by T. D. Steitz
Beads of sweat dripped from Alvah’s quivering lip, despite the cold.
“You, Alvah, I raised higher than any.” Calamity knelt in front of Alvah, stared into his wide eyes, and reveled in his fear. “I let you lead my armies. I let you oversee the creation of my Kingdom, and this is how you repay me. By letting my prisoners and slaves, just… leave.” Calamity paced around Alvah again. “Who am I, Alvah?”
Alvah shuddered but did not respond.
Calamity ran a cold, skeletal finger across his face. “Who am I?”
Alvah swallowed and struggled to speak. “C- Cal… Calamity…”
Calamity smiled. “That’s right. I am Calamity. Do you know what that means?”
Alvah shut his eyes and trembled.
“It means I am FINAL! UNAVOIDABLE! INESCAPABLE!”
Calamity grew tall and towered over Alvah. Dozens of thick, black arms shot out from him and wrapped around Alvah. They lifted him into the air and held him, dangling helplessly before Calamity.
“You have failed me, Alvah,” Calamity whispered. “You will not again.” The black arms hurled Alvah across Calamity’s throne room. His body slammed through the heavy doors and rolled to a stop at the Right Hand’s feet. Calamity’s booming voice rang through Malum. “Round up every slave driver and prison guard! Those that swung the whips and chains will feel their sting! The work will continue! My kingdom will spread! My glorious darkness will cover all!”
The Elites pulled Alvah to his feet and laid a heavy yoke across his broad shoulders.
“Work him until he drops,” The Right Hand ordered. “Then, the harvesters can have him.”
The Elites hooked the chains hanging from Alvah’s yoke to a great boulder.
“Move!” His new slave driver ordered.
Alvah struggled against the weight.
Crack!
Alvah groaned through clenched teeth as the slave driver's whip split open his back. He strained against his heavy load and moved it. Then, he fell in step with the slow-moving train of Fallen slaves.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Friends Reunite
The crowd of free people sat around blazing fires with the Shadow Lands far behind them. They rested their bruised bodies on the soft grass, and the warmth of the fires soothed their aching bones. The Marked One, and his bear sat alone.
Wybert sat beside one of the fires with Rael leaning sleepily against him. He stared into the flames, deep in thought. He had seen the man in the hood once before; at the massacre in the Shadow Lands on the day he lost his hand and his freedom. This was his opportunity to speak with him. “Stay here Rael,” Wybert whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Rael nodded groggily and closed his eyes.
Wybert stood and approached the man in the hood. “Can I join you?” He asked.
The man nodded but did not speak.
Wybert sat down beside him.
“I wanted to thank you,” Wybert said.
Alistair did not respond. He had longed for and feared this moment, facing Wybert again. He was overjoyed to see him, but he was drowning in shame. The friend he could never deserve was sitting beside him. The friend he had betrayed again and again. The friend who never gave up on him. Alistair found it difficult to breathe through the sadness welling up inside him.
“We’ve crossed paths before,” Wybert said. “I was there the day you fought the Fallen armies in the Shadow Lands.”
The hooded man nodded but again declined to speak.
“I need to ask you something,” Wybert said. “My friend, Alistair, was with you the last time I saw him. Do you know what happened to him?” It surprised Wybert when the hooded man replied.
“Why do you care?” Alistair asked in a hoarse, raspy voice. “Didn’t Alistair bring you to the Shadow Lands in the first place? Isn’t he the reason your people are dead?”
“He’s my friend,” Wybert replied. “I miss him.”
Thick tears slid down Alistair’s face and his voice broke. “How can you say that after everything I’ve done?”
Wybert’s mind flashed back to something he had seen in the dungeons, a scar on the hooded man’s hand. “Alistair?” He wondered.
Alistair slowly removed his hood and stared into the fire with tears still streaming down his face. “Hey, Wybert.”
Wybert stood up sharply and stared at Alistair.
Alistair couldn’t bring himself to return Wybert’s gaze. “I don’t know what to say,” he croaked. “I… I am so sorry.”
A few long moments of silence passed.
Wybert put his hand on Alistair's shoulder and pulled him into a strong embrace. “Alistair, it is so good to see you.”
Alistair laughed as his fear and dread of this moment melted away and he was left with only joy at being reunited with his friend. “I have so much to tell you!”
Wybert and Alistair sat beside the crackling fire and talked well into the night, just like they used to. “You were right about Ardent, Wybert. You were right about everything.” Alistair said. He told Wybert about Osmin and his time with him in the mountain cave. He explained Osmin’s mark, and how he encountered Ardent and received his mark as well before Osmin died to save him. Alistair told Wybert about Ardent’s task for him to free the slaves in Malum, all the challenges he faced getting there, and how Ardent pulled him through each one.
Wybert marveled at each word of Alistair’s tales. He smiled and stirred the embers of the fire as he shared his story of the harvest chambers and all the horrors that waited there. “Calamity had broken me,” he explained. “I had nothing left. Then Ardent appeared. He just… held me. He gave me courage and strength.”
Alistair smiled and reveled in Wybert’s stories as they enjoyed the surreal peace in their hearts together.
“So, where do we go from here?” Wybert finally asked.
“You must be eager to go home,” Alistair replied. “But I have to get these people to safety.”
“Where?” Wybert asked.
“The Eastern Mountains. Someone I knew a long time ago told me about a haven there. I don’t know if it still exists, but it’s our best chance.”
Wybert agreed. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”
Alistair smiled. Knowing Wybert would be by his side lightened his heart.
“Alistair, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Wybert said. He turned and called Rael over. “Alistair, this is Rael.”
“Hi, Rael,” Alistair said, extending his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Rael stared at Alistair; speechless, while they shook hands.
“You’re not Ardent?” Rael asked.
Alistair chuckled. “No, I’m not.”
“But, Wybert said Ardent would save us…”
“Well, it was Ardent who sent me,” Alistair explained. “Everything I can do is Ardent’s power inside me. Without him, I can’t do anything. He is the one that saved you.”
“Do you know him? Ardent?” Rael asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“What’s he like?”
Alistair struggled to think of an explanation. “I’m always learning new things about him, but he’s a bit like Matana here.”
Rael’s jaw dropped a little as Matana lifted her huge head.
“You see, Matana’s very powerful and dangerous. That can be scary. But, Matana also loves me, so I don’t have to be afraid of her. I can trust her. That’s what Ardent’s like.”
Rael seemed to understand. “I hope I get to meet him someday,” he said.
“You will,” Alistair replied with a smile.
Alistair’s staff lit up.
Rael and Wybert looked away from the blinding light that burst from his eyes. A stream of light flew from his staff and stopped a stone's throw away in the form of a great, white flame.
“Wake the others,” Alistair told Wybert and Rael. “It’s time to go.”
The great crowd followed Alistair and Matana. They followed the flame as it moved slowly for
ward, lighting their path. Ardent’s white fire led them over hills and through valleys. When they needed food, Ardent provided. When they needed water, Ardent provided. They crossed rivers and plains. They traversed thick forests and empty desserts, with the fire always there to guide them.
One morning, Wybert walked beside Alistair. “Do you know where we are?” He asked.
“No, I don’t,” Alistair admitted. “But, we’re not lost.”
Chapter Thirty
Jacosa and Buddy
The partnership between the Forest Clan and the Southern Villages was fully established. Every day, support caravans loaded with food, medicine, weapons, and other supplies came and went between the two nations. Southern People were often found in the Forest, and citizens of the Forest Clan in the South as culture and traditions were shared between the two peoples.
Despite the atmosphere of joy and peace around her, Jacosa found none for herself. She finally found the answers to the questions that had always plagued her. Who saved me? Whose voice gives me hope? It was Ardent. She found the answer in a book: Long Live the King. Jacosa had read every word of the book multiple times, and each time, she arrived at the same conclusion. The voice had to be Ardent. The discovery thrilled her, but she hadn’t heard from Ardent since she arrived at the Forest Clan. She was finally able to call out to him by name, but he didn’t answer. She kept the book with her and every day she read it and had one-way conversations with Ardent.
One evening, sitting by the fire in a treetop hut, she found herself more discontent than ever with Ardent’s silence. She read Long Live the King by the flickering firelight and something stuck out to her. The author, Kendric wrote about a place deep in the Eastern Mountains where people could praise Ardent in peace. It was called the Mountain’s Refuge. Jacosa understood then that she had to go. She had to find out for herself if this place was real; if it offered the community with and knowledge of Ardent that she sought.
Eventually, Jacosa approached Wymond about her plans. They were unloading a wagon of supplies from the Southern Villages together when she broached the subject. “Wymond, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” He asked.
“It’s about the book you gave me,” Jacosa explained. “Have you ever heard of the Mountain’s Refuge?”
Wymond shook his head.
“I read about it in the book. The Mountain’s Refuge is a place deep in the Eastern Mountains. The book says it’s a place meant for people seeking Ardent, and I… I want to go there.”
Wymond sighed deeply. “You want to go to the Eastern Mountains? Even I don’t know those lands. It’s far too dangerous, and besides, we need you here.”
“The alliance between our people is fully in place,” Jacosa replied. “There is nothing else you need me for. Please, Wymond. This is something I have to do.”
Wymond thought for a moment. “There’s nothing I can say to stop you, is there?”
Jacosa shook her head.
“Would you at least take some soldiers with you?”
“No, this is something I need to do alone.” Jacosa set her hand on Wymond’s arm.
He stopped working and looked at her.
“Don't worry,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
Jacosa arose at dawn the next morning. The sun warmed away the night’s chill as Jacosa took a final look at the Forest Clan homes nestled in the sun-kissed treetops. She was sad to go but excited for the journey ahead. She breathed the sweet, morning air deep, and turned away.
“I hope you’re not leaving without saying goodbye.”
Jacosa smiled and glanced over her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed Wymond sitting beneath a nearby tree.
“I just didn’t want to make it harder than it needed to be,” she said.
Wymond smiled. “I hope you find everything you’re looking for.” He wrapped Jacosa in a warm embrace. “Please, be safe.”
“I will,” she promised.
Wymond stepped back. “There’s one more thing. I know you said you wanted to do this alone, but I was hoping you might reconsider.” Wymond raised his hand to his lips and whistled sharply.
Huntress bounded towards them with another wolf following close behind. The second wolf was white, and he was even bigger than Huntress.
“This is Buddy,” Wymond explained. “I’m sure you’ve seen him around. He’s Huntress’ pup. He’s also… he was… Wybert’s sentry.”
Jacosa reached out her hand to the white wolf. He lowered his head and let her pet him.
“It would mean a lot to me if you would take him with you,” Wymond said. “He hasn’t had much to do since Wybert left, and I know he’d enjoy the trip. Besides, I would feel better knowing you’re not alone. Will you take him?”
Jacosa smiled. “Of course, I will.”
“Thank you,” Wymond said. “You’d better get going. Be safe.”
Jacosa hugged him one more time and began her journey. Buddy followed her. She glanced back to see Wymond waving in the distance.
Jacosa and Buddy stopped to rest and quench their thirst by a small mountain stream. They had been traveling for weeks, through sun and rain, across forests and wastelands. They started heading southeast, around the Shadow Lands, then turned northeast. Now they were deep in the Eastern Mountains and had been climbing in elevation since the sunrise.
Jacosa tossed Buddy a piece of the rabbit he’d caught the night before and took a bite herself. Buddy laid his big, white head in her lap as Jacosa stroked his ears. “We should keep moving.”
Jacosa stood and turned east as Buddy perked up and ran ahead. “Buddy, did you find something?” She called. She caught up with him and knelt where he was sniffing the soft soil. There were two footprints that didn’t make sense. The prints headed in the same direction Jacosa and Buddy were going, and she had the inexplicable feeling that they should follow them. “Track them,” she said.
Buddy ran forward with his nose low to the ground.
Jacosa strode after him as he followed the footprints of a man, beside the footprints of a bear.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Mountain’s Refuge
Alistair gasped and fell to his knees. The white flame that had been leading him and a thousand freed slaves across Terrene stopped and rushed into his chest. The power beneath its gentle grace surprised him. Alistair rose slowly again to his feet.
“Are you alright?” Wybert asked.
Alistair nodded. “We’re here.”
Wybert followed his gaze to a nearby mountain peak. A long path that led deep into the mountains, was carved into the mountainside. A tall, stone statue of a hooded man, holding a staff guarded the entrance. “This leads to the Mountain’s Refuge?” Wybert asked.
“It must. Stay here with the others,” Alistair instructed. “Matana and I are going to see what’s ahead. If we’re not back by nightfall, assume we ran into trouble, and get everyone out of here.”
Wybert reluctantly agreed.
Alistair climbed onto Matana’s back, and they headed up the mountain.
Matana bounded across the rocky terrain, to the statue that Alistair now saw was at least twice his height. Alistair gazed up at the chiseled face shrouded beneath a stone hood. It was strong and imposing. The statue’s eyes were not stone, they were glossy crystal. The sun hit them and made them sparkle and shine. The long path through the mountains stretched beyond the statue. Many more hooded statues guarded it. As Alistair and Matana passed each statue, the sunlight ignited their dazzling eyes. Each one had a different face, men, women, young and old. Each wielded a unique staff. Many carried horns like Alistair’s. Their towering forms inspired and saddened him.
Alistair and Matana came to a bend in the path and turned the corner. Cobblestones covered the dirt path. Six hooded statues, much larger than the rest, stood facing them. There were three on each side of the stone street. Great fires burned within their giant eyes. Two towering walls ran behind the statues. Men carried loa
ds of wood across the tops of the walls to keep the fires burning. Alistair slid off Matana’s back and walked beside her. They followed the stone road until a third wall blocked their path. This wall joined the two walls standing parallel to the road, and it had a massive arch, housing two heavy, wooden doors on steel hinges within it.
As they drew closer, one door opened, and a man walked through, eyeing Matana cautiously. “Who are you?” He asked. “What do you want?”
“My name is Alistair,” Alistair replied. “I need to speak with whoever is in charge here. My people and I are looking for a sanctuary.”
The man eyed Alistair’s hood and staff. “Follow me.”
Alistair and Matana followed him.
“No,” he said. “Just you.”
“Stay here, Matana,” Alistair said. “I’ll be back soon.”
Matana reluctantly sat down and Alistair followed the man through the gate.
Alistair followed the man beyond the gates, past intricate stables full of proud, whinnying horses, and toward the base of a tall mountain peak. Another pair of heavy, hand-carved doors was set in the mountainside. Two guards pulled open the massive doors, and the man led Alistair into the Great Hall. It was breathtaking.
The Great Hall was lit by roaring fires in shallow pits spread across the floor, and hundreds of torches anchored in the mountain’s stone. Dozens of long banquet tables sat in the middle of the hall. Alistair removed his hood and gazed at the high ceilings. Pillars of stone reached down from the jagged rock above him to the smooth, stone floor. Each pillar was covered in intricate carvings. A complex system of passages fanned out from the Great Hall. People bustled in and out with smiles on their faces. He had stepped into another world; a world of wonder, right in the heart of the Mountains.
“Wait here,” the man leading Alistair instructed.
Alistair nodded, and the man disappeared down a side corridor. Alistair wandered around the hall, taking it all in. Everywhere he looked he found beautiful paintings, carvings, and ornate tapestries. Many of these works celebrated the deeds of the Marked Ones. They told stories of their victories and stories of their deaths. It seemed that the Marked Ones never died asleep in their beds. They died with eyes ablaze, staves in hand. They died fighting for the light; with Ardent’s name on their lips. They died like Osmin. Alistair realized that he had to tell these people about him, so his story could join the rest.
