Silent Requiem (Tales of Ashkar Book 3) Page 5

  Aside from that, the only use of the cloak, the gloves, and the shoes was that they protected him from the scorching heat of Hell. Tarla had repeated the warning of not to take them off in any circumstance so many times that he was almost tempted to just to see if she was messing with him again or not. Even under the cloak’s protection Quinn could feel the sweltering fires desperately vying to reach his vulnerable flesh, and so he did not entertain the thought of removing it much further.

  Tarla had also waited until the last minute to explain that time in Hell did not equal the same time in Ashkar. That is, a month in Hell meant only a day in Ashkar. For some reason that the witch would not—or could not—divulge, the realm of Hell had a slower passage of time when compared to Ashkar.

  Quinn closed his eyes, placed his thumb and index finger on the bridge of his nose, and willed away the trepidation. The unknown continued to tug at his mind, and he knew deep down that no matter how stoic his conviction, he would still be uncomfortable traversing the unfamiliar earth under his feet.

  He reached for the trinket and pulled it out. It had a cylindrical handle that connected to a spherical shape a little larger than the size of his fist. The spherical end was covered in deep grooves, and the top of it had a hole that was large enough to fit a finger. According to Tarla, all he had to do was wave it about in the air at the exact spot that he had arrived.

  Curious, Quinn did just that to test out its function. He waved it once, then twice, and then a third time. Nothing happened. “Hmm.” He inspected it again, turning his hand and looking for anything that he might have missed. Unable to find anything pertinent, Quinn raised the trinket and waved it again—

  “Will you stop that?!” hissed Tarla’s voice from above as a rift appeared and her annoyed face came into view.

  Quinn shrugged. “I wanted to make sure that it worked. What does it do exactly?”

  “It sends me a signal,” explained the witch hurriedly. “It’s like a tug on my mind, and doing it a bunch of times is bothersome. Now hurry up before someone or something finds you!”

  Before Quinn could say anything else, the rift closed and Tarla’s face vanished from sight.

  He looked around once more.

  Okay, where do I start?

  Quinn looked east, noting a nasty storm of… fire?

  Definitely not.

  His head moved south, but all that he found was an infinite expanse of charred land and flame. To the west was an erupting volcano that was as unwelcoming as the fiery storm. Finally, his gaze shifted to the north. Still nothing…

  At the very least, Quinn had yet to be swarmed by a host of demons. The potion appeared to be useful after all. As far as what direction to take, it would seem that there wasn’t much to do but pick one and go until he found something. Given that he did not want to meet an untimely end going either east or west, that left him with the other two to pick.

  Quinn rummaged through every pocket and crevice inside his cloak in search of a coin, but was left disappointed. He was hoping that chance would lead him the right way, but that wouldn’t be the case.

  “One, two, three, four…” Quinn began as he closed his eyes, pointing in one direction and alternating with the other every time he spoke a word. “…why is this such a chore…” back-and-forth his finger went “…I don’t have time to explore, just show me the… door!” His finger halted abruptly at the enunciation of ‘door’, and he opened his eyes to find his finger pointing north.

  North it is.

  Without ado, Quinn marched down the hill to the north. His eyes darted left-to-right, anticipating some sort of ambush to occur, but found himself looking at wide, empty expanse instead. It was almost comforting, but that in itself was a trap. He guessed that the second that he relaxed, he would find death taking advantage of the opportunity.

  The soft ground crumbled slightly at each step, and Quinn looked down to discover that his feet marked his presence with each footfall. If one were to follow him, then the tracks that he made would make it easier than hunting a maimed animal.

  Up ahead the trail dipped down slightly, and to the left was a collection of large boulders. Quinn hurried to it and laid down with his back against the cover. He faced where he came from, looking down at his tracks and attempting to come up with a way to prevent himself from leaving such an easy target on his back.

  The masking agent won’t matter if I tell everyone where to go to find me…

  “Um, hi there,” said a raspy voice from above Quinn.

  Senses flooding with panic, he lurched forward, scrambling into a sprint. He bolted a few dozen feet the way that he had come, then wheeled around with fists raised to face whatever it was that spoke to him. To his surprise, the demon hadn’t moved. It looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, and upon inspecting it further, Quinn relaxed.

  The demon was more pitiful than menacing, with a short, portly frame, large eyes and ears, and a thin tail. Its body appeared to be a shadowy, wispy essence, while its eyes were bright red. Threatening eyes, if they belonged to a demon of more dangerous form. But no, this one seemed harmless, if a demon could ever be so.

  “Who are you?” Quinn asked from afar.

  “I’m Gilbel,” responded the demon. He jumped down from the top of the boulder and inched closer, but Quinn took a few steps back to maintain the distance.

  “What do you want?” Quinn continued.

  The demon stopped his advances, noting Quinn’s body language. “Where are you from?”

  “Ashkar,” Quinn answered. “I won’t ask again. What do you want?”

  Even though the demon hardly seemed to be malicious, Quinn wasn’t going to let himself be deceived. And yet, why had the demon not attacked with the advantage. Why had he greeted Quinn?

  “Ashkar, huh?” said Gilbel. “So you’re human, after all.” The demon held up a hand, as if to assuage Quinn of any apprehension that he might hold. “Neither of us belong here. Maybe I can help you, and you can help me?”

  “How can you help me if you don’t know what I—wait, did you say that you don’t belong here?” asked Quinn with narrowed eyes.

  Gilbel gestured at the area around them. “You haven’t encountered any other demons yet, have you?”

  “No,” Quinn replied.

  “Precisely!” exclaimed the demon. “You see, I’m all the way out here to get away from the rest.”

  “All the way out where?” asked Quinn.

  Gilbel motioned for Quinn to come closer, but the human hesitated. A few moments passed with neither of them making a movement. “Do I look like I’m after you? Hell, I’m half your size.

  Quinn looked around nervously, then slowly moved until he bridged the distance by half. Satisfied that nothing happened to him so far, he moved again until he was just a few feet from the demon. Gilbel was indeed half his size, and Quinn almost felt sorry for the little guy. As far as demons went, he seemed so out of place.

  “We’re in what’s called The Scorched Outskirts,” answered the demon. He turned and pointed north. “That way is where you’ll find The Wailing Cacophony. A little further beyond that is where everybody hangs out.”

  “So, you want to get away from all the other demons?” Quinn asked.

  Gilbel nodded. “All I want is some peace and quiet.”

  “R-really?” stammered Quinn in disbelief. “Are you even capable of that?”

  “Judging us all the same?” snapped Gilbel as he gave Quinn a look. “You ever even seen a demon before?”

  “Actually, I have,” Quinn answered, his hands tightening into fists. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “And why is that?” Gilbel inquired.

  Quinn’s mind shifted to that night in Banton, where his only friends were taken away from him by a stranger who hadn’t even bothered to understand the circumstances. Anger coursed through his veins, but instead of losing himself he channeled it into purpose. “I befriended three demons on Ashkar, and a warlock banished th
em here. I’m here to take them back.”

  “A warlock, eh?” uttered the pudgy demon as he brought a hand to his chin pensively. “Sounds dicey, my friend. Real dicey. Real spicy, dicey. Like shoving a handful of lava in your mouth…” Gilbel turned to Quinn abruptly. “Never do that. Trust me, it’s not as appetizing as it sounds.”

  “I… wasn’t planning on it, actually,” Quinn returned with an incredulous look.

  “Good, good,” Gilbel said. “Now, how did you end up getting here?”

  Quinn narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the demon. “Why do you care to know?”

  Gilbel held up his hands. “Alright, we haven’t built that trust yet. I’m okay with that. So you’re looking for your friends?”

  “Zavalin, Xai’jet, and Garjuun are their names,” Quinn explained. “An aeuviai, a titanai, and a hellbeast.

  “Oh, wow,” nodded Gilbel, clearly impressed. “How did you manage to subdue them without them just killing you?”

  Quinn shrugged. “I had some help I suppose. Some special spells.”

  “So you’re a warlock yourself?” asked the demon.

  “No,” said Quinn.

  “Seasoned warrior?” Gilbel continued, inspecting Quinn from all angles in search of something.

  “I’m neither that,” Quinn lamented.

  “Then you’re in quite the predicament, uh…” the demon stopped and smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think I got your name.”

  “Quinn,” answered the human. “Quinn Hergs.”

  “Well then, Quinn,” began Gilbel, “Let us go find your friends!” The demon set off into a march to the north without another word, leaving Quinn in the dust.

  “Wait a second,” said Quinn as he hurried to follow along, though it wasn’t like Gilbel was particularly fast with his stubby legs and short stride. “What’s in it for you? I thought that you didn’t want to go where the other demons are.”

  Gilbel didn’t made any effort to stop, and continued to charge through the desecrated land. “I just want to make a friend, too.”

  Chapter 4

  217th Dawn of the 5010th Age of Lion

  “What a wonderful day it is today,” said Jace aloud as the wind whipped his garment. “Wouldn’t you say so, General?”

  The leader of the Order of the Faith, along with General Doley, Victor Von Doley, and the rest of the crew of his flagship, the Pureblade, stood poised and ready. The ship was the largest of the fleet, filled to the brim with the soldiers of Faith who would soon usher in the prosperous age that humanity had deserved for so long—an age decreed by God.

  “Yes, of course, Liberty,” said the general promptly.

  Both were standing on the bow of the ship, overlooking the vast oceans around them. The first rays of the sun were just pouring over Ashkar, a herald to the light that Jace was about to bathe the world in. The winds were powerful as the vessel speedily roared through the crashing waves.

  Behind the Pureblade followed the rest of the fleet—hundreds and hundreds of ships that likewise zipped through the oceans. It had been a several month trek from Lenas all the way to Arcadia, mobilizing an entire army first through the harsh deserts in Onturi and then across the oceans to realize his dream.

  God’s dream.

  “What is your business, soldier?” barked the general to an unknown person behind, though Liberty made no motion to see who it was.

  No, his sight was fixed on what lay ahead, and he would not be deterred from that. Nothing would stand in his way. And under his gaze the Faith would flourish, and the Child of Light would be the one to enact God’s will. To think that Arcadia would go to war against them, committing such a travesty and affront to the Faith…

  “Liberty,” said the general, calling for Jace’s attention.

  “Yes, General?” asked Jace.

  “This young soldier seeks your counsel,” General Doley said. “I know that you would not like to be disturbed, but—”

  Jace extended his arm to the side, silencing the general. “Please, let him speak his peace.”

  “As you will,” conceded the general. Soon after, a figure appeared in Jace’s periphery.

  “Liberty, your grace,” said the soldier as he kneeled respectfully.

  “Rise, Knight of the Faith,” Jace commanded, his eyes still gazing ahead and unwavering.

  “I am honored in your presence,” continued the soldier. “Something has been troubling me, Liberty.”

  “Well now, we can’t be distracted,” Jace said. “Not before the momentous road ahead. Please, tell me what ails you.”

  “I… I—please, forgive me your grace,” the young man stammered.

  Jace shook his head. “Do not be afraid, and do not worry about my forgiveness. Ask forgiveness from God.”

  “Y-yes, Liberty,” the soldier continued. A long pause ensued, though Jace waited patiently for the young man to summon his courage. “I don’t turn on God’s will, but… but I don’t understand why he wants us to wage war and kill over the Child of Light. Has he spoken to you? Will you pass on to us God’s word? I’m not the only one who is confused. Many of the others on the ship feel the same.”

  Jace tucked a hand inside his majestic robe, wrapping his fingers tightly around the Orb of Spirit. He concentrated deeply on the object and felt an energy channeling through him. Jace then focused the energy at the young man beside him. “Do not fret, Knight of the Faith. God has spoken to me indeed, and he has shown me that without sacrifice Ashkar will be plunged into darkness. A few may fall, but the many will rise to days of gold.”

  “My apologies for doubting, your grace,” replied the young man, and he kneeled once more. “May God pave the way for the age of light.”

  Immediately, the figure vanished from Jace’s periphery, and he slowly withdrew his grasp of the orb. By now, his eyes were greeted by the faintest silhouette of a landmass. They would be upon Arcadia soon.

  Soon, Jace would show all of Ashkar that the Faith was their salvation.

  _ _ _

  Master Ranger Guy Srdiv focused his attention to the horizon beyond the rolling waves. It was the crack of dawn, and if their information was correct, then the first of Liberty’s fleet would soon be upon the beaches of northern Arcadia.

  Port Banton had been closed down and evacuated, of course. Along the coast was set up fortified defenses for miles, though Guy and the bulk of their forces had chosen the part that Liberty was most likely to make landfall in. Hopefully Graeme’s mystery man, along with the strategical insight from Guy, Cad, and Laralen combined, would make them seem like seer’s who saw the future. If not, then the coast would already be lost.

  The fortifications had been placed well over a week ago, just in case their information was incorrect. Mortars and trebuchet were placed along the coast along with barricades entrenched in the sand and further upland. Most of the forces here were either rangers directly under his command or elementalists specializing in long-distance attacks. A few were non-elementalists, ranging from foot soldiers or those who manned the siege weapons. Guy, Graeme, and Wu had all arrived just a couple of nights ago, while Laralen and Cad prepared the defenses at Fort Bellford. It was to be a two-pronged stand: the initial one at the beaches, and the second and final one in the Bellford Plains.

  Guy hoped that their first defense could deal a significant enough blow to Liberty’s forces to even out the numbers, increase their chances of emerging victorious, and of course reduce their own casualties by as much as possible.

  Even so, Guy still could not wrap his head around what was about to happen. He trusted Graeme with his life. That was certainly not in question. But, to think that the Order of the Faith would commit such an act…

  Ashkar was a world of many cultures of beliefs, and Arcadia tried its best to accommodate any and all of them. Southern Arcadia, of which Guy hailed from, was a region that mostly believed in the Eversong. While some of the lesser kingdoms in southern Arcadia had attempted to twist the faith as a means to monarch
y, it was not so.

  The Eversong’s scripture, if one could even call it that, was passed down from generation to generation through the use of songs. It wasn’t so much as scripture as it was the values that the faith upheld, but there was a god and there was the birth of Ashkar of that god’s will. That god was named Everrel, which was the earth itself. Everrel was not the Faith’s God. The songs tell of Everrel residing deep in Ashkar’s core, the lifeblood of the planet, and the lifeblood of all the things living on it. It wasn’t just humans, but the other races, animals, and even plants. Anything that grew, basically.

  Guy had grown up surrounded by such songs. Songs of heroism and valor. Songs of honor, of compassion, of love. The Eversong was a way to bring everyone together, and from that togetherness followed the virtues. Treating another as one wanted to be treated. Respect and reciprocation. That sort of stuff.

  And when the cycle of life ended, the soul left the body to Ashkar’s core to be with Everrel in eternal peace. The vessel that was left behind would be buried in the earth, to nourish the land and let life continue to grow. Likewise, Cad—who originally hailed from the Tokkan Peaks—belonged to a group of people who dwelled in the often snow-blanketed mountains. They also had their own set of beliefs, though Guy hadn’t desired to pester the Avanos on the intricacies. It was the same for Laralen, whose faith mirrored that of the Veri as a whole, despite being so far away from Garen. Guy had asked the veri why he had left his home in the first place, though was never able to receive a proper answer.

  Guy did not know much about the Faith, but he couldn’t imagine that it would call for such arbitrary bloodshed. This ‘God’ of theirs, whether it was just another name for Everrel or that the Order of the Faith believed in something else, would not condone such an act of deliberate war. At least, that’s what Guy continued to tell himself. Even Samantha, one of their own who had been living in Arcadia for some time, seemed conflicted as well. Something was amiss, but there was no more time for diplomacy or understanding.