Hope in the Shadows

by Umut Ersezer

  The usher by the gate waved him over, indicating it was his moment to walk in. Since drinking Korali’s Wrath, Trajan’s veins flowed with a power he had never felt before. It was as if his insides were on fire, without eliciting excruciating pain, but instead filled him with a feeling of strength.

  It drove the rage within him to the surface, enticing the anger he bottles deep down to the surface, to be harnessed as a well-sharpened blade. He would unleash it upon Karda.

  Trajan stepped through the archway onto the fighting arena, the crowd circling around him, erupting in cheers. They had now learned his name, some favouring, even betting on him to win the fight. Trajan! Trajan! Trajan! They cheered on. It was intoxicating.

  Ahead of him stood Karda, he was a mountain of a man. His face was framed by a thick black beard. His leather breast piece barely containing his muscular bulk. He would have the advantage of strength, but Trajan now understood the stab to the leg, Karda had intended to slow him for Trajan had the advantage of speed. The king rose and once again the crowd fell into a hush.

  The competitors raised their sword in acknowledgement to the king, where he nodded in reply. He dropped his arm, indicating the fight to begin. The men circled one another, sizing each other up, Karda staring intently trying to ascertain the extent of Trajan’s injury.

  There we none, for the potion by way of magic Trajan didn’t understand had mended them. Side effects were not known yet, but Trajan only hoped they would come later, if at all. He gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles turning white. He willed himself to breathe more steadily, ease his grip and relax the tenseness of his muscles.

  Without warning, Karda charged at him, expecting Trajan would have difficulty evading. Trajan decided to play along, for now, wanting to surprise Karda when the moment was right. They crashed their shields together, Karda’s bulk and power pushing Trajan back as he struggled for traction. Karda leaned in.

  “How’d you sleep piss-ling?” teased Karda while staring at Trajan.

  “About as soundly as after a night with your mother,” retorted Trajan.

  He wasn’t proud of the joke for he knew it lacked sophistication, but he gambled on Karda reacting to the crude nature of it, given what he had done to Nelk’s daughter. It worked, touching a sore point in his psyche. He bellowed in rage, lifting his sword and shield to the crowd.

  “I’m going to crush you, insect!”

  Trajan wasn’t intimidated, he had gauged Karda’s strength in the exchange and knew he could match it. He also knew he possessed the advantage of speed and the element of surprise with his uninjured body.

  Karda charged once more, Trajan meeting each of his attacks with a block or deflection. I’ll wear him down, give the crowd a show, then ill stab him through the gut, the leather armour won’t withstand me, not today, thought Trajan.

  They exchanged blows for some time, as both were highly trained warriors. Karda was indeed growing more tired, Trajan remaining fresh, darting in and out of Karda’s attacks. He was a blur, as quick and elusive as the wind itself, landing assaults of his own while avoiding Karda’s. The crowd cheered with joy at the sight of such graceful movement and swordsmanship.

  As Karda’s frustration grew, his swings grew more wild, leaving him open to attack. Trajan had caught him several times, splitting his skin open on his arms, legs and face. But one of Karda’s wild swings caught Trajan off guard, it hit him square on the head.

  Trajan let go of his sword in the shock. Karda leaped upon Trajan, bringing him to the ground, he wrapped his enormous hands around Trajan’s throat equally wanting to suffocate and crush the windpipe. Trajan gagged and gaped for breath that wouldn’t come. He reached for his sword but couldn’t find it. No this can’t be, a thought flashed in his mind, it can’t end this way.

  The crowd was now transfixed, watching Karda try to kill his opponent. Killing in the games was forbidden, it would happen by accident but should never be sought after. The king watched the horror, secretly enjoying the savagery.

  He didn’t wish to lose a fighting man, but these games would be spoken of for years. Trajan, in his fading consciousness almost resigned to death, but his skin prickled where the shield was still strapped to his arm. With godly strength, he swung it into Karda’s head, cracking the shield and fracturing the man’s skull. Karda was propelled to the side holding his head in agony, Trajan rolling over onto all fours, trying to catch his breath.

  He found his sword in the sand and picked it up, then walked to Karda who was kneeling on both knees. Karda looked up at Trajan with a bloodshot eye.

  “How?” he asked.

  Trajan only gave him a smirk, before ramming his sword through Karda’s throat and exiting at the back of his neck. He fell in a heap on the ground. Trajan let out a breath, he had done it. The crowd erupted with gasps and shock as they absorbed what just happened, these quickly gave way to cheers and applause. Trajan! Trajan! Trajan!

  He looked around the arena, absorbing the energy of the crowd, puffing out his chest. Trajan raised his arms into the air, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, taking a bow. They loved it. The plate and sword were his. The king would go on to promote Trajan to the rank of commander.

  Today, was a good day, ever since he had decided to take control of his destiny, they seemed to be increasing in frequency. It only made Trajan hunger for more.

  ** Chapter 13 **

  The Discovery

  Volare stood over his mother’s and brother’s grave, looking down at the mound of dirt that now buried his family. It had taken him the entire day after the attack to dig their graves, his body now aching and his hands covered in blisters.

  There was a cemetery not too far from the village, but Volare didn’t have the strength to lift his mother, so he decided to bury them at the rear of their home. It was horrible, not being able to treat their bodies with the love and care he felt for them. But he was proud that he at least was able to bury their bodies so that their essence could be returned to the earth.

  He placed all the flowers he could carry onto the grave of his mother, Amet’s toys on his. No survivor had emerged from their homes or shops since the attack, it appeared that truly everyone was killed. Volare was being suffocated by silence and crushed by the loneliness, not even the voice he had heard atop the cliff returned to him. Even my delusions have left me, he thought.

  Although his body was here in this moment, breathing and living, his very soul had jumped off the cliff, sinking into the deep blue. Volare missed his father unbearably, but grateful that he was not here. Will he ever find out what happened here? With the sun setting, Volare moved back inside, he knew that there were still hundreds of bodies lining the streets and rotting inside buildings, but he couldn’t bear to leave his home. The sight of it all was simply too much.

  He looked out the window up towards the cliff. What happened up there? He had tried gripping the artefact hanging from his neck, feeling its warmth but no voice came, it was silent, just like the rest of his world now. Was I just losing my mind up there? Am I still losing it? Volare sighed, feeling lost, he scrounged for food within the cupboards and ate in silence. Only the steady sound of distant crashes of waves on the beach washed over his ears.

  The voice he had heard last night went on to instruct him to travel west, to Whitesand Beach and look for a large cave entrance. But the voice suddenly cut off in his head without establishing a connection again.

  Volare was still uncertain if he was delusional from his state of shock or if he had indeed heard the voice of another, speaking to him through the power of the artefact. Why didn’t he tell me more? Volare thought, feeling frustrated with the voice.

  As he ate his cured meat and veamber, he contemplated what he would do next. He held the artefact in his hand, looking down upon it as it hung from his neck. I need to see this through, it can’t be a coincidence. But would a crazy person also think that? Volare shook his head, determined to believe he wasn’t losing his mind. Tomorrow I will
head west, I will go to Whitesand Beach.

  The next day, Volare gathered his possessions, this time packing two rucksacks with the essentials of extended travel.

  He wanted to carry small mementos to remind him of his family. He took a short sword from his father’s wardrobe, it had never been used according to his father and was kept only for an emergency. It played no part in protecting them in this disaster and Volare didn’t know how to use it either, but decided it would be safer to travel with it than without.

  At the very least it would remind him of his father’s strength and bravery, an attribute which Volare felt he was lacking. He also took a silver ring that belonged to his mother, it held a brilliant circular amethyst in its centre and seemed to glow within Volare’s hand, filling him with resolve.

  Cal had given Fidum this ring as a show of commitment for his marriage proposal, it was the dearest treasure she had. Volare also collected Amet’s stuffed action figure that he had always carried since his father was taken. So much is different, how can it change so fast Volare reflected. He also decided to move other personal belongings of his family into the basement for safekeeping, he couldn’t just leave them out, it felt wrong.

  He collected all the silver and gold coins he could find, stuffing it into hidden pockets within his rucksacks, making sure they wouldn’t clink as he moved.

  With a final look into his now empty home, Volare set out for the stables further up the village. He kept his head down, only watching himself place one foot in front of the other, not wanting to see the disarray of corpses around him. He reached the huge timber doors to the stable, housing tens of horses.

  He had feared that the horses too would have been slain, but as he approached, he heard the reassuring sounds of horses snickering to one another. It seemed that at least some of them had been spared.

  Volare stepped through the stable doors looking into the distance of what seemed countless stables for the horses, as far as he could see, none of them had been killed the night before. The horses weren’t touched, he thought, realising in the next moment that he hadn’t seen any dead animals. Volare backed out and looked around the corner of the building to see goats and sheep peacefully roaming their paddocks eating grass. Its only people that were killed Volare concluded.

  He walked back into the stables making his way up the aisle in the middle. The horses snorted and nickered as he walked by, wanting his attention. He would need to free the beasts, they would starve in here, but first, he had to select his own.

  He walked until one of them caught his eye, its eyes were deep black with long eyelashes, it was a rich walnut brown colour, its fur even and shiny with a long black mane and tail, legs strong, Volare looked to see if it was a boy and indeed it was.

  The horse neighed and nicked while giving a shake of its head, appreciating the attention Volare was giving it. Yes, you are the one, I’ll call you…“Brunneis…maybe Brun for short,” Volare stated out loud while looking into the eyes of his new horse. Brun neighed in approval.

  Volare unlatched the gate and stepped into the stable, making sure to move slowly. He approached Brun who took a step back, “easy now Brun, you’re alright, we’re about to go on an adventure you and I, you up for it?” Volare asked in the most calming voice he could muster.

  He reached out with his hand to pat Brun’s neck, this time he didn’t back away but even turned his head showing his neck to Volare. “Good boy, it’s me and you now, we gotta stick together,” Volare said.

  He felt his loneliness fading as he looked intently at his new horse, patting him gently. I won’t lose you, Brun, gods, please don’t take him away from me.

  Volare fitted a brown saddle blanket first, then placed the saddle on top cinching it into place. He was at this moment eternally grateful for his father teaching him how to care for a horse. He went on to secure his rucksacks to Brun’s flanks and gave him a couple of veamber treats to thank him for his patience.

  Volare stepped out of Brun’s stable and set about unlatching the gates for the rest of the horses.

  The horses at first didn’t step out, uncertain of what was happening, but the more adventurous led the way to freedom. I hope you’ll be alright out there he thought as he mounted Brun. The horse had a spring in his step, happy to be stepping out into the sun, he was young in body and heart cantering on the spot making Volare bounce. “You want to run boy?” Volare asked Brun. He gave a kick with his boot and a whip of the reins loosening the tension on them.

  Brun took off with a burst of energy that surprised Volare, he’s never had a horse run this fast, it felt wonderful and terrifying at the same time. The air thrashed past his face, stinging his eyes, his hair flowing wildly in the wind, it was a feeling of freedom Volare hadn’t felt for a long time. “To the west, we go boy!”

  **

  The hours passed slowly as the sun steadily danced its way across the sky. Volare rode Brun along the shore, staying close to the water to enjoy the cooling sea breeze. He was relieved to leave Vicus behind him, building distance between him and the devastation he left behind felt liberating. Even in the short time he rode Brun, he felt deeply connected to the beast.

  It felt good to talk to him, even if he couldn’t talk back, Brun would often give snickers in response instead. He was thankful that Brun was so receptive to going on this adventure with him, he had dispelled Volare’s feelings of loneliness. Volare made sure to give him plenty of pats as they rode along the picturesque shore. How can this world be so beautiful and so horrific at the same time Volare reflected.

  As the sun kissed the horizon, sending blazes of orange across the sky in its farewell for the day, Volare grew aware of not only his own fatigue but Brun’s as well. The horse’s pace had slowed and was not as conversational as when they left Vicus.

  Volare decided it was time to make camp and settle in for the night. He led his horse inland where the grass met the sand, it was far away enough from the water to avoid the changing of tides and close enough to the grass so Brun could feast.

  These unkempt grasslands were wild and thick with vegetation for Brun to eat. He would need his energy for they still had at least ten days of walking ahead of them, at least that’s what Volare had gathered from the map he took with him.

  He tied Brun with an extended rope to a branch weakly thrust into the ground, the beast could easily rip it out if it wanted, but Volare hoped that it was a clear enough signal to not wander off while he was feasting.

  Volare quenched his thirst from one of his water bottles, at once realising that Brun was probably feeling just as thirsty. He needs water, the grass won’t be enough. Volare pulled out his cooking pot and filled it with water. Brun drank it within seconds, he was indeed thirsty, and something Volare did not plan for. He filled the pot again and again with Brun drinking everything that Volare presented.

  All the water Volare had brought with them was now consumed well this was silly he thought realising he seriously lacked experience when it came to expeditions into the wild. He would need to source a waterhole. Volare pulled out his map while munching on dried meats and fruits, the map was luckily marked with freshwater locations, but he didn’t feel confident navigating his way to them without becoming hopelessly lost. Regardless, he had no choice, their survival depended on him finding water.

  With the sun setting, Volare went about constructing his small campfire and swag. His exhaustion overpowering his fear of attack, lulled him to sleep.

  **

  He was soaring, high above the clouds, atop of a dragon of legend, the wind blowing in his hair. He felt strong, immense power flowing through his blood, giving him command and authority over all below.

  He commanded his dragon to dive, increasing speed at alarming and exhilarating rates. He dove until he could see the battle ensuing below, they appeared as dark dots against the browns and greens of the land, insignificant from the heights in which he flew.

  He willed his dragon to roar, alerting the combata
nts below of his presence. Fire, he thought. The dragon complied, breathing out an immense column of enraged fire, the heat of which could be felt on the ground. He was fearsome, riding atop his dragon, none could withstand him.

  The ground rushed towards him, the dots growing in scale, the combatants scurrying for cover into the surrounding trees, trying to avoid the wrath of the dragon and his rider, but it was no use, there was no escape, and all would burn in his wake. FIRE! commanded the rider, flooding the earth below with an ocean of flames. Bodies were burned to a blackened and smouldering crisp. The dragon rider rose, encircling the battleground to unleash fury once again until all was still.

  **

  Volare woke up to the sounds of waves lapping on the beach, breathing heavily. What was that dream? It felt so real, he thought.

  He rubbed his eyes, willing himself to sit up. The sunrise spattering the ocean in front of him with radiant warmth was a sight for sore eyes. He left his tent still wondering about the dream he had overnight, his heart still beating faster than usual.

  Volare put it out of his mind while he packed up his campsite, making sure to not leave any traces behind. He pocketed his map, having studied it once again with fresh eyes and a sharp mind this morning. He then mounted Brun who was in high spirits ready for the days’ adventure.

  The next hour was spent weaving their way through tall grass and trees, trying to find their way to the freshwater hole. The map was well drawn, by a professional cartographer it appeared, where did father get this map? Volare wondered.

  His family never ventured far from the village, nor did they ever set off on roads leading to other locations.

  Within two hours, he could hear the welcome sound of water trickling, Brun’s ears flicking with excited anticipation to the sound. They pushed through the vegetation discovering not only fresh water but a stream leading flowing in the direction they needed to go, according to his compass. Finally, something going right, Volare thought.