Evolution: War of the Seraphs, #2

By Dan Bilodeau

The battle is won, but the war is far from over. Dalziel has led his people to a bloody and costly victory by discovering the hidden power of the Seraphs—ancient, winged warriors who wield great and devastating magic. Hundreds now flock to join in the cause against the evil Andal Empire as the flames of rebellion engulf the land.

Dal and his companions find themselves once again fighting for Ibernia's survival against ever-increasing odds. Amid the chaos, he and Deidre must constrain their growing affection for each other as the bloodshed threatens to consume them both. There is hope, though, when Dal’s band awakens an ancient power that could tip the scales of the conflict in the Ibernians’ favor.

The enemy, however, has plans of their own. The Emperor has dispatched his best commander—a man known as the Engineer—to deal with this insurrection once and for all. A mysterious figure, the Andal general arrives in Ibernia with one clear directive; seek out and destroy the young Seraph.

With the conflict escalating, Dal and the Engineer soon find their paths colliding in an inevitable showdown as the fate of two nations and the future of the world hang in the balance.

Evolution is an epic YA/Fantasy novel and the second book in the War of the Seraphs series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Bilodeau
• Release date: Feb 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386519225

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By Dan Bilodeau

Copyright © 2016 Dan Bilodeau

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Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

For Lisa and Paul Bilodeau,

who bought me book after book

and taught me the value of imagination

ONE

Tossed around violently by the massive tremor, Dal was helpless as the earth groaned and shifted beneath him. He heard men screaming and horses whinnying over the din of the earth’s rumbling, and as soon as he could he hugged the ground, making himself as flat as possible.

After what seemed like forever, the shaking and the noise stopped and Dal slowly got to feet. The earthquakes were happening more frequently, and this was by far the most severe of any he had experienced. He hoped that his actions hadn’t somehow caused these upheavals; that he wasn’t upsetting some unknown balance of nature. This, however, was a consideration for another time.

The ground was torn and cracked in many places, and hundreds of bodies were strewn about the landscape. Some members of his ragtag army of Ibernian farmers who had fought by his side against the Andals were standing or struggling to do so. But, to his dismay, most were not moving. Dal jumped as he felt a hand come down on his shoulder. Hadrian, his Druid mentor, was now at his side.

I’ve been in a few earthquakes, but nothing like that, Dal said to Hadrian. Do you know what’s going on?

It’s as I feared, Hadrian said. There are many problems left to address. The earth is groaning and crying out. It’s telling us something. It wants us know that the Andals will not let this defeat stand—and that we must prepare for them to attack us again.

I told Deidre the same thing, Dal said, saddened that his comment would prove prophetic so quickly.

Dal struggled to his feet, but Deidre, Pad, and Curran, his closest friends, were nowhere to be seen.  He called out for them many times but did not receive an answer. A frantic search produced nothing.

Dal prayed to Dio—God to all Ibernians: Please, You saw me this far. Let them be unharmed.

Dal and Hadrian searched for several hours longer, then something caught Dal’s eye. A broken bow, by itself, on the ground. It was Deidre’s.

Dal fell to his knees and let out a cry of anguish. He gently picked up the two pieces of the bow, staring at them while his eyes misted up. The woman he loved was missing, possibly dead.

He stood, determined to find her. He barked orders to some nearby soldiers who were milling about and moving bodies. Everyone knew that he was the Seraph, so they hastened to form a search party for Deidre. The men split into groups and scoured the field. After a while, Dal felt dizzy. It was obviously the result of exerting himself for so long during the battle, but he didn’t care. He pressed on until Hadrian firmly insisted that he rest.

Later, Hade, Dal said. I have to find her.

You can barely stand. You’ll fall over dead if you don’t stop and save your energy. You’re exhausted and you’ll just hinder the search in your condition. Wait here and rest until she’s located. And we will find her. Trust me.  I’ll have someone send word the moment she’s found.

Every instinct urged Dal to go on, but his body told him that Hadrian was right. So, with great reluctance, he nodded his head and agreed to rest. He laid down and closed his eyes, and sleep took him immediately. But it was not restful. Images of his love, Deidre, his brother, Soren, and the Andal commander, Wulf, stayed in his head.

After some time, Dal awoke and got to his feet. He was groggy and at first had no idea what he was doing in this field. He couldn’t help but notice the torches of the survivors, the fires surrounding the battlefield and how they greedily gobbled up the night as if tasting darkness for the first time. Later, in the dying embers of the night fires, he surveyed the carnage. Dal shivered as he looked on, and soon it all came back to him.

He remembered using his magic to point of exhaustion. He remembered flying to-and-fro to attack different groups of Andals and then darting away. He remembered being antagonized by Wulf, the Andal’s chief warmonger and field leader. Dal remembered being goaded by Wulf into anger and combat. And Dal remembered killing him. War was certainly not the province of Dio. It was the province of man, with all his imperfection, hatred, and passion. He held out his Seraph stone. It glittered in the night, flashing a blood-red tone as if full of fury. I did this, a voice whispered in the recesses of his mind. I am responsible for all this devastation.

It was a grim thought, but Dal was done hiding from the truth. Hiding from what he needed to become. Hiding from his destiny. In his bones, he knew that he had to be...more. To be the face of this rebellion, this insurrection. Without him, the Ibernian rebels would fall and his nation would once again be plunged into darkness. The darkness that now cascaded over the landscape of this Dio-forsaken field. Dal idly rolled the Seraph stone around in his right hand. The Andals would surely hear about this defeat soon, if they hadn’t already. And they would come back.

By midmorning, there was still no word about Deidre, Pad and Curran. No hint of those Dal had loved and cared for since his early childhood. Hadrian had tried to comfort him by offering hope, but his words had fallen on deaf ears. Dal no longer held any delusions. He wanted to kill Andals, with nothing to hold him back. He’d become what Hadrian had presaged all along: a killer. And a cold-blooded one.

Dal had tried to avoid initiating conflict, convincing himself that he was always acting in self-defense. But the past day had shown him otherwise. He had slain men by the dozens, watching life leave their eyes as they passed into the next world. True, these men were evil and had inflicted countless hardships upon his people, but previously that had not given him the right to kill. Dal set his face in grim determination. He would now be the righteous hand of Dio and vanquish those who stood in his way. Because this was what he had to do. This justified what he had become.

Dal had been a simple farmer. He had known many blacksmiths and learned from them the universal truth about metal: it took the hottest flame to mold steel. That was what he had to become. As hard as steel. Harder even. Whatever it took to defeat the accursed Andals. Dal would settle his debt with Dio for the men he killed when this was over. Regardless of whether the rebellion would succeed or fail, the people would no longer need him. So, one way or another, he would rest. That was at least one small comfort as he thought about his friends and their unknown fates.

A courier, running up to Dal, snapped him from his dour thoughts. Master Seraph, there is word from the field, the man shouted as he saluted.

Dal returned the gesture as he nervously awaited the man’s report.

Your friends, Curran and Padraig, have been located. They are near the southern hill, at its base. They await you there.

Thank you, Dal said as the man saluted again and left. Both relief and anxiety well up within him. Pad and Curran had been found. That was a blessing. But that also meant Deidre was still missing. The girl to whom he had just professed his love. The girl who meant everything to him and so much more. But there was no time to think about that now. He had a rebellion to lead.

In the aftermath of the battle, the Council of Druids had named Dal as their leader. That meant he outranked Doran, the former head of the Druids. An odd decision Dal believed, since he had little expertise in battle while Doran had decades of experience and wisdom. Still, the vote had been unanimous. However, the Council included an addendum: Hadrian was to be the Council’s aide to the Seraph—which meant Dal—since he was the only Seraph. He was fine with this. He had let Hade bend his ear for so many years that more of the same wouldn’t hurt.

Dal began making his way toward his friends. He shivered, wrapping a new red cloak tighter around his body. It had been a gift from the Council and was now proving most useful. The night was cold, much colder than it should have been this time of year. Was there any connection between this weather and the earthquakes? Was Dio trying to tell his army of rebels something else?

Dal passed men along the way who were scavenging the battlefield for supplies. Most of them ignored him, but a few who looked at him just stared. They knew who he was. And what he was. He couldn’t tell if it was admiration or fear in their eyes, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to make sure all his companions were safe and accounted for. Maybe Pad and Curran could tell him something about Deidre.

Dal was now approaching the southern hill of the battlefield. There—a tent at its base. That had to be where his friends were resting. He approached, his heart beating fast. Dal opened the tent flap and stepped inside. With many torches and candles lighted, it was very bright. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Doran and several soldiers standing in a tight circle. Pad was among them, and Dal ran up to him. 

Have you seen Deidre? Dal asked.

Not yet. But take it easy. We’ll find her, I swear we will.

Dal nodded but his stomach felt as though it were being twisted into knots. He had to know. He just had to.

How’s the Hero of Tharn doing? Pad asked, interrupting Dal’s personal turmoil. Do you like the name? Came up with it myself. He folded his massive arms as a clear indication of his self-satisfaction.

Tharn? Dal responded, distracted. What’s Tharn?

It’s not a thing, it’s the name of this area—or at least the nearest town—which is several miles away I’m told. But it’s still closer than Dunkirk. Doran was giving me a little geography lesson after we recovered from the aftershock of the earthquake. Just thought you’d like to know the name of the area you defended single-handedly.

Dal’s face was growing red. I wasn’t alone, Pad. I happened to have an army at my back. Not to mention my dimwitted friends. Pad threw his head back in laughter.

Oh, dimwitted, eh? Fine, that’s the last time I give you a flattering nickname. Although that’s a lie if you want to know the truth of it. I heard a bunch of soldiers calling you the Hero of Tharn before the earthquake. It does have a ring to it, if you ask me. And I’ll be able to say I grew up with the ‘Hero’. Pad gave a mock bow. And let’s not forget that there are some of us small folk who witnessed the Hero of Tharn crying to his mother and wiping his nose on his sleeve. And of course there was the belching contest—

I believe that’s enough, Padraig, Doran interrupted. Now Dalziel, if you two are done exchanging pleasantries, you may want to speak with your other friend.

Dal nodded respectfully to Doran. He had been so intent on Pad that he hadn’t yet spotted Curran. Not that he was easy to find, since he was in a corner of the tent, hunched over and wrapped tightly in a blanket. Dal approached his friend and smiled.

Pad came up to Dal just before he reached Curran.  I forgot to mention, Pad said quietly in Dal’s ear, Cur isn’t really himself. He was shaken up by the earthquake and hasn’t talked much.

Dal nodded in acknowledgment and studied his friend’s face. Curran was staring at the tent’s canvas, just looking straight ahead. No expression, no hint of life. Nothing but a blank gaze.

Hey Cur, how you holding up? Dal said as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. Curran didn’t acknowledge Dal’s presence or what he had said, continuing to stare straight ahead. Cur, it’s me! Dal! Remember? We used to catch fish at the lake together. You always caught the bigger ones and never let me forget it. Cur! Cur! But Curran didn’t say anything or even crack the faintest smile. He just kept staring. After a few minutes of studying his friend’s face, Dal shook his head and turned around. Then he heard a quiet voice.

It all happened so quickly.

Dal spun around to Curran. He was still staring at nothing in particular, but he was talking. That was something. However, Curran continued as if Dal wasn’t there: One minute we were standing on the field in victory; the next we were tossed around like leaves in the wind. I’ve . . . never felt so insignificant before. It was as if Dio didn’t want us to celebrate our victory. As if we had angered Him by defying the Andals and beating them. Now Curran focused his gaze upon Dal. He found it eerie. Do you think Dio really wanted us to win? Do you? I thought our fight was just, but now . . . now I’m not so sure. He and Dal shivered at the same time. Then Curran dropped his head until he was now staring at the ground.

Cur, listen to me. Dio is on our side. It was the Andals who invaded us, who made us fear for our lives. Dal felt a fire inside him burning hot as he thought of every injustice his people had suffered at the hands of these oppressors. It was the Andals who killed my father and brother and both your uncles. Do you think Dio is the kind of god who would side with monsters like this? If He is, He’s no god of mine, that’s for sure. But He’s not. He created us all and all the life in the world. He gave us food to eat and the sun to keep us warm. And when we win, this world will be good again. We’ll be able to live the way we want and let others do the same. So, yes, before you ask, I think Dio wanted us to win.

While Dal had been talking, Curran’s eyes had begun to water. Now he was sniffling and frowning, definitely struggling with something. All Dal could do was place his hand on his friend’s shoulder. Curran put his palms to his face and began to weep freely. So many. So many dead. Why, Dal? I killed today. I did it because I was taught to do it. But does that justify taking a life? Does it?

I don’t know. All I can say for certain is that we did what we had to do. He removed his hand from Curran’s shoulder. We can’t worry about anything more.

Okay. Curran stood up and hugged Dal and Pad. I don’t know where I’d be without you guys.

Dal bit his lip. But not all of us are here. Did you see Deidre? Do you have any idea of what happened to her?

Curran frowned. I was standing next to her before the earthquake, that much I remember. She . . . no, that’s not right. He seemed to be trying to find words. After a moment, he locked eyes with Dal. She fell, Dal. She fell into the ravine that opened up atop this hill. I remember because it looked like the earth swallowed her whole. I remember thinking how strange that was, and then my world turned upside down. I’m sorry, Dal. She’s dead.

Dal couldn’t speak. He fell to his knees, his body paralyzed as though someone had punched him hard in the stomach. He struggled to breathe. How . . .  how could this happen? Not another one. First my father . . . then Soren . . . no. I can’t take this! Dal was vaguely aware that the area around him was starting to glow in a dark-red hue. It isn’t fair. He stood, his eyes ablaze.

Curran pleaded with him, Dal, stop it. You have to stop. You’re Ascending. But those words had come too late. Dal’s world was afire, and he wanted others to share in his pain.

The familiar power of the Seraph was beckoning to him. He embraced it, his armor and wings forming behind him. The real strength of the Seraph, the powerful magic of Dio, surged within his veins. He could do anything. He was a god.

His first thought was that he had to get away, so he shot into the sky, burning a hole in the tent. People screamed as he sped into the starry night. He needed to think. To be alone. The cold wind whipped at his cheeks, making his eyes water.

Pain overwhelmed him. Not the kind of pain one could get a bandage or a salve for; no, this was the kind that stayed with a person forever. I should have been able to protect her. I’m not strong enough. So I defeated an Andal army. What is that worth against the life of the woman I love? I just stood there and watched her die. Like a powerless . . . human. Hadrian had told him that he would have to become more than a person—beyond a mere mortal. But, clearly, Dal had not left his humanity behind. Now, he wished he had. Then he wouldn’t be experiencing the sharp sting of loss so profoundly. Maybe there was a weave Hadrian hadn’t taught him yet. One to deal with loss. Anything to take his mind off of this pain.

In his desperation, Dal began to experiment. He wove several elements and placed them together. He started with his Prime: Fire. He wove Fire and a large flame appeared in front of him, conjured out of thin air. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Dal wove Fire again, but this time added a touch of Water. He didn’t know what he was doing, acting instead from instinct. A liquid magma appeared, reminding Dal of his days at the Fire Pits near Quork, a time so long ago it must have been another lifetime. Before Soren. Before Deidre. A wave of guilt overcame him and he lost control of the weave. The magma flowed to the left and right of Dal, then in front of him of him, before falling to the ground below. He had to try something else.

Dal reached for Earth and Air, hoping for a miracle. Brown and white lines appeared in front of him as he wove the two together, not sure what he was creating. Up until now he had used his powers only for destruction. He found it much harder to create something without fear as the motivator. But while closing his eyes and weaving as fast as he could, he was creating . . . something. He opened his eyes and tear trickled down a cheek. He’d created a doll. Created out of earth and shaped by air. A little brown doll. Like the one Deidre used to play with as a child. Of course, that one hadn’t been made out of earth. But the purpose behind it remained and wouldn’t let him escape his pain.

Dal buried his head in his hands and grieved. He didn’t think the hurt would ever stop. "Spirit, a voice whispered to him in the night sky. Try Spirit." Dal hastened to obey. He reached within himself and wove the one internal element of the five. The one that didn’t rely on manipulating the outside world but which came solely from within.

He formed a weave of Spirit, a feeling of warmth pulsating throughout his body. Not as hot as the power of Fire, but just as substantial in its own way. As with the doll, he wasn’t sure what he was making or why. He was just weaving based on his emotions. That, and instructions from the voice. Whatever it told him to do, he did. Dal wasn’t sure why he trusted it, he just did.

He added Earth and Air, leaving out Water and Fire. As he wove, he began to work slower and more carefully. He wasn’t sure why or how, but a calming sensation came over him, and he felt the tension leave his muscles as he breathed normally. He stilled himself as he felt a calm that he hadn’t known in some time. He could even hear his own heartbeat. The constant thud of it banged in his ears; soon he was aware of nearby sounds that permeated the night. He focused on the animals below and realized with astonishment that he could pick out each individual creature and determine what it was by the strength of its heartbeat. The voice had enabled him to create a tracking weave for life forms. But this wasn’t what Dal wanted. Why did it have him do this?

Ignoring his own objections, he was intent on using the new weave that he had created. He focused, listening to the sounds from below. He now heard the heartbeats of men moving about. They must all be soldiers. He hadn’t realized that so many had survived. He thanked Dio for that. He was most assuredly going to need each of them. Just then, a singular human heartbeat became isolated from the rest. Why? It was faint but distinct, and it was coming from inside the earth. Before he could think about what he was hearing, he was shooting through the sky and toward the heartbeat. However, he was exhausted, which served as a reminder that using elements other than his Prime would drain his energy much more quickly. Hadrian had told him that several times before, but it was an important lesson that he could ill afford to forget.

The wind whipped Dal’s face like cold slaps, but he didn’t care. He saw the rustle among the treetops as he zipped by, coming closer to the ground, nearing the heartbeat. He slowed down as he reached a clearing, just past the northern edge of where the Battle of Tharn had taken place. He listened as he landed, but now he was not hearing anything. He was overcome with anxiety at the thought of what might have happened—when he heard it again. The heartbeat was pounding louder now, as if somehow sensing his presence. He paced back and forth, trying to figure out where the heartbeat was coming from, the sound stronger or weaker depending on where he stood.

The single heartbeat became more intense the farther he walked to the right of the clearing, so he quickened his stride and continued