Emblems of Power

by C L Patterson

  Iserum patted the wolf’s head and rubbed its side. The warm hand and soft touch helped still the pain for a short time. Iserum called for the healer and asked if there was any pain killer that he could give to his pet. The healer said that a bottle was found, but he was unsure if he wanted to use the precious liquid on an animal.

  “This animal saved my life, our lives. If it wasn’t for him, I’m not sure if we would have succeeded. My wolf has a right to that medicine, and you owe him your life for the food he was able to obtain for us.”

  The healer looked down at the wolf, seeing him wince and howl quietly in pain. The healer frowned and pulled a bottle of thick brown liquid from his robe and gave it to Iserum.

  “Thank you,” Iserum said.

  “A quarter of the bottle should subdue the pain,” the healer said as he turned and walked back to the tribe. Iserum unstopped the bottle and pointed the opening towards the wolf’s mouth. The wolf sniffed at the medicine, and snorted at it.

  “Drink,” Iserum said, pushing the vial closer to the wolf. The wolf wrinkled his nose and moved his head away. “Drink!” Iserum commanded. The wolf flattened his ears at the firm tone. Iserum grabbed the wolf’s snout, held it firmly and forced the contents of the bottle into the wolf’s mouth.

  Shortly after, the wolf’s eyes grew heavy, drowsiness overcame him, and the wolf rested. While he slept, Iserum made a small shelter from some wooden posts and a spare canvas that was stolen from the caravan to protect the animal from the sun.

  That night Iserum slept next to the tent on his own blanket.

  While the tribe was resting, a low, dark cloud billowed and rumbled over a nearby sand dune. The wolf woke and watched the strange storm. It was darker than the night, and the wind that preceded it was colder than the southerly winds. The cloud shifted and jetted towards the outskirts of the camp. The wolf watched it closely for a few moments. Iserum was sound asleep and did not shudder at the cold. When the wolf looked back up, the cloud was directly in front of him.

  “The Dark One,” the wolf thought. He growled and prepared to howl, but a being materialized from the darkness and clamped the wolf’s mouth shut with a metal gloved hand. A feeling of darkness, emptiness, and forgetfulness sat on the wolf, as if he was dreaming.

  “No, don’t do that,” the Dark One said. The feeling dissipated, but when the wolf looked around, a shadow had settled on the camp like a dark blanket of ash. “I am here as a friend, a healer if you will,” the Dark One said. The wolf growled quietly and pulled his lips back. “You are always the fighter, always will be.” With his other metal gloved hand, he pointed a finger at the wolf. “I give you speech.”

  The wolf felt something in his throat, as if he swallowed a bone. The sensation passed and he looked again at the Dark One.

  “I will release my grip, though if you howl, I will kill your master, his family, and the rest of this tribe. Do you understand?”

  “What are you doing here?” the wolf growled with his hackle still raised.

  “I have come to heal you. Two weeks ago, you were on a sand dune, I saw you there and watched you until you came to this camp. Do you remember anything before that?”

  Shadows again appeared in the wolf’s mind as he tried to think before that night. The pain increased as he tried to grab for some memory, but the pain in his mind and in his back was too much.

  “There is something, but I can’t see it. It hurts to think about it and the pain is unbearable.”

  “I can restore those memories to you, so that you will know your purpose and how you can serve me.” The Dark One placed his hand on the wolf’s head. The shadows that plagued the wolf’s mind began to change into memories.

  “You are Kosai, known as the wolf of the Capital Barracks. Your mother died in childbirth. The Captain, your biological father, raised you at the Barracks. You were to become one of the Guard, more than that, a Second Lieutenant, the youngest in history,” the Dark One started. Kosai could see himself as a young man riding on a white horse, escorting a caravan. “You were attacked by a group of nomads during an escort, something within you stirred and you drove them away by summoning a sandstorm. You returned after the escort and told your Captain about the success.”

  In his memory, he drove his sword through many nomads, but there were too many and the caravan was going to be lost. He raised his hands and a sandstorm appeared, forcing the nomads to retreat, thus saving the caravan. The Captain was worried about his power, and told him and the other guards that were with him to tell no one of what happened.

  “The School of the Faye saw promise within you and took you in, hoping that you could help heal the Seeps in Olfstead and Varlette.” He could see the School, the Seer, the Head Teacher, Theo and Mearto. Mearto stuck to teaching him personally. “They wanted to teach you more of the Faye and groom you to become the next Head Teacher.” He saw in his memory the teachers sparring with him, refining his ability, grooming him for greatness. “Then the school betrayed you. They wanted to kill your Captain who was your father and the rest of the guard so that the School could rise to power and govern the people as they saw fit.” Kosai saw himself in a conference room arguing with the Teachers. No one stood with him as he talked about their uprising and their betrayal against the Guard and the people. Mearto, his teacher and mentor, the one whom he had grown attached to, even stood against him.

  “You fought well, but you failed, they cursed you as Nameless.” He saw himself fighting against the teachers, knocking out two and nearly killing the Seer, but without success. The Head Teacher shot out black binding ropes and spoke words of power. He cried out to Mearto, and she did nothing but cry herself, her tears falling like broken promises. The dark one removed his hand from the wolf’s head and spoke to him directly.

  “The teachers didn’t kill you because they wanted you to do one last thing for them. They believed you would aid the nomads in killing the Captain, who was your father.”

  As each memory came into his mind, a new pain rose in him. The pain rushed to sadness and then anger. The wolf wasn’t sure whether to cry or howl or run back to the school. They had tricked him into killing his father. A dark fire grew within his chest and he growled… deeply, and glared, not at the dark one, but at his memories, at the teachers, at the school… at her.

  “I want them dead. I want them all dead. They had this planned from the beginning. The only reason they took me in was to kill my father. They need to die, every one of them, including that treacherous woman.” The wolf growled and snarled as he spoke, speaking in an animalistic tone.

  “If you swear loyalty to me, I promise you that you will have your wish. And with your loyalty, I will give you a gift, a gift that only I can bestow… a gift of immortality. Only the blood of my blood and the flesh of my flesh can rescind it. Will you be loyal to me?”

  “And how can I trust you to keep your word? How will I get my revenge?”

  “You and I have the same goal in mind. I was once the Head Teacher before my Assistant and others turned against me. Can you guess who my assistant was?”

  “Daius,” the wolf growled. “I swear loyalty to you.” The Dark One leaned closer, his amber eyes glowing in the night.

  “Then let it be.” The Dark One pulled a vial from his robe that was filled with black liquid. Small purple strands of lightning swarmed around the vial. “Your life is bound to mine.” As he spoke, a purple mist flowed from the vial and into the wolf’s nose and mouth. After the wolf had breathed in all the mist, he bowed before the dark one.

  “In a little more than two decades, one of my servants will come into the foothills of the Broken Blades, searching for something only you will be able to find. You will aid him in any way you can and as you do so, you will come closer to exacting you revenge. His sign will be his power. Rest now, and remember what I have told you.”

  “I will.”

  END

  EPILOGUE

  Thunder clouds sp
un atop a small mountain in the Wild Lands, west of the Broken Blades called Meark Norith. Flashes of lightning sparked and then dimmed in the thick, convulsing, dagger like clouds. A tinge of green blended with the dark grey sky. With each flash and boom, the cloud cover twisted tighter, spiraling downward towards the mountain. A tornado formed and crashed into the peak. Sheets of ice and snow slashed through the air, but at the center of the storm, a greater power stirred.

  The Faye, the energy that creates life, laced itself down to the base of the tornado. The air was still in the center of the storm as strands of the Faye’s energy swarmed like a hive of wild bees. The green energy compacted and twisted tighter, taking the form of an infant and a wooden staff. Lightning struck the green mass, forming a crater around the two forms. Then the twister quickly retreated back into the sky and the storm moved east.

  The faeries that sought refuge from the sudden storm listened. A baby cried in the crater the twister created. Inch by inch, the small, blue-winged creatures floated closer to the new born babe. It cried again.

  Rellam, a faerie whose beard was as long as he was, flew into the crater and stood on the baby’s chest. “Tis a sign, the boy lives! Take him to our dwelling below the tree line and keep him warm!” Instantly, faeries flew down to their camp, and returned with what to them was a large canvass, but covered the child just enough. Carefully, the blue winged creatures wrapped the infant, lifted him into the air and the carried him below the tree line. Others stood on the crater’s rim, observing the creation. As the child was lifted and taken into the woods, Rellam hovered in the crater next to the staff and beckoned those who watched him to his side.

  “The boy is not what the greater sign is, 'tis that!” He said, pointing at the white staff. A woman faerie touched the staff and closed her eyes.

  “I sense nothing, but we ought to take it to the other elders to be sure.” The faeries lifted the staff out of the crater and laid it next to the boy who was now wrapped in small squirrel furs, blankets, and any other warm thing the faeries could find and combine into a blanket with their magic.

  Both ends of sticks were shoved into the ground in crisscross patterns and then covered with moss, beehive husks, and pine needles, creating a dome like structure. There were dozens of the dome shaped dwellings tucked underneath the low and far reaching branches of evergreen trees. As the baby cried, other faeries came out from their homes. The elders, who had long white beards, and matriarchs, whose hair was long, frizzy and white, formed a circle around the boy and the staff.

  “We sensed nothing within the staff,” Rellam said, “and the boy is placed in our stewardship. Ought we take care of him, and I would assume, teach him our ways?”

  “What else is there to do?” one asked, though not expecting an answer. “Let us raise our hands to the Faye, and find this boy’s purpose.” The group of faeries lifted their hands and chanted softly. A green, glowing string floated from the sky and fell on the boy. A woman faerie picked it up and spun it in her hands, breathing slowly and deeply.

  “The boy,” she said, “is to learn of our ways and protect us and other Creatures of the Faye. His staff,” She took a breath again as she turned the strand in her hands. “Its destiny is to be his decision.” At her last word, the green strand vaporized into the cold air.

  “It is decided! The Faye gave us a child. Let us take this blessing with open arms.” Rellam cheered. The faeries brought the boy and the staff into one of the larger shelters and closed the door. He stopped crying and slept.

  [][][]

  The storm rolled over the mountain range that divided the Wild Lands from the eastern desert. The high peaks scraped the clouds, gashing into the moist, static mass. As the storm passed over the Broken Blades, the cold, dark clouds pillowed onto the desert ground. Wind screamed over the desert foliage, kicking up dust and sand as the storm continued to travel east. Again, green light spun in the sky as the tornado slowly reappeared.

  As it touched the ground, the sand raced around it, shrouding the twister in darkness, and then moved eastward.

  Day after day, the storm grew in size and strength, blocking out the sun and tearing a vicious, jagged scar across the sandy ground. The heat from the sun combined with a cold, damp wind from the south, strengthening the storm. The cold front pushed the twister northward.

  A guardsman stood post at the Gate tower of Noiknaer and saw the dark red cloud emerging. He sounded an alarm and the Gate was closed. A chorus of bells that warned the citizens of the coming storm rang throughout the city. As the windows and gates closed, the Dark One materialized from a slight gust of wind and sand outside the main gate. A black, heavy hood covered his face. His gloves were tipped with iron points. His boots were plated, coming to a barbed point at the toe. The wind ripped his tattered cape, cutting holes in the already threadbare fabric.

  The Dark One reached into his cloak and pulled out the vile filled with thick, tar like liquid. He knelt, dug a hole in sand, poured the liquid into it, and placed his left hand over it.

  “I give you a portion of my gift, memory, intelligence and power.” A purple stream of lightning shot from the palm of his hand and danced over the surface of the liquid. It hissed and began to boil.

  Slowly, the liquid solidified into two distinct shapes. One shape formed into a staff and the other, an infant. The Dark One looked behind him, seeing the storm approach. He closed his palm and wiped the tar from the child’s face. It breathed, but did not cry. The staff was crimson and radiated a heat of its own.

  “Child, you will release me from my prison with the gifts I have given you,” the hooded figure said as he twirled his robe around the boy and himself. The storm passed over them. The sand and wind tried to break into the protective cocoon. The twister screamed next to them, but the dark figure’s power protected him and his new creation. As the twister traveled over them, green bolts of lightning stabbed and smashed against the hooded figure, but he didn’t budge.

  He looked at the boy and stretched his hand upward towards the storm. “My last gift I give to you is life,” he said as he shot another beam of purple energy from his palm. The purple beam struck the cloud and exploded in a purple flash of lightening. The storm died, the dust and sand softly settled, and the hooded figure disappeared in the lessening wind.

  The boy cried. The city gates opened. People surrounded the child and looked at each other. There were a few moments of silence.

  “I will take him,” Mearto said. She bit her lower lip and stroked her red hair braid with her hands as she looked longingly at the child. A small smile graced her lips and tears filled her misty blue eyes. Her voice was soft, but penetrating. When no one objected, she rushed over to the child and held him in her arms.

  “Shhh, my little one, it’s alright,” she said quietly, a soft smell of lilac and sea salt filling the air. The infant cooed and fell asleep.

  “Mearto,” Daius said as he walked through the crowd, “we have no idea how he got here. This is too odd, don’t you think?”

  “He is a child Daius, he has a right to life as any of us would. What is not to say that he was taken from his home?” Her voice carried above the gentle winds.

  “Then how do you explain that staff,” Daius said, pointing to the crimson wood.

  “Perhaps it was blown here as well. It might be the only attachment he has to family.” Mearto walked into the small hole and pulled the staff from the sand that began to cover it.

  “Listen to yourself, you are being foolish! I will not allow this,” Daius said. “This is not what we meant by our agreement.”

  By this time, the teachers had formed a circle around Mearto and faced the crowd. Each lifted their hands towards the populace and began to chant softly and slowly. The people all at once turned and walked away.

  “I said I will take him. I am a creature of honor, integrity, and great wisdom. Your secrets are known to me Daius, and do not think for a moment that pain does not escape you.�
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  Daius glared at the woman, and Mearto stared back stoically, unmoving, holding the babe tightly to her chest.

  “As you wish,” Daius said as he relaxed his gaze. Mearto nodded and took the child into the city.