflicted upon the citizens of Devonshire. Women and children were taken by the darkness to be turned for their purposes. But of all the gems taken that night, the one that hurt Giorden the greatest was his daughter, the Song Maiden Ariana. The legions dare not descend upon Devonshire again, for they had felt the might of the armies of the Light. But the desperation of the king soon grew so great and evil found its way into the heart of Devonshire. Turning the people from the path of peace to the misery of pestilence, they accepted and worshiped the Towers of Darkness.”
Xeno had gone from a pastoral tone to an aggrieved, somber tone that affected those listening to his tale. “Needless to say, Devonshire was no longer the grand city it had once been. The son pleaded to his father to restore the peace, to beat back the depravity of the Towers. But, his father was far beyond words––the turning of his only daughter had rendered him no more a man than a shadow. The skies grew gray and the seasons changed. During one of the coldest nights Devonshire had ever felt, Ariana returned to her father; no longer the beautiful Song Maiden she had once been, but instead a cruel, twisted creature of the Towers. She took the most prized possession of Devonshire, the crest worn by the queen of the Song Maidens. This was something that had been passed down for generations, something that might have been Ariana’s someday, if she had not been taken by darkness.”
Xeno paused and rose from his seat, his hand at his chin and his head lowered in contemplation. The entire audience was his. They were enraptured by the sad tale and as the moments passed in silence, the young girl soon found that she wished to hear more.
“What happened? What happened to the warrior?” queried the young girl.
“The warrior left the kingdom he had pledged an oath. He set out to find a way to stop the darkness,” replied Xeno, his face rising and melding into the shadows. A great sadness was hidden within the lines.
“He just left?” queried Uthen, his curiosity piqued.
“I am afraid so. He found that he could no longer bear the condition of his father, and the memory of the tragedy that destroyed his b
irthplace.”
Xeno moved away from the fireplace, making his way back toward the far door. The sheath to his weapon was already strapped across his back and his pack strewn across his shoulder. He drew his hood close to his face, his gloved hands shaking.
Uthen rose at the sight of this.
“Xeno, what is the matter?”
“We must go now. We have spent far more time here than I would have wished. This storm will hamper our progress greatly. I wish to end this soon,” returned Xeno gruffly, his face hidden.
The young girl rose and approached Xeno, her hands wringing one another. “Master Entertainer…”
“Xeno. My name is Xeno Lobo,” he replied.
“Why must you leave, Xeno?”
“Young lady, there are some things that are best left unsaid,” replied Xeno.
“Does this have to do with the Widow?” she queried.
“Maian, you are never to utter that name here,” cautioned the elderly caretaker of the inn.
“But this man could help us. That woman took my brother and we did nothing to help. You all just stood and watched as she took him. You are monsters.”
“Your brother was a fool to go to the Tower, and he paid for his foolishness with his life,” spat the caretaker, his hand raised to strike the girl.
Uthen interceded and grabbed the elderly man. Shaking his head, the soldier’s meaning was not mistaken. His dark eyes and muscular face were far more menacing than the caretaker would have liked.
“What happened to your brother?” queried Xeno, moving from the shadows back into the light of the fireplace. The girl looked at the scowl on the old man’s face and then moved closer to Xeno.
“My brother, Melnon, approached the Widow in order to try and stop her. He bartered with her, bet his life against a contest of sorts. The Trials of Pain she calls them. And if he survived, then she would leave this place. Melnon accepted. He escaped back to the village, but was pursued by the Widow and her pet. They killed him not too far from here. He begged for help and he found none,” replied Maian sadly.
