Into Darkness: The Shield of Light, #1

By Géne Strydom

Can two youngsters each survive their own terrifying journey through darkness and grow strong enough to claim the ancestral power they need to conquer the evil force destroying their beloved realm?

 

Two generations ago, a catastrophic meteor strike ripped the realm of the Three Kingdoms apart. During the ensuing chaos, Plague, a secret and evil organisation, seized control to rule the realm through terror and fear.

Back in the present, lightning strikes a young girl who's left in a coma. In the far north, mysterious creatures never seen before dumps a young boy into a raging underground river as a sacrifice. The youngsters each struggle through a dark and terrifying journey, inherit special powers in the process, and gather new friends in a quest to fight the evil Plague that is destroying all that is good in the realm of the Three Kingdoms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Géne Strydom
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393909125

Géne Strydom

Géne Strydom is an artist and technology fanatic. He is also an avid reader; especially of fantasy and science fiction. He has forever carried the idea of The Shield of Light with him and started writing it down. Over time, the story developed a life of its own. After being forced into early retirement, he finally succumbed to his dream to share the epic tale of ‘victory over self’ and the courageous quest of a few friends to rid their realm of a terrible evil. Géne and his wife live in beautiful Cape Town, South Africa. They have an insatiable wanderlust and have travelled all over southern Africa and across Europe and Australasia.

Book preview

Catastrophe

YEAR 867, SECOND AGE of Tranquillity

Beware you children of complacency and take heed! I see a future when tranquillity shall erupt into chaos. In the blink of an eye, peril and pestilence will strike. I see a moon of blood and the heavens filled with fiery death. Destruction and chaos shall flay the world, sweeping towns and cities into rubble. Scarlet death shall claim its tortured share, spawning horrors to plague the living. Families shall be ripped apart and North and South shall mourn each other.

A slumbering evil shall awake. Fear shall dethrone kings, and terror shall rule the land. I see hunters hunting the keepers of peace and death the only victor.

A score of ages shall pass, which only the weak and the strong shall survive. And then, one blessed with threefold power shall step forth, and another, born through storm-fire and darkness, will add their strength to rend the darkness from the world. Pray that these warriors of the Light shall be victorious.

Blood Moon Prophecy

Vogoll the Hermit

▲▲▲

Year 917, Second Age of Tranquillity

The room was lit by a lone candle placed in the middle of the long rectangular table.

The six figures seated at the table were near invisible. They wore black cloaks, leather gloves, and different animal masks to conceal their faces. Their earlier instructions insisted they were to stay silent, and the long wait was a deliberate test of their resolve.

There was a rustle at the door. An imposing figure came in and sat down at the head of the table.

The figure wore a black cloak with an elaborate hood; his face hidden by a grotesque mask of a grinning skull. Many moments dragged by while his audience waited in silence, sweating beneath their masks. There was an audible intake of breath when, at last, he spoke in a rasping whisper.

‘Congratulations on getting here without being followed. Otherwise, you would be dead! Now heed my warning! No one, and I mean no one, should ever know who you are, not even the person now sitting next to you. To protect your identity and your life, never speak during any of our meetings. Do nothing if you agree. If you disagree, shake your head. Your silence protects your identity. Any sound you utter shall be your last! Does everybody understand?’

No one made a sound. The whisperer could have addressed a gathering of corpses.

‘Excellent! Now, that first message you each received demanded you to only collect your further instructions from its hiding place if you wholly commit yourself to have a life of power and wealth, irrespective of what we need of you.’

He paused a few moments to emphasise what was coming next, ‘But there’s one important fact you must understand and I warn you; your life depends on it. You cannot turn back after I’ve told you about our plans.’

The whisperer brought his gloved hands together as if praying. ‘If you withdraw after you’ve heard my plans, you shall not live long enough to regret your decision. So I’m giving you you’re last chance to withdraw. Raise your hand if you want to leave.’

A few moments nobody moved; then the person wearing the mask of a fox raised a hand, withdrew it for a moment, and then raised it again.

The whisperer sounded surprised, ‘Well, it’s an awful pity you want to leave. But it’s your own choice how wealthy you want to live. Anyway, to show there are no hard feelings, we should drink a toast to the future before you leave.’

There was a collective intake of breath when a figure in a hooded black cloak unfolded from the surrounding shadows. The figure glided around the table carrying a tray with a decanter and tumblers. The figure placed the decanter in front of the whisperer and a bottom-side-up tumbler in front of each person.

The whisperer turned his tumbler right-side-up and filled it with ale. He then passed the decanter to the person to his left, made a circle in the air with his hand to show the rest should follow his lead, then waited until the decanter had circled the table. In the interim, the silent tray-bearer had vanished into the shadows unnoticed.

Nobody made a sound for a few tense moments. Then the whisperer took up his tumbler and rose. His audience at once scrambled up to join him.

‘Let us drink a toast to a better and more secure future,’ he whispered. He lifted his mask slightly to keep his face concealed and downed his ale.

The rest swallowed theirs with one gulp. Unsure what next to do, their heads turned in unison toward the whisperer.

‘Alas, I fear the time has come for our former colleague to exit,’ he whispered.

At that moment, the person with the fox’s mask gave a loud gasp and clawed at his mask. He made wet gurgling screeches while uncontrollable spasms racked his body. Within moments, he gave a shrill scream as his body arched backwards. There was a loud ripping sound. The already dead body tipped over backwards, upending the chair behind it. Both hit the floor with a loud crack.

A shocked silence followed. Behind his mask, the whisperer grinned, knowing his followers were now terrified and more than committed to his cause. He waved his hand to show they should sit down. ‘Now we’re sure our future is safe because the faint-hearted had departed!’

He continued in an icy whisper, ‘That’s your first lesson; there is no turning back. To allow it will compromise secrecy and endanger our lives. We cannot allow anyone knowing about us who is not committed to our cause! Do you understand?’

No movement. No sound.

‘Good! With that out of the way; let’s continue. You each received a name with your message; your secret alias. I will now call out those names. Raise a hand when I call your alias. Banker, Enforcer, Herald, Hunter, Warden and Watcher.’

With each name, someone raised a hand. The sixth name got no response.

‘Right; so we need another Watcher. Now, at future meetings, I will use your alias. Your alias is secret. Do not tell it to anyone; not even your wife. My alias is Reaper, and you will soon learn why I chose it. Somewhere in the shadows lurks Slayer; a descriptive alias, you must agree.’

Reaper reached for the decanter and poured ale into his tumbler, lifted his mask and drank a few sips. The stuffy room made everyone thirsty, but he didn’t offer them any. He needed his new recruits to suffer. Reaper wanted to test their mettle.

He put his tumbler on the table, ‘Now let me spell out your first tasks. Each of you must select and recruit six worthy individuals to join us. Individuals whom you’re sure will fit in with our philosophy and who will stay loyal. Have messengers deliver invitations to your own secret meeting; a meeting as this one to spell out our philosophy. Use a disguise so the messengers won’t recognise you; then kill them as soon as they’ve delivered the messages. And kill anyone you invite who wants to back out as I did with our late Watcher. I’m giving you twenty days to do this. Then I’ll meet with each of you and give you detailed instructions on the tasks you and your subordinates will have to handle.’

Reaper’s whisper was much louder when he continued, ‘Fear controls you now; fear for your own life and fear for the lives of your loved ones. Similarly, every living soul in our new realm must tremble at the mere mention of our name. So I’ve chosen a name to evoke such terror. Mankind has always feared the destructive forces of nature; fire, lightning, flood, or earthquake. But these forces destroy people and the wealth they had accumulated, while we want their wealth for ourselves.’

Reaper spread his arms wide, ‘But there’s another terrible force of nature that kills people while leaving their wealth untouched. We shall, therefore, use its name and call ourselves Plague! Terror shall be our greatest weapon, and we shall have the power and riches the royalty have so long kept for themselves. The royals and their so-called protectors, the Tii Seren, had their time. But now our time has come and we, therefore, have to start our campaign without delay. I want you to go and find your own recruits! Do it quickly, but do so with extreme caution. Those royal fools must not suspect a thing until we spring our surprise. And remember; I will not tolerate failure!’

With that menacing remark still echoing in their ears, Reaper stood up, strolled past his terrified followers and disappeared out the door. Their minds screamed to jump up and run, but the new recruits remembered their written instructions. They remained silent and motionless until the Nighthawk gave its distinctive call. Then the one named Enforcer slipped out the door into the dark hallway. As instructed, the rest followed one by one in alphabetical order each time the Nighthawk called.

When the last one had left, the shadows coalesced into a dark form that moved towards the exit, giving a soft chuckle as it stepped over the body on the floor and glided through the door. The room seemed brighter, even though the lone candle’s flame was but a tiny flicker.

▲▲▲

Shadows drifted across the desolate landscape as the pale moon played hide and seek behind a few scattered clouds. Only the mournful song of the wind disturbed the silence.

A tall figure stood in the dark shadow of an overhanging cliff. White shaggy hair covered him from head to toe and kept the freezing cold of the arctic night at bay. He didn’t notice the stars or the new cloud of brilliance visible above the Eastern horizon. His dark eyes focused on something else.

He stared at a meter-high circular platform fifty paces away. On the far side of the platform, and joined to it by a narrow pathway, stood a triangular-shaped tower with its sharp spire pointing at the distant stars. It shone like white crystal in the light of the moon.

It was his turn to stand guard and await the next visit of their gods. True to the manner of gods, they would appear when least expected. Many of his tribe had had the privilege to witness their arrival on the temple’s sacred platform. He had never been as lucky, although he was aware of what to expect. His tribe revered the gods by reciting tales of their magnificent deeds every evening.

The best tale was about the night the snow tigers had attacked their sanctuary. Then the omniscient gods had appeared and scattered the tigers with bolts of lightning. That was the last time the tigers had threatened their sanctuary, and in gratitude, they have paid homage to the gods every time they appeared.

He grew despondent as dawn approached, thinking the gods would not come. Then, within the blink of an eye, they were there.

Exactly as the stories had described, three gods in shining white cloaks stood on the platform holding hands to form an unbroken circle. They promptly separated and walked across the pathway to the tower. At once the three gods touched the tower wall and a dark entrance slid open. They entered, and the door closed behind them. Somewhere in the tower’s heart, a fire ignited and illuminated the surroundings.

This was the sign he’d been waiting for. The shaggy-haired creature rushed across the slippery landscape into a large cave. It was his duty to wake the entire tribe so they could come and pay homage to their gods and their protectors.

▲▲▲

Unbeknown to the arctic creatures, their gods, who were also the protectors of the world, had other terrifying things on their mind.

The greatest threat to their world since the Black Sword war had shattered the peaceful existence of the Tii Seren Fellowship.

A new and deadly evil was afoot. Unknown assassins had murdered several Tii Seren and members of the royal houses. The killing rate had escalated and the Leader of the High Council had called the Tii Seren High and Low Councils together to devise a strategy to seek out and destroy the new enemy.

Tii Seren had arrived on their allotted time during the day, but the arrival chamber had remained empty when three High Council members did not arrive on schedule. Only death would prevent High Councillors from attending a meeting. Staying away could lose them their High Council status. It could only mean someone had kidnapped or killed them.

The High Council members sat at the triangular table in the centre of the hall. Five empty chairs stressed the dire peril facing them. Low Council members sat behind the High Councillors on benches surrounding the table where another nine Fellows were absent.

A tense silence prevailed. Even the beautiful colours of the sunset reflecting off the walls could not lift their spirits. It instead exposed the anxiety reflected in their tired eyes. Then Kretorr, Leader of the High Council and Keeper of the Keys arose.

‘Tii Seren,’ he began, ‘we are facing the greatest crisis in our Fellowship's history! This is not only serious; it could well lead to the demise of the Tii Seren! We are the best-informed people in the Three Kingdoms, and we don’t even know who the enemy is. But we have to hasten and find out who they are and take the necessary steps to stop them, or we and the Three Kingdoms will perish. The Tii Seren alone are holding the Realm together because two centuries of peace have bred weak kings. Even in this deadly crises, they’re doing absolutely nothing!’ His usually calm voice had a hint of panic in it.

He took a kerchief from a pocket of his robe, wiped the sweat from his brow and continued, ‘Unknown enemies have killed too many Tii Seren and more of us are disappearing at an alarming rate. Yet we have no clue who our enemies are, or what their goal might be. How is it possible we have become so powerless? Why have our trusted spies not yet come up with any information? Surely, the enemy can’t be so perfect that they do not make mistakes!’ He looked around the circle of worried faces as if expecting a solution. Their response was a resigned silence.

Kretorr sat down as if his burden became too heavy to bear. He looked defeated for the first time since he became Leader of the High Council. The ensuing silence was long and uncomfortable.

At last, Kretorr cleared his throat, ‘Councillors, we’ve faced many enemies in the past and have always prevailed. So I propose that we should ....’ A sudden commotion at the hall’s entrance interrupted him. A few Council guards were trying to restrain someone who was desperately trying to force his way into the chamber.

Kretorr jumped up and addressed the struggling group. ‘What’s going on over there?’ Then he noticed the guards were holding Voltekk, one of the missing High Council members who had failed to arrive earlier.

‘Let Councillor Voltekk through!’ he ordered and motioned Voltekk to join them. He waited until he took his place at the table and addressed him in a stern voice. ‘Councillor Voltekk, I hope you have a good explanation of why you didn’t arrive at the allotted time?’ It was only when Voltekk arose on shaky legs that Kretorr noticed the blood on Voltekk’s hands.

Voltekk’s knuckles shone white as he gripped the edge of the table. ‘Fellow councillors, it’s ... no fault of ... mine ... I did not make it in time. Men abducted... me from my home. I barely ... escaped with my life!’

He could as well have dropped a live snake in their midst. Chaos erupted and everyone shouted at once. Voltekk collapsed into his chair. Kretorr shouted at the top of his voice and banged repeatedly on the table with his fist until a measure of order returned. He grew red in the face when a few hot-heads continued their exchange.

‘Come to order at once!’ He shouted again, rubbing his hand. ‘You behave like children, whilst we need our wits about us! Let us rather hear what Councillor Voltekk has to say. I am sure it’s of the utmost importance.’ He looked at Voltekk. ‘Councillor, please continue!’

Voltekk rose again, looking even more frightened after the uncharacteristic behaviour of his fellow Tii Seren. His anxious gaze circled the table before he spoke. ‘Councillors, as I ... was telling you, I was ... knocked unconscious and abducted from my home last night. When I came to my senses, I found myself and Councillor Warnn amidst the ruins of an old warehouse with four men confronting us. One of them had sped up our recovery by dousing us with a bucket of foul water.’

This reminded him that he was thirsty. He glanced around, took a sip of water from the closest tumbler. ‘They promptly told us we had but a moment to choose between joining their cause or dying. They had their swords drawn, implying what was to follow if we made the wrong decision. I must confess; I’ve never been so terrified.’

He paused, wrung his hands as if to muster more courage. ‘To gain time, I asked them what their plans were and one boasted their intent was to rule the Three Kingdoms. I wanted to ask another question, but the man with the sword gave me a vicious blow to the mouth and insisted on my immediate answer. We had to act fast, so I gambled and signalled Warnn we should port here at once.’

Voltekk looked at the blood on his hands, shook his head, and continued in a tired voice, ‘In my panic, I did not realise I would give away our secret that a few of us are powerful enough to port in two’s instead of three’s. I also did not foresee how swift that villain could strike with his sword, and he wounded Warnn in that instant we ported. Although it was his courage and determination that brought us here, I regret to say he died in the porting chamber. I regret my hasty decision, which I’m sure have now forewarned these fiendish people.’

Kretorr stood up after a brief pause and said in a somewhat tired voice. ‘Councillor Voltekk, I’m sure everyone agrees we cannot judge you on your decision to escape. At least we now have vital information about the enemy. It is clear we are dealing with ruthless people. They want to get rid of us because they know we alone are able to stop them. And stop them we must, or they will destroy the Realm we have fought so hard to protect! But we also have to safeguard ourselves. Too many have already died or disappeared, and I don’t even want to contemplate whether any Tii Seren had joined the enemy.’

His gaze travelled around the table. ‘So for safety’s sake, it’s essential that we stay in groups of three or more Tii Seren even if smaller families have to group together. Then we can port at a moment’s notice. It will at least thwart the enemy to capture any of us until we come up with a counter-strategy.’

Nobody else responded, so Kretorr asked. ‘Do we agree?’

To show their agreement, everyone extended their right arms towards the sceptre in the centre of the triangular table.

Satisfied with the outcome, Kretorr continued, ‘It’s agreed then, though I have a final matter I want to discuss. It concerns the Shield of Light; so please listen carefully, because ...’

He was interrupted by a strange rumbling sound. Then the floor and walls started shaking.

Earthquake! It’s an earthquake! The frightening thought flashed through everyone’s mind.

They glanced around as a faint whistling sound filled the air. In two heartbeats it reached ear shattering intensity and ended in a tremendous explosion of sound. Like spectators in a hazy dream, they saw the top section of the tower disappear. Then a hurricane wind grabbed and flung them about the broken hall. Chunks of broken marble and dust cascaded down around them.

Kretorr got to his knees. Something was wrong with his left arm. He glanced upwards. Fiery red lines streaked across the dark starlit sky. It’s a massive meteor shower, he thought.

There was movement around him as Councillors struggled up from the rubble-strewn floor. Then he felt the floor move sideways, and a crack appeared on the eastern wall.

Crisis upon crisis had tapped their inner strength and resolve. Instead of focusing their trained minds and porting out of the Council Chamber to safety, they panicked. Fighting to keep their footing, they scrambled for the exits. Nobody made it that far. The rest of the eastern wall imploded. They were all swept away in a fiery wave of destruction.

Kretorr opened his eyes. The night was on fire around him. Large pieces of rubble came rushing past, crashing into other rubble, but he heard no sound. I’ve gone deaf, he thought.

He was lying on his left side and tried to roll onto his back, but found he could only move his head. He glanced at his feet. His white robe was torn and spattered with red. It was surely his own blood and couldn’t understand why he felt no pain.

Meteors still painted the dark sky with fire as they streaked towards the ground. He heard nothing, although the sound had to be unbearable. I’m lucky I can’t hear a thing, he thought wryly.

He turned his head to look around as far as possible. Not much of their tower remained. The holocaust had scattered debris and bodies everywhere. Smouldering meteor fragments littered the area. Nothing stirred except for the dancing flames of many fires.

It seemed as if the entire Valerdu was burning. Further towards the west, a red haze spread high into the night sky. Valerdu, magnificent home of the Tii Seren; destroyed in the blink of an eye, Kretorr thought sadly.

If all the Tii Seren present at the meeting had perished, his earlier decision to take the Keys and the Shield of Light to safer hiding places had been fortuitous. The powerful secrets the Keys could unlock were at least safe from the new enemy. Hopefully, a new breed of Tii Seren would someday find the cleverly hidden maps. Hopefully, it would lead them to the Keys.

A great sadness seeped into his soul when he thought of his wife and beautiful daughter in far off Anree. He would never see them again.

Kretorr sensed the end had come as a cold weariness seeped into him. His vision started fading and as the darkness descended, Kretorr noticed something strange. With his last thought, he wondered why the moon had turned red.

The Festival

SEVENTY-NINE YEARS Later.

The arrow hit the exact centre of the target with a solid thud. The second and third followed with a heartbeat separating each strike. Only a hairbreadth separated the arrows. Two shaft feathers fluttered to the ground.

A brief silence punctuated the amazement of the spectators as they realised a boy had beaten the long-standing champion. Then mayhem erupted as the new champion’s friends rushed forward and engulfed him.

The revellers swept Deronn off his feet and onto the shoulders of his older brother Judd, who could not stop jumping up and down with glee. Deronn hung on for dear life as they pushed Judd from one side of the circle of revellers to the other.

Deronn felt as if he was riding a wild boar. It couldn’t last. In the jostle, Judd tripped over his own feet and they both fell down in a heap amid shouts and laughter. A few revellers helped Derron up, and the crowd bombarded him with handshakes and slaps on his back.

Off to one side, a freckle-faced boy watched the proceedings with joy; his eyes glittering with excitement. Being only fifteen, and both scrawny and timid at that, Trujinn didn’t dare go near for fear of being trampled; even though the new champion was his best friend. Finally, the excitement petered out, and he edged closer to congratulate Deronn.

Unfortunately, the defeated champion beat him to it, grabbed Deronn’s hand. ‘Deronn, I’m honoured to lose to one with such an amazing skill. I’ve never seen such accuracy and speed. Congratulations young man, but remember that you should now refine your skill even more. Don’t waste your talent and practice every day. Everyone will expect you to fade; so don’t!’

Dumbfounded by the sudden attention, all Deronn could manage was to smile and nod his head. He tried to say something, but his mouth was too dry, and the sound died in his throat.

Realising Deronn’s predicament, Kilmerr didn’t wait for an answer and walked away, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Trujinn jumped in ahead of someone else and grabbed Deronn’s hand, shaking it with fervour. ‘Flaming stars, Deronn, you were awesome!’ He couldn’t contain his excitement and babbled forth, ‘I hope you’ll still keep teaching me to shoot better now you’re the champion?’

The older and taller boy was still at a loss for words and could only smile at Trujinn. All the well-wishers had already moved on to the next event, and the two friends hurried off to join them.

After a while, the older boy found his voice. ‘Trujinn, you’re more than good enough with a bow. And besides, you are good with lots of other stuff; like reading, for instance. Maybe someday you’ll find your own special talent. For now, let’s go see how the tree-felling contest is going.’

Later that afternoon, Trujinn got separated from his friends. Whilst searching for them, he turned a corner and blundered into somebody big and fell flat on his back. It felt as if a horse had kicked him in the face. He looked up and groaned as he recognised Dewikk, the village bully.

‘Hey, look where you’re ... Aha, what have we got here? It’s non-other than Skinny Goat without his shepherd,’ Dewikk croaked. With a cruel grin, he grabbed Trujinn by the collar and lifted him into the air to show off his strength to his ever-present followers.

‘Let go of me, you big fat bully!’ Trujinn roared without thinking.

‘What do you know? The goat can talk, but let’s see if it can fly too,’ Dewikk said. He lifted Trujinn up over his head and threw him as far as he could.

As Trujinn landed, the big boy stepped closer and kicked him in the side, ‘And that is for insulting me, you bag of skinny bones! Next time you won’t be so lucky.’ Without a backward glance, Dewikk sauntered away laughing; his giggling flock of supporters trailing after him.

Trujinn struggled to get air into his lungs. Intense pain throbbed where the bully’s boot had connected. He picked himself up as soon as he had his breath back and brushed the dust from his clothes. A few careful movements proved no boned were broken, but he could hardly stand on his left foot. He loathed himself because