by T. D. Steitz
That night, Alistair found deep rest. Ardent’s power filled his dreams and his heart until Osmin shook him awake.
“Alistair!” Osmin whispered sharply. “Get up! It’s time to go!”
“Go where?” Alistair asked sleepily.
Osmin looked at Alistair with the same sadness he had seen by the water. “Just get ready to leave.”
Alistair felt the urgency in his voice and hurried to gather his few belongings. He turned to ask where they were going, but he stopped at the sight of Osmin, silhouetted in the moonlight, holding his horn out to him.
“What are you doing?” Alistair asked.
“Calamity has been looking for me for a long time, Alistair,” Osmin replied. “He’s finally found me. His armies are on their way.”
“Well then, what are we waiting for?!” Alistair asked. “Let’s get out of here!”
Osmin’s deep, steady voice cracked a little as he spoke. “Ardent has amazing plans for you, Alistair. That much has been clear to me for a long time. But, they are not the same as the plans he has for me.”
“What are you saying?” Alistair asked.
“If we run, Calamity will find us,” Osmin said. “But, if I stay and fight, you can make it out. That is my part in this story.”
“No… No, you can’t.” Alistair fought to speak through the knot in his throat. “I won’t let you die for me!”
“Alistair, it’s alright.” Osmin’s voice was strong again. “I’m not afraid of this. This is Ardent’s plan, and his plans are good.”
Tears stained Alistair’s face. He had forgotten how much he hated the feeling. “I don’t know where to go, or what to do. I’m not ready for this!”
“I know,” Osmin responded. “Hold on to that feeling and remember that when you fail, Ardent will not. He will show you where to go and what to do. You are ready because he has chosen you.”
Alistair didn’t know what to say. Was he getting thrown back into the loneliness and despair he had been pulled from? He felt like a prisoner, taunted with freedom, given a glimpse of the sun, only to be dragged back to the shadows.
“It’s time to go, Alistair. Take this.” Osmin handed Alistair his horn. “I want you to have it. Use it to remind the world that he has not forgotten us. Now, go!” Osmin’s eyes burst with bright light. White fire shot out of his staff and ripped a tunnel through the back of the cave, beneath the mountain, and into the cool night beyond.
Alistair saw deep love in Osmin’s shining eyes and a silent plea for him to go. Alistair tore himself away and disappeared into the dark tunnel.
Relief spread over Osmin as he watched Alistair escape. He turned slowly toward the entrance of the cave and closed his dazzling eyes. “Ardent, my King, I am yours,” he whispered. Osmin strode out into the night as Dark Creatures shot down from the black sky. Osmin walked deliberately into their midst as the fray of vicious snarls and gnashing teeth closed in on him. He swung his staff with powerful, calculated strokes. Bursts of white-hot light and consuming flame leaped from it. With each swing, Osmin cried out to Ardent for the strength to fight until Alistair was safe. His strength grew. The light, shining so brightly from his eyes, began shining through the rest of him, as his whole body cracked. The more his body gave way, the more powerful he became. He sent the Shadow Creatures screaming back to the darkness.
Osmin’s growing fury caused the Shadow Creatures to change. They were beings of rage, pain, and fear. They could take any form that Calamity allowed them to take.
The monsters beside Osmin morphed into muscular, toad-like creatures with wide, gaping jaws. They surrounded Osmin, opened their mouths wide, and released deadly waves of the same darkness that animated them; the pain and fear Calamity harvested from his prisoners.
The waves hit Osmin and knocked him off his feet. For a moment, he stared at a single star peeking through a rift in the black clouds. He struggled to rise from the dust with hope coursing through him and faced the powerful darkness around him. It began tearing pieces of him away. Osmin continued to fight until the relentless waves shattered his staff. Osmin fell to his knees. His body was spent, but his heart soared above the darkness and his mind was fixed on Ardent’s promises. Most of his skin had been torn away, and bright light shone through his wounds. Osmin knew he was moments from death, but as he told Alistair, he was not afraid.
Alistair ran through the tunnel Osmin had carved through the mountain. Osmin stayed behind. A small light shimmered from his staff. It wasn’t enough to see the entire path ahead, only what lay directly in front of him. Then, Alistair felt fresh air on his face. He made it through. He could hear the tumultuous rage of battle on the other side of the mountain. Osmin was taking his final stand.
Alistair looked down at the horn in his hand. He thought back to the first time he'd heard it, when Osmin appeared in fire at his time of need. Alistair thought of the courage it had inspired in him and the soldiers he was with. He thought of the fear it had inspired in their enemies. He wanted to give Osmin the same gift. With tears in his eyes, Alistair lifted the horn to his lips and blew. A powerful note rang from the horn and echoed through the mountains. The note clung to the air, and when Alistair lowered the horn from his lips, he knew that everything would be right one day. Alistair wiped away his tears and whispered to the empty air. “Goodbye, Osmin.”
The horn blast echoed through the air and reached the kneeling Osmin. He knew that horn. Alistair made it out. The Shadow Creatures ceased their attack, and for a moment, Osmin saw fear across their lifeless faces. He smiled. “Goodbye, Alistair.”
The Shadow Creatures resumed their onslaught.
Osmin felt the rest of his body being torn away, but instead of pain, he felt peace. Osmin tilted his head back and cried out to the sky. “Thank you, Ardent! I am ready!” As the words left his lips, Osmin died. What remained of his body was disintegrated by the light that erupted from him.
With Osmin’s final breath, Ardent decimated the Shadow Creatures with a tidal wave of white fire that sent their black clouds back to Calamity, defeated.
Alistair lifted his staff and began his lonely journey through the mountains. As he did, something caught his eye. Words had been carved into the side of his staff. Alistair read the words by the pale moonlight. Even when you do not know where you are, you are not lost. Alistair pondered the words as he walked through the starlit trees. These words were Osmin’s final gift to him, and Alistair was grateful. He would need them in the days to come.
Chapter Nineteen
The Western Woods
Calamity arched his back and stretched his arms wide. His terrible laugh echoed through the icy throne room as his black clouds returned to Malum and swirled around him. He welcomed the dark energy back, eager to experience the pain and death it had caused. “Welcome home,” Calamity’s deep, gravelly voice whispered to the blackness. “What have you done for me?” His eyes flashed with rage. Calamity screamed and his throne room shook. He felt defeat in place of the violent victory he was craving. He felt fear and it drew insatiable rage out of him.
Calamity paced the stone floor before his high throne. The black clouds materialized into Dark Creatures around the room. Calamity spoke to the soulless beasts. “He sent you back to me, beaten.” He rested his pale, skeletal hand on the nearest creature’s head and relived the attack on Osmin’s cave as he did. “At least you killed the bright-eyed, old fool.” Calamity snatched his hand back sharply as a horn note pierced through the recreation. Calamity screamed and grabbed the creature by the throat. He hurled it against the stone wall across the room where it burst into black fumes. “There’s another?! How can there be another?! Ardent is gone! His mark should be gone!”
The shadows shrank away from Calamity’s rage.
“I will destroy him just like the rest. This last Marked One will die like all those before him. Eventually, they all give in to fear. He thinks he knows power. I will show him differently. Now, FIND! HIM!” Calamity bellowed at his beasts. “Go, and ever
ywhere you go, take fear and death with you!”
The Shadow Creatures dashed back into the dark clouds and rushed into the Shadow Lands’ lifeless air.
The black clouds flew over the multitudes of Calamity’s slaves; chained together, backs bent beneath the weight of their burdens; mouths frozen in endless, silent pleas for salvation. They flew across miles of dead earth, tortured remnants of trees, and sludge-filled riverbeds. They flew with deadly purpose. They flew to snuff out this small twinkle of hope that had offered itself to Terrene; the Marked One.
Far below the black clouds and their search for Alistair, far to the west, was the Forest Clan. The deep, Western Woods were nothing like the vibrant forests they were used to. These woods were barely alive at all. The sun didn't sparkle through the treetops, and instead of a gentle breeze rustling the leaves, a powerful wind tore branches away.
Wymond, the proud leader of a once thriving and formidable people, now knelt in cold mud. He lowered the thick fur from across his shoulders and wrapped it around a shivering child.
The little girl muttered a weak “thank you” before a coughing fit forced her face into the fur.
“Shh shh shh,” Wymond whispered. “Try to get some sleep.” Wymond laid a strong hand on the little girl’s head as she closed her eyes. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.” The smile Wymond managed for the child disappeared as he stood to help the others tending to the sick.
After a long, difficult journey West, a devastating illness had swept through the Forest Clan. Wymond had lost count of the dead. The living tended to the sick and dug graves. Their homes were shacks on the forest floor. Their desperate situation was the cost of escaping Calamity’s reach. Their only hope was that Amani and Captain Conall had succeeded in rallying the Southern Villages, but even that hope was fading fast. They had received no word from the expedition, and it was long past their expected return.
Wymond walked out into the harsh wind beyond the shack. He hated being so powerless to help his people. “How did it come to this?” He asked himself. “Have I led us to our doom? Perhaps Conall was right. Maybe we should have stayed and fought; then at least we could have died fighting, not starving in the cold.” Wymond came to the rows of shallow graves just outside their new home. “No, if we had stayed, we all would have met their end.” Wymond’s eyes filled with tears when they rested on a grave marked with his son’s name. Wybert’s ax rose from the grave. It would never be used by anyone else. “Oh, Wybert,” Wymond whispered to the howling wind, “why did you follow him? Why didn’t you trust me?”
“My Lord!”
Wymond turned to the man running towards him. “What is it?”
“It’s Dalibor, sir. He is asking for you.”
Wymond followed the man to another shack nearby and ducked under the low doorway. Dalibor sat on a rickety stool, with a threadbare blanket across his shoulders. Wymond walked in and sat beside him. Theirs was a friendship of few words.
“How are you feeling?” Wymond asked.
A harsh coughing fit answered. “Have you had any word from Alistair?” Dalibor asked weakly.
Wymond stiffened at the name of the foolish boy who led Wybert to his death. “No. There has been no word,” Wymond replied in a sharper tone than he intended. Dalibor didn’t seem to notice.
“He’s out there somewhere,” Dalibor insisted. “I can feel it.”
“Dalibor, he’s not coming back. It is time for you to accept that Alistair is dead.”
“We never found his body,” Dalibor pointed out. “He could still be out there.”
Wymond’s nostrils flared. “We never found many of the bodies, but no one survived Alistair’s recklessness.” This time the bite in Wymond’s voice was clear. “Get some rest,” Wymond left the shack and stopped just beyond the doorway.
Dalibor was whispering behind him. “Ardent, if you’re there, please bring Alistair back to me. Let me live to see him again.” Dalibor’s whisper disappeared behind another violent coughing fit and Wybert turned away to wander alone through the cold.
Medeo watched Wymond from the shadows. “There he is,” he whispered menacingly. “Wymond, Lord of the Forest Clan. Look what he’s done for us.”
A handful of men behind Medeo quietly voiced their agreed disdain for Wymond.
“We never should have come here. Look at us, clawing at life like animals, eating rats, and shivering in the cold. He should have listened to me!”
Medeo’s entourage clung to each word.
“Calamity would never let this happen. He wouldn’t let his people starve, cowering in the dark. He offers power. He offers everything we could ever dream of!” Wispy tendrils of gray began to spread through Medeo’s eyes. “It’s time that we embrace all the wondrous gifts he offers! It is time we recognize our true Lord. We must go to him. He will welcome and reward us.”
Gray skies shrouded the sun overhead. It could be found, but not seen or felt. This was how Medeo would experience the sun from this point forward, through gray and clouded eyes. His heart and mind belonged to Calamity. He was Fallen. He and his followers disappeared silently into the diseased forest, eager to reach Calamity.
Chapter Twenty
Alistair’s Purpose
The sun shone brightly over the mountain peaks. It was a new day; a fresh beginning, but Osmin wasn’t there to see it.
Alistair leaned against his staff. He was weary from the night’s journey, and he had no idea where he was. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth on his face as he let the sun wash over him. There was a storm raging inside him; the grief of Osmin’s loss, the shame of leaving him behind, and fear of being lost and alone. He invited Ardent into the storm.
Alistair walked beneath a canopy of dazzling light shining through brilliant hues of green, yellow, and red. He wandered towards a small clearing in the trees, and as he approached it, he heard the faint sound of running water. He knelt beside a clear spring and drank deeply. Then Alistair sat with his staff across his lap and his horn at his side, repeating one question deep in his soul. “Ardent, where do I go?”
Alistair listened. He focused on his chest rising and falling and the air flowing in and out of his lungs. Very slowly, he felt the warmth of the sun move from one side of his face to the other, and eventually, it dropped back below the trees.
Alistair opened his eyes to the blackness of night. He hadn’t heard from Ardent that day, but he had learned not to demand answers from him. Alistair stood and asked Ardent to fill him. His eyes glowed as he coaxed a flame from his staff. He laid down beside the white fire and let it warm him. He looked up at the stars and was struck by how small he was. The feeling was uplifting and discouraging simultaneously. Alistair closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would wait on Ardent again. He wouldn’t leave the clearing without Ardent’s guidance. He would not make his way. Alistair had lived that way before and tasted its bitter fruit. It was time for a new way. He held this conviction deep in his heart as he drifted off to sleep.
Trees surrounded him. Each one was topped with a brilliant shade of gold, orange, or red. Alistair heard the distant sound of singing drift through the air. He had never heard such beautiful voices, and he followed the captivating sound. He came to a curtain of low-hanging branches. He spread them apart and stepped through to see a roaring fire surrounded by people lifting their voices to the sky. The people twirled and sang, unaware of Alistair. As they circled the fire, Alistair’s mother, Layla came into view.
Joy was spread across her face. Her white dress billowed in the fire’s heat as she danced and sang with the others.
Osmin was beside her. His twinkling eyes were full of life.
Alistair stepped towards them, eager to join in, but as he did the people stopped and turned toward him.
“Sweetheart,” Layla said, “You can’t join us. Not yet. You still have work to do.” The moment she said the words, the scene vanished.
The air filled with a different sound, horrible shrieks an
d wails. It was the sound of a thousand suffering souls, screaming out in desperation, begging for the pain to stop. Alistair was surrounded by ranks of men, women, and children stretching as far as he could see. They were caked with dirt and grime, but no amount of mud could cover the deep, jagged scars etched across their bodies. The stench made his eyes water as they stumbled around him, struggling under immense loads. As they passed Alistair, each one looked at him with hopelessness in their eyes. The sight shattered his heart.
“Now you see, Alistair. This is where I want you to go.”
Alistair didn’t bother looking for who spoke the words. He knew the voice.
“These are my children, and this is not the life I have for them.”
Alistair heard a great sadness in the voice that far exceeded the sadness tearing at his heart.
“I want them to dance and sing. I want them to feel my love, not Calamity’s fear. I hear them. I hear them crying out for me, and I will save them! That is my plan for you. I want you to go back. Return to the Shadow Lands, and free my people.”
Alistair leaped to his feet, gasping for breath. “No, I can’t! Please, send me anywhere, just not there!” Alistair thought back to the suffocating clouds of noxious gas billowing up from the Shadow Lands. He remembered the crippling fear that flooded him. He saw the broken bodies of his followers, strewn about like they were nothing. He thought of his friends; Serilda, Ahian, Anujah… Wybert. “No, no. I can’t. I can’t go back there. Don’t ask me to go back there!”
“What is it you fear?”
Alistair jumped; a man had appeared behind him. Alistair couldn’t see his face. A blinding light shone from and around him.
“Ardent…” Alistair stammered.
Ardent repeated his question. “What is it you fear?”
“I’m not ready. I’m not strong enough!” Alistair blurted. “I can’t go back to the Shadow Lands. The evil that waits there is beyond understanding. I’m sorry Ardent. I won’t go back.”
