Exiles of Heaven: Chronicles of the Way & the Darkness

By Travis A. Chapman

After surviving an attack by the demon Baal and his mortal acolytes, Lord Fallondon Breck and his company of knights make for the town of Wolford. They seek safety and a chance to regroup, to process the demonic intrusion into their dreams and unexpected adversaries, and find a way back to Breckshire and their families. Little do they know, things are about to get much worse. An army of demons marches for a breach in the Veil and a chance to break through to the mortal world. Their plans are made, their evil designs set. The world of men is about to change. Can Fallondon and his companions stop the incursion? Will Heaven come to his aid? 

Follow Lord Fallondon Breck and his company of knights, Hospitallers, Templars, an Ethiopian, and his angelic allies as they fight the spiritual forces of darkness in old England. For fans of C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia who want more. If you liked Kingdom of Heaven, Robin Hood, or Ironclad, you'll love this group of brothers and their heroic exploits. If you enjoy Frank Peretti, Ted Dekker, or Karen Hancock's treatment of the intersection between reality and the spiritual realm, you'll stay up turning pages! Join Lord Fallondon Breck and his company of knights as they journey through perilous times in the Chronicles of the Way & the Darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thorium Publishing
• Release date: Sep 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386944713

Travis A. Chapman

Travis A. Chapman is trying his best to be Teddy Roosevelt, Edmond Dantes, and Indiana Jones all at once, a Renaissance man of multiple talents and a lifelong experience collector. In various forms, he's a disciple and follower of the Way, U.S. Naval Academy graduate, submarine officer, engineer, author, blue-water and coastal sailor, hiker, rocker-of-the-Renn-Fest, dog-lover, and loving husband. He's doing his best to enjoy living in the horse-country of Maryland, watching the wind whistle through the trees, and can occasionally be found sailing the Middle River. I love writing clean fantasy and sci-fi influenced by my own experiences in the military and other spheres. I am still mentored by the writings of C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, and hope to provide another voice of inspiration for a wide world.  I have several works in progress, including Books III of the Chronicles, a prequel short story, several other series, and some non-fiction books.  You can check out more of my work and perspectives on part-time authorship at my website: www.thoriumpublishing.com Sign up for the highly infrequent but completely worth reading newsletter, check out how the Chronicles came to be, and see what else is stewing in the pot.  You can also check out more frequent updates on all things inspiring, interesting, and author-related at my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/thoriumpublishing/ Thank you for checking out my author page! I hope you enjoy the journey of faith and discovery with Lord Fallondon Breck and his company of knights. Stay tuned for more!

Book preview

Exiles

Of

Heaven

Chronicles of the Way & the Darkness: Book 2

Travis A. Chapman

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© 2017 Travis A. Chapman (1st Ed.)

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews and pages where attribution is specifically made to the publisher or author in accordance with copyright law.

This book is published without Digitals Rights Management protection in place. Please use responsibly.

Books may be purchased by contacting the publisher at: www.thoriumpublishing.com

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Cover Design: Elizabeth Mackey Designs

Editor: Nicole Gingrich

Publisher: Thorium Publishing

First Edition

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Prologue

The dragon stood on the shore of the sea. And I saw a beast coming out of the sea... The whole world was filled with wonder and followed the beast. People worshiped the dragon because he had given authority to the beast, and they also worshiped the beast and asked, ‘Who is like the beast? Who can wage war against it?’ Revelation 13:1-4

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But every now and anon a trumpet sounds from the hid battlements of eternity.

— Francis Thompson —

The Veil

The plain was eternity. A vast darkness spread overhead, punctuated with countless stars. It was a sharp contrast to the white sand stretching across the desert below me. Far below me. Like a hawk lazily riding warm currents, my mind glided over the stark scene below. Even at this elevation the white sandy floor kept going as far as could be seen. No markers broke the view, no rocks, no trees or scrub, nothing. Just pure white sand.

A starry canopy was stretched overhead. As I swooped down closer, individual grains of sand caught hold of the celestial illumination and sparkled. The sky was a dome strung with brilliant gemstones, like a fine net of pure starlight. With the ground in near view, my speed became apparent. Sand became a blur as I flew faster and faster toward the horizon. Something drew me like a beacon, a watchtower signaling all around it in the darkness.

Just across the rim of my vision a bright white mote of light shot up into the night sky. The brilliant pearl climbed and climbed, reaching for the stars above. For a moment I thought it would fall back, but it continued straight away. I’d seen firepots flung by great siege engines during the night yet this flare showed no signs of stopping. In seconds it was indistinguishable from the stars treading their silent dance. What could communicate with the heavens above like that? It was faster than any falling star, yet it ascended the heavens. My consciousness pondered the question as I raced toward the source.

I broke over the horizon and beheld something terrible. Rank upon rank of hideous creatures spilled across the plain. Demonic faces filled my vision. Tiny figures rode the edges, their scaly skin shimmering with the sand’s reflected light. Pitchforks and spears waved in the air about their wide-mouthed grins, pointed teeth and serpentine tongues smiling. Company upon company of tall soldiers wrapped in darkness and moving together in beautiful synchronism. My mind revolted at the sight of men with eyes but no faces. Taunt flesh covered the space where mouths and nose should have been. I felt part of my soul rip away when their gaze caught mine. Evil, hideous eyes.

The bulk of the force was an ethereal collection of soldiers. Thousands of insubstantial spirits marched in file. To my eyes their appeared as ethereal figures of mist and smoke. Insubstantial in form, yet clearly having power over the material world. Banded armor, pugils, javelins, and sandaled feet spoke of the Roman legions that once held my world in their grip. Their restless souls felt deathly silent, grim, and determined.

Hulking human-like figures marched in the rearguard. Several hundred of them. Their muscular forms were wrapped in iron plates, feet shod in thick boots. Wicked weapons bristled from their company, hooks and spikes and jagged edges marring already deadly instruments. The worst aspect were their heads, faces of lions with powerful jaws and teeth visible around fur-covered muzzles. They looked ravenous.

I wheeled around in the sky overhead, still taking in the army below. While the main and rearguards were formed of soldiers marching in rank, the vanguard was made up of a disparate collection of beasts. Off to the side was an enormous creature, like a beetle the size of the castle at Acre. Huge mandibles clicked before it, its bulk born by six carapaced legs digging in sand with each step. Armor of chitin and foul, unclean substance swathed the creature like an insect.

Movement caught my eyes. Serpentine forms swooped around the army, great bat-like wings scooping the thin air and hurling their snake-like bodies at great speed. They wore a feminine grace about them, all lean curves and deadly beauty.

Long spears born by heralds preceded the leaders of the army. Black banners hung limp in the still air. Dark pennons drooped like ink blots spilled over parchment. The lieutenants rode jet-black horses with dim red eyes and their breath fogging ahead. While their riders looked human, I knew they were anything but. A woman with flowing black hair, her beauty so great that my breath caught. Her dark dress left little to the imagination. A scent of sickly sweetness caught up in my nostrils. A smell of decay mixed with honey.

Two lords clad in darkness rode near her. They emanated great strength and power. My stomach threatened to lose itself from fear. Tooled scabbards held swords by their sides. Cloaks of whorled colors, deep purples, blacks, and greys flowed over their shoulders and masked their figures. Ahead rode another like them yet different. The standard bearer wore armor of iron plates, dull and dark. His visage was masked by a great helm with wicked horns twisting forward. I wondered where costume ended and monster began?

A fell captain rode at their head. There was no doubt who he was. A slim figure clothed in darkness, his pale skin complimented the sand around them. His cloak swirled in living whorls of inky blackness to wrap his form. It recalled distant memory, like the ink from a monk’s quill dipped in water. He rode atop a nightmarish coupling of creatures. Like the monsters of ancient stories it wore a long toothed snout atop the muscled body of some great cat. It reminded me of the crocodiles I once saw in Egypt whilst on campaign, but covered in course fur. One of the old gods worshiped while the Israelites were yet slaves of that nation.

Turning one last time, my spirit swooped over the forces marching across the barren plain. The captain’s eyes caught mine and followed my flight. He felt my presence. Fear filled my mind and quickened my heart. The high voice of an adolescent boy, scratchy, yet compelling and filled with strength, tickled my ears. I see your spirit, Fallondon Breck. Come closer.

I did not want to, yet my form was compelled to answer and circled in closer and closer to the captain. In an instant he reached out and grabbed my invisible form. I saw no flesh in his hand, nor anything of myself, yet he held on with crushing strength.

His grip tightened. Despite my ephemeral form, I fought to take in breath. None would come. He drew me before his eyes. Deep tunnels of obliterating darkness bore into me. A charge of banked coals sat deep within that pulsed with crimson light. Like a passage straight through the blackness of the world and into Hell itself.

His voice echoed through my mind like a smith’s hammer strokes in a closed chamber. Each word was filled such power it threatened to burst through my soul. What is this I’ve caught? An insect fluttering at the flame. Beware lest you get too close little child. I are coming and none shall be left standing. My flame will consume the world.

An explosion of light blinded me. Pressure pounded my body and mind as if an ethereal blacksmith forged away at the little iron of my soul. Then I was racing, faster than a falling star, accelerating as I raced toward oblivion. As if from a great height.

Road to Wolford

Once again my night was marked by restlessness and terror. After my first encounter with the demon, Baal, I hadn’t known peace more than a few fleeting moments. His hideous aspect remained stamped on my memories. The trials of the road did little to help. We had recovered from the fight in the grove. The aftermath was a company of knights on edge. Knights jumping at every sound and seeking enemies behind every rock and tree. All waiting for a new despair to fall upon us. One day bled into the next through the pine forests separating Breckshire, my home, and Wolford. At long last, the road was nearing its end.

Not even a fortnight ago my thoughts were bent upon simple things. How to prepare Breckshire for our departure and the journey back to the Holy Lands. To Outremer. My heart was set on reclaiming the glory and treasures we had been denied years before. Restore Breckshire to its former state, a rich land filled with hearty people. Opportunities for my knights to win renown. In England, my adversaries were flesh and blood, neighboring lands with jealous hearts and voracious appetites. Surely Garret and Brenna would take up their roles in the family, defend our own. Daemarrel and Ardglass could be managed. Demons, however… Now I wrestled with the reality that our plans were wildly changed, my desires and perceptions changed by an encounter with one of the angelic host.

We sighted Wolford just past noon, three days after my encounter with Baal. Three days after our fight with the masked foes. Whilst we believed the distance could be made in a hard two days, we did not expect to lose time with a hackney throwing her shoe. Horses. Never could rely on the animals. Worse than the trouble with the shoe was the challenge of finding someone to fix it. Thomas had most of the tools, but any good ironmonger or farrier could have provided a better kit to do the work. We spent most of a day riding between homesteads looking for one. We saw little but empty farms, their mud-daubed sides collecting spring warmth, their thatch wearing thin from disrepair. Occasionally, some animals wandered about, left behind, but no people to be seen. No carles about their work. No children chasing geese. No boys following their fathers about their work. All we found was a troubling sign.

The sigil. We first noticed it two days earlier as we left the confines of pine forest for pasture and crofts. First a homestead off the road, then more and more doors bore a splash of whitewash. Simple lines, a triangle and hashmarks encircled. A pentagram? Something else? No one could place it. No one saw those who scribed it. No peasants seeding the spring fields, no herdsmen out tending cows, no shepherds in the field to ask. Just door after door bearing a white mark.

It wasn’t until the low hills gave way to a plain and Wolford came into sight that signs of our pastoral economy returned. The fields rolled in gentle waves all the way down to the river. We were mariners riding a verdant crest, gazing across green waves stretching from horizon to horizon. The smell of grass filled my nose with its sweet scent. Before us now was the safe harbor we sought, Wolford.

Baldur, what are you sniffing at there? Anything to share? I caught a quick glance as he hid whatever it was in his bracer, tucking it between metal and forearm. Hart’s mount sidled up next to mine.

Must be powerful to overcome yer smell, Fallon. No one wants to say anything, but ye could use a dip in the river. Hart laughed in jest. He needed the same treatment. Saxon humor at its finest.

Baldur blushed. Something of Elaine’s, that’s all m’lord. A token for my travels. I miss her from time to time and this little strip of scarf helps. She kept lavender pressed between the folds. The scent reminds me of her. Of Bethany too. The old man smiled beneath his grizzled cheeks. We all teased him ever since he courted and married his beautiful French bride. I could understand the need to center oneself when the world threatened to fall apart around you. Loved ones were certainly part of that. His wife and adopted daughter were the center of Baldur’s world.

We’ll be back sooner than you know, Baldur. A few days in Wolford at best. Just enough to get our new errand sorted out. Elaine will be surprised for certs when you roll up on your warhorse, looking like the knight you are.

Hart laughed again, Only she’ll be sore that ye return without heaps of silver and fine gems for her hair. I’ll admit, I will miss our reward.

Nothing to fear, Hart. If we suspect anything like we imagine, staying near at hand to defend our people is more worthy than anything we’d find in Jerusalem. No amount of gold nor gems could replace our people. We must ensure their safety first. Safety from an unknown, unexpected threat. A threat I could not manage myself. Baal’s cryptic words lingered in my mind. What was coming against us? What could men like us do?

Tadessah unfurled our standard as we neared the town gates. Thick trunks of pine made a sturdy palisade around a collection of plain warehouses and homes. Wolford lay on a bend in the Oster River, a town built of the forest surrounding lush farmlands. Brown tones blended together as wood and riverstone structures filled our vision. Small patches of vibrant grass and wildflowers added color. My father always thought Wolford idyllic, a quiet respite when traveling abroad. I saw it as a rock to cling to in the midst of a storm-wracked sea. A place to catch our breath before plunging into cold water again.

I can’t help thinking about what happened, Fallondon. Masked marauders, demonic intrusions, an angelic visit, and now a sigil. It is like the world is holding its breath. I saw evil during my travels, but nothing like this. You put my homeland to shame. What is going on, m’lord? Tadessah’s punctuated accent made me smile. The Ethiopian was a hard knight, yet recent events unsettled even him.

I wish I knew, Tadessah. Your fears are rightly placed, and the question of what to fear is still before us. An unseen foe of the spiritual realm? Masked men and women in black dress? Who can tell? Our enemies in Outremer came at us straight on, but this feels altogether different. Hopefully, the town master knows more. Hard to believe Orderic wouldn’t have some information about the state of things. Besides, a straw mattress won’t go amiss. Too many nights abed on the ground, eh? I raised my hand in salute at the gates before us. A maille-clad watchman returned the gesture. I didn’t share my own confusion with Tadessah. After the events of the past week I felt more distressed and anxious over keeping my men safe, protecting our lands, and returning to my family than ever before. They would be looking for leadership that only I could provide, yet I felt inadequate to the task. Such a strange dichotomy.

Thanks be to that m’lord. Any answers will be welcome. Tadessah smiled back at me, then turned to cry out at the watch, Peace be upon you this day. Your liege, Lord Fallondon Breck, of Breckshire calls. We bear the sign of peace between our towns, and request you open the gates. Bid your master hearken to my lord.

I grated at the call. I’d never felt comfortable hearing all of that strung together. To these men, to my family, I was just plain old Fallon.

Two men outside the gates lifted their spears in salute. Neither wore much to speak of, only simple leather jerkins and steel caps. In times of peace the watch had little need for more. I spied movement in the barbican above. The wooden gates swung open a few minutes later, time enough for our train to have caught up in a clutch outside. The strength of Wolford was apparent in the thick oak beams crossbracing the doors, a solid deterrent to any trying to break through. I recalled that a moat was being dug out on the northern side as well. No small undertaking for such a small town. Breckshire wasn’t much larger in size, but Wolford had existed longer and showed the diligent stewardship of capable hands. The people were strong and industrious, a tribute to our lands.

Hail, Lord Breck, we hearken to you. Enter in peace and find respite. An armored man approached our company from the gate, sword swinging at his side. Whilst thick in his middle, his arms and shoulders bore the signs of good muscle, and I guessed he was more than capable of his martial duties. My name is Brendan, but people here call me Brent. I’m captain of the town guard. We saw your standard and my lord Orderic is being told of your arrival. He’ll be most glad to see thee m’lord. Troubling times for us all, as you’ve surely seen. You are all most welcome.

I swung down from my saddle, taking the reins in hand as I walked through the gates. The company began dismounting behind me, a cacophony of jiggling and grunts from man and beast. Thank you, Brent. Your courtesy is appreciated. Indeed, we have noticed signs of trouble, and I have many questions. Before I speak to Orderic though, what may I learn from you? We came straight through the forest road and only saw signs on this side. Do you know what I speak of?

Brent flushed for a moment. Tis ill omens that you saw. Maybe two weeks ago we first heard of trouble. Farmers and peasants began coming into town and complaining of illness. We quickly thought to hold them off, fearing disease through the town, but little came of it. By the time we dispatched riders to learn more, we were too late. Farms and crofts were emptied. The dead were all that remained, skin infected with boils and pox. The white mark became a byword, the notice of death on a house. Where it came from, no one could answer.

I struggled to hear this. How close had we come to anyone in the past few days? None of us found bodies, and I couldn’t recall any of our company affected by ill humors. Thank you Brent. I think we are safe from what I know, but we’ll bear that in mind. Please go back to your work. We’ll find our way now that we’re here. You no doubt have important matters to attend. Important work like ignoring clear signs of trouble in your master’s demesne. Cynicism rose like oil over water within me.

Brent made his obeisance, touching his maille coif and saying a firm, Thank ye, m’lord, before stepping back to the gate house. A soft peel of thunder announced the great oak beam dropped into place and locking us in. The great iron hinges and strapping made me feel secure. At least as much as I could feel that way with current events on my mind.

Inside the gate a broad open space opened where travelers or defenders could orient themselves. The streets were packed earth, rutted with the travel of high-wheeled wains common in our lands and trampled by both animals and men. The smell of dry manure swept past us on a breeze scouring the nearby stables. Whilst not as dirty as some places, Wolford had the same collection of chickens, goats, dogs, and other beasts adding to the local color. Most fearsome were the bare foot children running amok and splashing up water from horse troughs. In the warm spring air it must be a welcome respite. A few townsfolk, mostly women, wandered the streets with baskets and sacks of laundry, vegetables, and other domestics. No different than any other village or town across the Broads.

Baldur circled our animals up, men now afoot and gathered together. Sweat dripped down our faces under the bright noon sun. I raised