Rise of the Whiteface Order

by M. A. Torres

  Kevin hugged the wooden beam, his bare back facing Viktor. “Go on,” he ordered.

  “Very well,” said Viktor.

  “Wait,” Jake removed his shirt. “I will take some lashes too.

  “Me too,” it was Matthew, also undressing.

  Viktor looked at Olee. “Can they do that?”

  “I don’t see why not! The crime will have been served justice. Punishment will have been dealt for the crime committed.”

  Viktor faced the boys. “Very well, then. Ready yourselves, you foolish boys!”

  “Guys, you don’t have to do this,” said Kevin. “I can take all the lashes myself.”

  “No you can’t, and yes, we do,” answered Jake, his voice unsure and trembling. “We are the Crimson Knights!”

  “We’ll be there for each other no matter what,” added Matthew, his mouth quivering and eyes drooped with fear.

  Matthew and Jake took position beside Kevin, their bare backs facing Viktor and his flaming whip. They shut their eyes tightly, their hearts beating like drums inside their chests.

  “Guys, I love you all,” whimpered Kevin.

  “Love you, bro, love you, Matt Bratt,” returned Jake.

  Matthew was already crying, his tears running down his cheeks. “I... I... love you too, guys.”

  Viktor raised the whip. The boys tightened up and braced themselves.

  “Ready yourselves! Here come the flames of justice!” Viktor swung down, fiercely and powerfully.

  SLASH!

  The boys waited for the burning pain or the cry of one of their own—but nothing came. Slowly, they opened their eyes. Kevin tasted blood within his mouth and realized he had bitten through his lip. A streak of fire adorned the floor beside them. Confused, they turned to Viktor, who stood behind them, the flame whip still in his hand.

  Viktor smiled. “What do you think, Brealin? Did they pass your test?” He gazed ahead, past the boys.

  The boys turned and saw the young thief hovering before them—his white hair was burning flames, his eyes fierce and glowing red.

  “I believe so, Viktor,” he said with a nod. “They passed with flying colors, I would say.”

  Chapter Sixteen:

  The Has-Been

  “You’re Brealin?” asked Matthew incredulously. “You should get an Oscar! You had us fooled!”

  The boy stared at him, confused.

  “How would he know what an Oscar is, dummy!” scolded Jake.

  “I expected you to be bigger and redder. I thought you had muscles, like the painting at Castle Randall.”

  “Disappointed, are you?”

  Jake chuckled. “He talks like Yoda.”

  Matthew cleared his throat. “Sorry Mr. Brealin, that’s not what I meant.”

  “I can exist in many forms,” responded the fallen god of fire. His eyes were crystal clear once again, and his flaming hair had dissipated. “I can be big or small; young or old; man or woman. I can become any physical shape I wish to be. The only form I can no longer assume is that of the spirit.”

  Olee and Arnon left the room. Viktor remained with them, standing silently by the large wooden door to their right. The flaming whip had burnt out, its remains lying on the floor beside the boys.

  “Your horses are alive and well. They were delivered to your men at the city square moments ago,” informed Brealin.

  “Great. Thank you,” said Kevin.

  “Yes, thank you,” agreed Sven.

  “I apologize for being such a nuisance. I sensed my weapon close, and I sensed you were seeking my assistance. I had to see for myself what kind of people were in possession of Flameclaw, and whether they were worthy of my assistance or deserving of my wrath.”

  The boys chuckled nervously.

  “We understand,” said Kevin.

  Brealin moved closer. “What are your names?”

  Kevin adjusted his glasses. “I’m Kevin, of House Martinez.”

  “I’m Jake, from House Stevens,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Matthew, of House McCall.”

  “My name is Sven.”

  “It is my pleasure to meet you all,” said Brealin.

  Virgil walked into the room, carrying the boys’ bags. He placed them atop the table. “Your possessions.”

  Kevin opened his bag and pulled out Flameclaw. It lit up, its flames dancing along the blade’s edge.

  Brealin’s eyes widened, a large and proud smile stretched across his face. He approached it, admiring the blade’s beauty. “Flameclaw... created by Mother Amos from the claws of the Red Dragon,” he said.

  “The Red Dragon?” asked Kevin.

  “A rare, mystical and ancient creature that exists in certain dimensions. Their purpose—to protect their realm from demons and rogue gods. The fire of this blade is said to be the fire of the Red Dragon himself.”

  Brealin raised a hand to it, appearing to caress the blade from afar. Moments later, he lowered it and turned his gaze onto Kevin.

  “My blade was earned by a young knight. Jey, of House Taylor is his name. How did you come to possess it?”

  “Jey was killed by a dark knight named Raven,” responded Kevin. “It happened right in front of me. I picked up the sword, and it lit up.” Kevin held it out. “Would you like to hold it?”

  Brealin’s face brightened with excitement. “I... would.” He reached for it, but paused inches from the hilt. Then he pulled back, shaking his head. “But that would be impossible. I lost that ability thousands of years ago. Last time I tried, I felt pain for the first time—a sensation I never again wish to experience.”

  “Oh,” said Kevin.

  “A sensation which made me empathize with your kind, for pain is an integral component of being human... a sensation you all deal with frequently in your brief lives.”

  Kevin nodded, then lowered the sword as the flames dissipated.

  Brealin continued. “The sword is yours. It has deemed you worthy. It burns bright for you as when I wielded it thousands of years ago. I battled countless demons with it. I defeated hundreds of rogue gods with it—gods traveling from dimension to dimension in search of new worlds to conquer. They all fell in defeat to us and our magnificent weapons—all to protect Derathiel and its people.”

  “Wow!” Kevin stared at Flameclaw impressed with the sword’s history.

  “You mentioned a dark knight named Raven?” asked Brealin.

  Kevin placed the sword back into his duffle bag. “Yes. He’s trying to retrieve a mirror which links this world to ours.”

  “Raven is no knight. He never has been, and he never will be. He’s my sibling. He’s Zaron, the fallen god of the earth,” he revealed.

  “What?” Kevin looked at Matthew and Jake, then turned back to Brealin. “He’s Zaron? The one who fell in love with Maviel?”

  “Ha! I see you are familiar with the ancient tale.”

  “Yes... Jey told us the story.”

  “It is true... Raven is Zaron—the one who broke our sacred rules. The one who fell in love with a mortal being. The one who led us into the war that ended our reign.”

  “I hurt him—with Flameclaw. It cut right through his chest, but he escaped.”

  Brealin smiled. “I bet you placed the fear of death onto him, Kevin.”

  Kevin lowered his gaze, unsure of what to say.

  “So... Jey sent you here to see me. I have learned much since the last time I met with that young soul.”

  “He said you would help us,” said Kevin. “He wanted me to ask you about the war between the gods. We’re trying to figure out what is happening in our world, and what Raven wants from it.”

  Brealin thought for a moment. “Come with me.”

  The boys followed him through a door and to the foot of a wide stone staircase. They descended well below ground, the temperature rising which each step. By the time they reached bottom chamber, the boys were soaked in sweat.

  Beneath was a great and circular cave-like dwellin
g. Its walls were made of rock—jagged, sharp, and uneven, and the ceiling was gray stone blocks. A crevice in the far-end wall leaked a river of lava to feed a pond of molten rock at mid-chamber. A stone bench rose at the foot of the lava pool. It arched along the side of the circular pool, just feet from the lava’s edge.

  Brealin led them to it. The boys took a seat atop the bench, then they removed their gear, trying to ease the heat. Brealin entered the glowing red pool, submerging his small body inside the pool of lava.

  The boys exchanged a side glance. Moments later, Brealin rose, looking large and powerful—like his portrait inside Castle Randall. He stood over the molten rock like a god, his muscular skin as red as burning iron, his eyes glowing crimson, and a head of flowing flames.

  The boys raised their gaze in awe.

  “Wow! This is what I figured you would look like!” said Matthew, clearly impressed.

  “Knights of the other world, I will tell you all I’ve learned since my last meeting with the young knight, Jey.”

  “Yes, please,” said Kevin.

  “The one who now calls himself Raven disgraced us all, and because of him, we now stand powerless to rule, unable to assist, and subject to extinction. He loved a mortal being, then poisoned her betrothed, breaking two of our sacred vows—a god will not love a mortal, and a god will not hurt those he oversees—those he receives worship from, those who are his subjects. He did this and more. He and Grimm plunged us into a war against ourselves—god versus god, sibling versus sibling. All for the love of one girl.”

  “Was there something special about her? Was she that beautiful?” asked Matthew.

  “A beauty unrivaled by anything that ever was or ever will be. She was royalty—a princess in her own right.”

  “Wait, Jey never told us that. She was a princess?” asked Kevin.

  “She was, but for a moment only. Maviel and Nathan Maelstrom, the prince and future king of Derathiel, had just spoken their vows. Zaron poisoned him, and both were dead shortly afterward.”

  Kevin rubbed his head, trying to take it all in.

  “So after she died, she passed into Grimm’s world. Then they fought over her soul?” asked Jake.

  “Zaron was intoxicated by love—a feeling he had never experienced. In the Afterworld, Grimm too fell victim to her haunting beauty and precious heart, and when two gods used to getting what they want, desire the same thing, problems arise.”

  “Why did the rest of you join their war? Couldn’t you have let them fight amongst themselves?” asked Jake.

  “We had to partake. We had no choice in that matter. Grimm unleashed the demons of the Underworld into Derathiel to destroy those who gave his rival power—Zaron’s worshippers. Grimm’s beasts attacked the farmers of the world—those who cultivate the land for food and pasture. In turn, Zaron attacked Grimm’s worshippers, our priests, our medics, our scholars. But many of those attacked are also worshippers of mine, worshippers of Parelore, worshipers of Whispawn, and worshippers of Emory.”

  The boys nodded.

  “The people of Derathiel worship more than a single god. A farmer may worship Zaron to assist in his summer harvest, and he may worship Parelore when he needs the heavy spring rains. A smith may worship me to bring heat and skill to his forge, and he may worship Emory if he and his wife are looking to conceive. Our worshippers are many, and our worshippers overlap.”

  “So, then Emory gave herself up to strip your power and end the war?” asked Kevin.

  “Or so we thought. We lost our status as gods as soon as we battled each other; as soon as we killed each other’s worshippers. We broke our sacred laws set forth by Mother Amos—the creator of all things in existence, and that was our undoing. But a conundrum exists—as power cannot be destroyed once it is created. The essence which made us gods was taken away, but it was not lost—it resides, somewhere. Emory, if she still exists, knows where, I’m sure.

  “We lost our powers. Then Emory ended the war by sealing the Underworld portal. Her Knights of the Mortal Dawn defeated Grimm’s Knights of the Void, and balance with the humans was restored. By the time we realized what happened, she had vanished with our essence, never to be seen or heard from again. The rest of us remained behind to walk this world in shame; to walk Derathiel as disgraced beings.”

  “Brealin, you helped Jey, and Jey trusted you. There is no disgrace in that,” said Kevin. “There is still time to make things right. Why don’t you join Princess Hayla’s forces and fight Raven with us? I’m sure you’re still powerful; we could use your help.”

  “I can’t venture too far from the molten earth. We are strong, and there are remnants of our past power left coursing through our bodies—but we are no longer gods. We are no longer immortal. We can cease to exist if certain conditions are met.”

  “Certain conditions?” asked Jake.

  “Yes. For me, it would be journeying too far from the molten rock—the flowing blood of the earth.”

  “So, the fallen gods can be killed?” asked Matthew.

  Brealin nodded. “Since our war, I have felt pain, I have felt sorrow, I have felt fear—sensations and emotions previously reserved for you mortals. My body weakens, and I become faint the longer I walk the earth without access to its molten blood. I feel I have become a mortal myself, and I’m positive my siblings have felt the same.”

  Kevin looked over at his friends. “So, Raven can be killed—killed for good.”

  Matthew shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “Okay, we’ve heard this story about Maviel and the warring gods. I still don’t understand what this has to do with Wakefield Falls?”

  The others remained silent, unable to think up a theory worthy of the spoken word.

  Then Brealin smiled. “Your world holds something... something Raven is desperate to find—something of extreme importance. And what could be more significant than recapturing his lost status as a god?”

  The boys shrugged.

  “Nothing!” Brealin moved closer and looked the boys over. “He has discovered something in your world, young ones—something integral to regaining his lost power—something that will restore his status as a god. Of this, I am sure!”

  The boys exchanged confused looks.

  “What could it be?” asked Jake.

  Kevin thought for a moment. “A child...” In my dreams... the light beings asked me to protect the child. In Wakefield Falls, the man in jail told me Vengara was coming for the child. I’m sure that has something to do with it!” He looked at Brealin. “Do you have any idea what child they’re referring to?”

  Brealin shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Have you ever heard the name Vengara?”

  “Never.”

  Kevin sighed with frustration.

  Matthew was scratching his head. Then he looked up excitedly, but cautiously. “Wait, Mr. Brealin, what if there is something in Wakefield Falls that can make you a god once again? Wouldn’t you desire this too? Don’t you wish to be a god once more?”

  Brealin’s smile grew wider. “You are wise to question those who offer you assistance, young one. This is a dangerous world, and you are in a precarious position.” He approached him. “I am content with what I have become. I hold no love for my siblings. To prove this, I will reveal to you a long-held secret.”

  Intrigued, the boys leaned in.

  “Our weapons are fatal to us as they are to mortal beings. We cannot wield them. We cannot resist them. We are weak and powerless against them. You drive Flameclaw through Raven’s heart, and that will be his end. If the others become a threat to you or your world, they too will be vulnerable to our famed weapons.”

  “The others? What others?” asked Matthew.

  “Parelore, Whispawn, and Grimm. If your world holds the answer, they may desire to once again regain the power of their past. They may be assisting Raven for all we know.”

  “Wait, we met Grimm at the Hill of the Dead Gods. He didn’t attack us. He allowed Jake to tak
e Tombstone,” mentioned Kevin.

  “He had no other choice. He cannot handle it himself, so he could not take it away. Jey was with you, correct?”

  The boys nodded.

  “He feared him. He feared the young blue-eyed knight with Brealin’s sword. He feared the young boy who was then deemed worthy by the weapon he once wielded as his own.”

  Jake smiled.

  “So, the fallen gods are weak to the weapons?” asked Matthew.

  “We are vulnerable to all, yes, but only one will bring about our complete destruction. Only one will bring us a true death. The weapon with that power is unique to each of us. For Raven, it is Flameclaw, I am sure of it. For fire consumes that grown from the earth.”

  Kevin nodded. “Good to know.”

  Brealin looked at Matthew. “If I ever become hostile, if I ever become a threat to you and your world, retrieve Whiplash from its resting place. Whiplash is the one weapon that will bring the curtain of death upon me.”

  Matthew eyed him suspiciously. “You wouldn’t turn hostile, would you?”

  Brealin smiled. “I’m revealing my weakness to you as a sign of good faith. I am on your side.”

  “So, what should we do now?” asked Kevin.

  “Seek out the rest of the weapons. You must find their destined wielder and ready yourselves—prepare to use them against those who once wielded them as their own. For a god’s will is powerful, especially a fallen deity who wishes to regain what he once had.”

  The boys nodded.

  “Hide the girl who travels with you. Her royal eyes sparkle with the Maelstrom colors—Viktor Embers noticed them from upon the stage. Lord Whitefield is no friend of hers. He stands corrupted by my siblings. I have felt their influence emanating from his castle and flowing from those by his side.”

  Sven and the boys nodded once more.

  “Do not allow Raven and his forces access to Maviel’s Mirror. If they seek something inside your world, the mirror will ease their effort.”

  “We won’t.” Kevin pulled out the Derathiel map. “We will do as you said. We’re going to retrieve the remaining weapons. Is there any advice you can give us? Anything we should watch out for?”