The Reborn King (Book Six) Page 8

“I am unhurt,” Felsafell reassured them before either could ask. He struggled back to his feet.

  “What was that?” asked Gewey.

  Felsafell let out a dissatisfied snort. “It would seem that only you can enter,” he grumbled.

  “He should not go on alone,” Nehrutu protested. “Whatever drove the Vrykol mad might still be in there.”

  “Almost certainly,” the first born agreed. “But I can think of no way for us to help. And he must go on.” He looked at Gewey. “If you find yourself with no other choice, use the flow to protect yourself.”

  Gewey smiled and chuckled. “So I take it you’re not suggesting that I take a safer path and not go on?” Before Felsafell could respond, he turned the knob and opened the door.

  He was half expecting the world to vanish and to find himself in some strange place. But that was not to be this time; the door simply swung open to reveal a long stone passage. Though there were no torches, the way ahead was lit by a pale light that emanated from the rock. A rush of warm air washed over him.

  He glanced back and nodded reassuringly. “I won’t be a moment.”

  As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him, instantly setting his nerves on edge. A few yards ahead the light vanished. He longed to fill himself with the flow, but managed to resist the temptation.

  “Not yet,” he muttered.

  He could still feel the presence. But now it was beginning to take form and was becoming aware of him. It was almost as if it were waking from a deep slumber.

  He walked with quiet steps until reaching the darkness. Even without the flow, his naturally keen eyesight enabled him to see several yards further ahead. The passage curved to the right, then gently sloped upward.

  The presence was growing more tangible, but it felt neither good nor evil…at least not yet.

  “Hello,” he called out, then immediately regretted it as a gust of hot air blew down the hallway as if in response to his cry.

  A sudden anxiety struck Gewey, causing him to glance over his shoulder. The door was still there. But the wind continued to howl, and soon his anxiety was turning into inexplicable panic. He paused, considering whether or not to return to the cavern.

  “Do not turn back, son of Gerath,” came a soft voice. “What you seek is now close. Don’t go. Not yet.”

  “Who are you?” he shouted. But there was no reply.

  His panic was now bordering on fear. What the hell is wrong with me, he scolded himself? I’ve faced worse than this. Why am I so afraid?

  With one hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword, he pressed on through the gloom. After a few hundred yards the wind calmed and he arrived at a plain wooden door.

  “Come in,” said the same voice. “Take your ease. There is nothing to trouble you here.”

  Gewey reached for the knob, but just before he touched it the door swung wide open of its own accord. He took a step forward and peered inside. Beyond the threshold was a room roughly the size of a tavern common area. A small, square-shaped table sat in the center atop a modest brown rug. In the corners, brass lanterns hung from iron hooks, and set against the wall to his right was a simple yet comfortable looking couch.

  On the table, a cup and bottle had been placed beside a wooden bowl filled with peaches and pears. Gewey looked for the source of the voice, but could see no one.

  “Where are you?” he asked unsteadily, still fighting off his inexplicable fear.

  “I am here,” the voice replied. “Can you not see me?”

  “No.”

  A hollow laugh drifted on the stale, dusty air. “Then you are not looking with your father’s eyes. Draw from the power and I shall appear.”

  “I cannot,” he replied.

  “Why is that? Do you fear an enemy perhaps?” There was a long pause. “Tell me. What is it you fear?”

  “Nothing,” said Gewey. “I fear nothing.”

  “Then why deny yourself the pleasure? Surely you want to feel the flow coursing through you. Is this not so?”

  “That isn’t your concern,” he snapped, attempting to replace his fear with anger. “Now tell me who you are.”

  This is what must have affected the Vrykol, he warned himself.

  “I can hear your thoughts,” the voice told him. “I am Tyrin. And yes, I am indeed the one who altered the foul creatures that tried to pollute this clean place. Though I admit, it was a considerable challenge. So dark and evil were they, it took some time to find my way to their inner terror.”

  “What are you?” asked Gewey. “A spirit?”

  “Yes,” Tyrin replied. “But a spirit cast aside.” Malevolence bled into his voice, causing the lantern lights to pulse and flicker. “A spirit betrayed. A spirit entombed by my brothers and sisters.”

  “You mean the first born betrayed you?” Gewey blurted out, before he could stop himself.

  “You know of us?”

  Gewey felt as if something was probing his mind. He tried hard to resist, but was quickly overcome.

  “Felsafell,” Tyrin hissed. “You have brought my kin with you. The caretaker of the spirits has at last come within my grasp.”

  Gewey could now see a slight glow hovering above one of the chairs at the table. His desire to protect himself with the flow was growing stronger with each passing second.

  “Felsafell means you no harm,” he told Tyrin.

  The pulsing of the lanterns slowed. “Of course he doesn’t. He only watches in safety as he sends you into peril.”

  “Am I in peril?” Gewey asked nervously.

  There was another brief silence. “No. Your father made me promise. But then, he is not here…is he? And your fear is so very unique. Succulent and nourishing. The fear of the Vrykol was dry and dull. Yours however….yes yours....I must have it. And then I will have that of your companions as well.”

  Gewey could feel the spirit’s menace surrounding him – suffocating him. It was too much. His will failed and he rapidly drew in the flow. In that moment, everything changed. The room faded away, and before him now were the smoldering ruins of Valshara.

  “Yes, son of Gerath,” whispered the voice. “Show me. Show me the dark places you fear to share…even with her.”

  Tyrin was using the flow to probe ever more deeply into his mind. Once again Gewey tried to resist. But he was unable to. Even releasing the flow was now becoming impossible.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt swollen and his throat numb. He took a step toward the broken temple gates. The burned timbers and twisted metal foreshadowed what he would find inside. The stench of mold and decay saturated the air. But this was not recent. Years had passed since this happened.

  Gradually, Gewey felt his courage returning. “Do you think to break me?” he scoffed. “I have seen these visions before.”

  “Have you?” asked Tyrin mockingly. “Have you really?”

  “Yes,” Gewey shot back. “I have seen what could be, and what has been. You waste your time if you think these illusions will do anything but anger me.”

  The flow swelled within him once again. But as his own power extended, so did the spirit's hold on his mind. More and more of his past was being revealed.

  “Your anger means nothing here,” it countered. “Your anger is not what drives the things you are witnessing. You believe that I show you the destruction produced by war?” Tyrin laughed disdainfully. “But you are wrong. It was not your enemy who did this.”

  Something compelled Gewey to walk on through the gates. The horrific visions he found upon entering made him gasp. Hundreds of pikes were buried in the ground about the courtyard, the skeletal remains of either a human or an elf grotesquely impaled upon each one. As for the main temple, it had been reduced to rubble, with countless numbers of crushed bones and skulls scattered amongst the wreckage. Whatever had created this destruction, it had sadistically chosen to bury all those inside the temple alive.

  “There is only one power capable of such
devastation,” said Tyrin. “And I think you know what that is.”

  Recognition washed over Gewey like a vile torrent, bringing both revulsion and fear in its wake. Tyrin moaned with pleasure, feeding off his torment.

  “I did this?” Gewey whispered. He could feel the spirit's satisfaction. He shook his head violently. “No! I will not be deceived.”

  “Interesting,” the spirit remarked.

  Gewey took a long breath. “You will not make me lose my senses. None of this is real…and I know it.”

  “But it is real,” Tyrin corrected. “This is what you fear most. And rightly so. You are only seeing what is destined to be. You will lay waste to both heaven and earth. In your wrath you will slaughter all that breathes free air. You will cast down your enemy. And with your victory will come death.”

  Valshara faded, and Gewey could now see a lone figure kneeling in front of two graves, sobbing uncontrollably.

  He knew at once who it was. While nervously approaching, he could still feel Tyrin tugging at his mind, trying to make him forget who he was.

  “Your friends could not protect them,” the spirit whispered in his ear. “They let them die. So in your rage, you decided that all others must follow. Not even Melek could match your lust for murder. You killed them all. Friends, foes, women, children, gods, beasts…everyone.”

  A tear fell down Gewey's cheek while reading the names of Kaylia and Jayden carved into the twin headstones. He fell to his knees.

  “You could not bear their loss,” the spirit continued, increasing its efforts to trap Gewey’s mind. “And in your madness you betrayed their memory with more death.”

  Gewey traced their names with his finger. He could see it so clearly. The memory of annihilating everyone – hunting them down like vermin. And when they were all dead, he had come here to beg for forgiveness. But there was no one left to hear his pleas. Everyone was gone.

  “Yes.” Tyrin’s voice was hard and grating. “You know it to be true. This is what happened. And all because you could not protect them.”

  Gewey squeezed his eyes tightly shut and let out a bestial growl. Then, in a single fluid motion, he rose to his feet.

  “What you have shown me is indeed my greatest fear, spirit.” His tone was suddenly dark and ominous. “And were I the same frightened child that left Sharpstone, I would certainly be lost by now.”

  He spun around to see Tyrin standing before him. The spirit was almost as tall as Felsafell and bore the same physical characteristics, though his face was more rounded and his eyes were set wider apart. Golden hair fell down his back over silver robes that glistened and sparkled with spiritual light.

  The moment their eyes met, Tyrin took a pace back. “What is this?” he gasped, his face suddenly stricken. “Impossible! Heaven is closed to you. You cannot draw from its true strength.”

  Full of renewed confidence, Gewey laughed out loud. “I do not need the power of heaven to resist the likes of you. I am Darshan – born from the union of the Creator and Gerath. Did you think your feeble tricks could overcome me? I have stared into my own heart. I have seen the darkness that dwells within my spirit.” He stepped forward, his form seeming to expand with his every word. “I know my fears well…and I have conquered them all.”

  Tyrin turned to flee, but Gewey unleashed the flow of the spirit and easily held him fast. Now it was Tyrin who would be laid open and have his life exposed.

  “You were banished by your own kin,” Gewey observed. “Your contempt for the living had become intolerable, even for them. You ventured beyond the Spirit Hills with the intent of tormenting all those you encountered, but other first born pursued you. They trapped you here. To be imprisoned, alone for all time.”

  Tyrin's struggled to free himself, though his efforts were futile. “Your father promised,” he protested. “He said that he would release me.”

  Gewey tried not to feel amused by the fact that this creature who had brought so much fear and death to others, was now the one in terror.

  “My father promised to end your suffering,” he said. “I can see through you – through your feeble lies and petty deceptions. You were to guard this place until I arrived. And you were also to give me a message.”

  Tyrin ceased struggling and lowered his head, utterly defeated. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. I know.” His once strong voice was now a mere whimper.

  “Tell me!” Gewey commanded.

  “Dust. You will find nothing but dust here. Yet you must press on. That is what he told me to say…nothing more.”

  Gewey cast an eye over the area. The room had now returned, and on the far side stood two pedestals that he had not previously noticed. Without releasing his hold on Tyrin, he approached these. They were made from the purest gold and adorned with rubies, diamonds, and various other precious gems. Both were crowned with a delicate hand, palm held skyward. But where he'd expected to see the stones, there was only dust – just as the message had said.

  “What is this?” Gewey demanded, rubbing the dust between his fingers.

  “Your father,” Tyrin replied. “He came here and destroyed the stones long ago.”

  Gewey scooped up more of the debris. Why would Gerath do such a thing? Surely he must have known that the stones would be needed. With a flick of the hand, he cast the dust aside.

  “I have done as you asked,” said Tyrin. “Will you now fulfill the promise your father made and free me?”

  “I will do exactly what Gerath intended to be done,” Gewey told him.

  He reached deep within Tyrin’s spiritual mind. Dark and sinister thoughts coursed through the spirit as naturally as blood through veins. Gewey strengthened his connection to the flow and focused, methodically stripping away the darkness until every single one of the spirit's memories had been eradicated. By the time he was finished, all that remained was an empty shell of a mind, devoid of both recollection and ill-intent.

  Only then did he release his hold.

  “Where am I?” asked Tyrin timidly. “What is this place?”

  “You are safe,” Gewey reassured him. “But you must remain here until I come back for you.”

  Tyrin’s form was no longer cohesive. It drifted randomly for a moment or two until settling into a ball of ghostly light that reminded Gewey of his own form in heaven before Gerath had given him true life.

  “Who are you?” it asked.

  Gewey felt a deep sense of pity for the spirit. He had not been able to bring himself to destroy it, yet at the same time, he could not allow it to escape this place. And with the seal now broken completely, it most certainly would have.

  “I am Darshan. And there is no reason to be afraid. Do as I say and remain here until I return.”

  “How long must I wait?” The voice had changed to an almost childlike whine.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “But I promise to come back when I can.”

  Turning quickly away, Gewey strode back to the entrance. As he closed the door behind him, he thought he could hear the spirit weeping.

  Nehrutu and Felsafell they were talking quietly some distance away from the fallen Vrykol.

  “Do you have the stones?” Felsafell asked anxiously.

  Gewey shook his head. “They have been destroyed…by Gerath.”

  Felsafell cocked his head and furled his brow. “Gerath? Why would he do this?”

  Gewey shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  He went on to recount his experience with Tyrin, and told them of his father’s message.

  “So this is where they disposed of him,” remarked Felsafell. “I had often wondered after Tyrin, but never dared ask my kin.” He shook his head slowly. “I suppose I was afraid to learn his fate.”

  “He can no longer harm anyone,” said Gewey. “I stripped him of his memories.”

  Felsafell looked horrified for a moment, then his features relaxed and he nodded with sorrowful acceptance. “It had to be done, I suppose. Though I wish it were not so.”
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  “But what are we to do now?” Nehrutu asked. “If the stones are gone....”

  “We do as Gerath instructed,” Gewey cut in, his voice filled with resolve. “What else can we do?”

  After a long moment of silence, Felsafell took a deep breath. “Then let us leave this vile place. We have a long way to go from here.”

  They followed the first born from the fortress at a pace no human could match and continued down the ancient road east.

  Dust, thought Gewey. Nothing but dust. What if the rest of the stones had suffered the same fate? What if Gerath had destroyed them all? How could he ever hope to defeat the Reborn King without them?

  Pushing these negative thoughts away, he allowed the road ahead to numb his mind.

  With or without the stone's power, the end was coming soon.

  Chapter Eight

  For six days the Vrykol led Kaylia east through the forest, carefully avoiding any roads or frequently used trails. It was clear that they did not wish their presence to be known. Though they had not bound her hands, the half-men were ever at her side, ready to catch her should she make any attempt to escape. But in her present situation, cut off from the flow and with no weapon to aid her, there was little chance of that happening.

  Her thoughts wandered to Jayden and Gewey during their short respites. She did her best not to focus on all the terrible things that could have happened…or could be happening. If an opportunity to get away did arise, her head must be clear of distractions.

  As evening fell on the sixth day she spotted the flickering light of a campfire through the trees some way ahead. Moments later she could hear the crackle and pop of sap filled twigs burning. She also caught the scent of roasting meat, making her mouth instantly water. She had not eaten since they'd departed, and had been sparing with the water skin she had brought with her.

  She assumed that the Vrykol would change direction to avoid the camp, as they had done on several other occasions. This time, however, they headed straight at it.

  A short while later they came to a small clearing. Ten more Vrykol were standing at irregular distances from the fire, over which a rabbit was roasting on a spit. Crouching down low and staring into the flames was what at first appeared to be a young human female. She was clad in a plain yet clean blue blouse and black, loose fitting trousers. Her straight, dark brown hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail, revealing smooth olive skin. To Kaylia’s eyes she looked to be little more than an adolescent, though she had always found it difficult to gauge the age of humans with any degree of accuracy. It was only when the girl looked up that she realized this was not a human at all. She was a Vrykol.