The Gift of Battle

Volusia heard a rustling behind her and out of the corner of her eye, she detected motion. She saw Brin rise from bed, casting off his sheets and beginning to dress. She saw him slinking around, careful to be quiet, and she realized he meant to slip out from the room before she saw him – so that he would never have to look upon her face again. It added insult to injury.

“Oh, Commander,” she called out casually.

She saw him freeze in his tracks in fear; he turned and looked over at her reluctantly, and as he did, she smiled back, torturing him with the grotesqueness of her melted lips.

“Come here, Commander,” she said. “Before you leave, there is something I want to show you.”

He slowly turned and walked, crossing the room until he reached her side, and he stood there, looking out, looking anywhere but at her face.

“Have you not one sweet parting kiss for your Goddess?” she asked.

She could see him flinch ever so slightly, and she felt fresh anger burning within her.

“Never mind,” she added, her expression darkening. “But there is, at least, something I want to show you. Have a look. Do you see out there, on the horizon? Look closely. Tell me what you see down there.”

He stepped forward and she laid a hand on his shoulder. He leaned forward and examined the skyline, and as he did, she watched his brow furrow in confusion.

“I see nothing, Goddess. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Volusia smiled wide, feeling the old sense of vindictiveness rise up within her, feeling the old need for violence, for cruelty.

“Look more closely, Commander,” she said.

He leaned forward, just a bit more, and in one quick motion, Volusia grabbed his shirt from behind, and with all her might, threw him face first out the window.

Brin shrieked as he flailed and flew through the air, dropping down all the way, a hundred feet, until finally he landed face first, instantly dead, on the streets below. The thud reverberated in the otherwise quiet streets.

Volusia smiled wide, examining his body, finally feeling a sense of vengeance.

“It is yourself you see,” she replied. “Who is the less grotesque of us now?”

Chapter Twelve

Gwendolyn walked through the dim corridors of the tower of the Light Seekers, Krohn at her side, walking slowly up the circular ramp along the sides of the building. The path was lined with torches and cult worshipers, standing silently at attention, hands hidden in their robes, and Gwen’s curiosity deepened as she continued to ascend one level after another. The King’s son, Kristof, had led her halfway up after their meeting, then had turned and descended, instructing her that she would have to complete the journey alone to see Eldof, that she alone could face him. The way they all spoke about him, it was as if he were a god.

Soft chanting filled the air heavy with incense, as Gwen walked up the very gradual ramp, and wondered: What secret was Eldof guarding? Would he give her the knowledge she needed to save the King and save the Ridge? Would she ever be able to retrieve the King’s family from this place?

As Gwen turned a corner, the tower suddenly opened up, and she gasped at the sight. She entered a soaring chamber with a hundred-foot ceiling, its walls lined with floor to ceiling stained glass windows. A muted light flooded through, filled with scarlets, purples, and pinks, lending the chamber an ethereal quality. And what made it all most surreal of all was to see one man sitting alone in this vast place, in the center of the room, the shafts of light coming down on him as if to illuminate him and him alone.

Eldof.

Gwen’s heart pounded as she saw him sitting there at the far end of the chamber, like a god who had dropped down from the sky. He sat there, hands folded in his shining golden cloak, his head stark bald, on a huge and magnificent throne carved of ivory, torches on either side of it and on the ramp leading to it, obliquely lighting the room. This chamber, that throne, the ramp leading to it – it was more awe-inspiring than approaching a King. She realized at once why the King felt threatened by his presence, his cult, this tower. It was all designed to inspire awe and subservience.

He did not beckon her, or even acknowledge her presence, and Gwen, not knowing what else to do, began to ascend the long, golden walkway leading to his throne. As she went she saw he wasn’t alone in here after all, for obscured in the shadows were rows of worshipers all lined up, eyes closed, hands tucked in their cloaks, lining the ramp. She wondered how many thousands of followers he had.

She finally stopped a few feet before his throne and looked up.

He looked back down with eyes that seemed ancient, ice-blue, glowing, and while he smiled down at her, his eyes held no warmth. They were hypnotizing. It reminded her of being in Argon’s presence.

She did not know what to say as he stared down; it felt as if he were staring into her soul. She stood there in the silence, waiting until he was ready, and beside her, she could feel Krohn stiffening, equally on edge.

“Gwendolyn of the Western Kingdom of the Ring, daughter of King MacGil, last hope for the savior of her people – and ours,” he pronounced slowly, as if reading from some ancient script, his voice deeper than any she’d ever heard, sounding as if it had resonated from the stone itself. His eyes bore into hers, and his voice was hypnotic. As she stared into them, it made her lose all sense of space and time and place, and already, Gwen could feel herself getting sucked in by his cult of personality. She felt entranced, as if she could look nowhere else, even if she tried. She immediately felt as if he were the center of her world, and she understood at once how all of these people had come to worship and follow him.

Gwen stared back, momentarily at a loss for words, something that had rarely happened to her. She had never felt so star-struck – she, who had been before many Kings and Queens; she, who was Queen herself; she, the daughter of a King. This man had a quality to him, something she could not quite describe; for a moment, she even forgot why she had come here.

Finally, she cleared her mind long enough to be able to speak.

“I have come,” she began, “because – ”

He laughed, interrupting her, a short, deep sound.

“I know why you have come,” he said. “I knew before you even did. I knew of your arrival in this place – indeed, I knew even before you crossed the Great Waste. I knew of your departure from the Ring, your travel to the Upper Isles, and of your travels across the sea. I know of your husband, Thorgrin, and of your son, Guwayne. I have watched you with great interest, Gwendolyn. For centuries, I have watched you.”

Gwen felt a chill at his words, at the familiarity of this person she didn’t know. She felt a tingling in her arms, up her spine, wondering how he knew all this. She felt that once she was in his orbit, she could not escape if she tried.

“How do you know all this?” she asked.

He smiled.

“I am Eldof. I am both the beginning and the end of knowledge.”

He stood, and she was shocked to see he was twice as tall as any man she’d met. He took a step closer, down the ramp, and with his eyes so mesmerizing, Gwen felt as if she could not move in his presence. It was so hard to concentrate before him, to think an independent thought for herself.

Gwen forced herself to clear her mind, to focus on the business at hand.

“Your King needs you,” she said. “The Ridge needs you.”

He laughed.

“My King?” he echoed with disdain.

Gwen forced herself to press on.

“He believes you know how to save the Ridge. He believes you are holding a secret from him, one that could save this place and all of these people.”

“I am,” he replied flatly.

Gwen was taken aback at his immediate, frank reply, and hardly knew what to say. She had expected him to deny it.

“You are?” she asked, flabbergasted.

He smiled but said nothing.

“But why?” she asked. “Why won’t you share this secret?”

“And why should I do that?” he asked.

“Why?” she asked, stumped. “Of course, to save this kingdom, to save his people.”