The Dark Side of Light: Eternity: The Dark Side of Light Series

By Susan D. Kalior

"Look into my caring eyes."

Shokane, Shallee, and the Vikings set sail for Sweden to mock celebrate the Festival of the Autumn Equinox, where the double double cross will be exacted to end Droghan's treacherous reign at last. However, with gods and goddesses used by all, the stakes are higher than ever, and the unexpected wells before them, sending Shallee and Shokane spiraling into the world of dark deities. The way out is a plan mired in complexity, and tests the very fabric of time and space itself.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan D. Kalior
• Release date: May 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393716501

Susan D. Kalior

        Susan was born in Seattle, WA.. Her first profession was a psychotherapist treating those suffering from depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress, substance abuse, sexual abuse, family violence, and severe mental illness. She employed therapies such as communication skill building, relaxation training, systematic desensitization, bioenergetics, and psychodrama. She has facilitated stress management, parenting, and self-discovery workshops that have aided in the psycho-spiritual healing of many. She has lectured on metaphysical and psychological topics, and been involved in various social activist pursuits.          Her education includes an M.A. in Ed. in Counseling/Human Relations and Behavior (NAU), a B.S. in Sociology (ASU), and ten months of psycholog-ical and metaphysical training in a Tibetan community.          Susan writes entertaining books steeped in psychology, sociology, and metaphysics in genres such as visionary fiction, dark fantasy, horror, and romance. All her books are designed to facilitate personal growth and transformation.         In her words: I love to sing, meditate, and play in nature. I love fairy tales, going outside the box, and reading between the lines. I strive to see what is often missed, and to not miss what can't be seen. There is such a life out there, and in there—beyond all perception! So I close my eyes, feel my inner rhythm, and jump off the cliff of convention. And when I land, though I might be quaking in my boots, I gather my courage and go exploring.         Through travel, study, and work, I've gained a rich awareness of cultural differences among people and their psychosocial struggles. I have discovered that oppression often results from the unexamined adoption of outside perceptions. The healing always has been in the individual's stamina to expel outside perceptions of self and constructively exert one's unique core being into the world. I am driven to facilitate expanded awareness that people may separate who they are from who they are told to be. Embracing personal power by loving our unique selves in our strengths and weaknesses . . . forever—is a key to joyous living. My motto is: Trust your story. Live the Mystery..

Book preview

Blue Wing Publications

The Dark Side of Light

Book Three-Eternity

Copyright 2010

Revised 2018

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief passages in connection with a review. All non-historical character or business names in this book are fiction; any resemblance to current names is purely coincidental.

Published by Blue Wing Publications

[e-mail], www.bluewingworkshops.com

Cover design by Christian Bentulan

Research Consultant: Mark Kalior

Proofreader: Sara C. Roethle

Readers’ comments welcomed.

Other Books by Susan D. Kalior

The Dark Side of Light

Book One-Initiation

Book Two-Crescendo

Warriors in the Mist: A Dark Fantasy

The Mark of Chaos (The Mark of Chaos Series)

An Angel’s Touch (The Mark of Chaos Series)

The Golden Disc (The Mark of Chaos Series)

The Other Side of God: The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Being

The Other Side of Life: The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Death

The Other Side of Self: The Eleven Gem Odyssey of Plurality

Growing Wings Self Discovery Workbook:

17 Workshops to a Better Life, Volume One

Growing Wings Self Discovery Workbook: Volume Two

The Simple Guide to Feeling Better

Manufactured in the United States of America

A Martyr’s Redemption—The End

I denounce the path

of the truly meek.

I lay down the cross,

’tis the sword I seek.

For my virtue I’ll fight,

for the right to be strong,

to guard a place in this world,

where I can sing my song.

For this I say,

it’s about merging dark and light.

And this I say, it’s about

becoming day and night.

And this I say,

it’s about man and woman,

and meekness and might,

and learning to love

and learning to fight,

until we are whole once again.

Now the beast breathes through me,

and I am free.

For all in all, in holistic sight,

The warriors need to love,

and the pacifists need to fight.

There’s a light side to dark

and a dark side to light.

Chapter One

Shallee

––––––––

The days sail by with ramped up activities in preparation of the Autumn Festival that will bring the double double cross to fruition. Droghan’s treachery will soon end, at long, long last. Shokane’s hands are full with his men, working hard to make them comply to a rather unorthodox war strategy.

Many of them are to appear as villagers, women and children included, while yet being ready for war. The smaller, less hairy men have been selected to play women, and those apprentices who had not yet gone through puberty have been selected to play boys and girls. Needless to say, the unmanliness of pretending to be a female has procured a roar of protest. That these disguises must be worn along the entire journey to Uppsala (in case we are spotted by Swedish seaman) has added volume to the roar.

It must be believed that we are coming in peace for the great Festival of the Autumn Equinox, just as they had come in peace to our Midsummer Festival. Shokane has, to an extent, quelled the humiliated with greater pay and other sundry rewards.

Over and over, they practice the strategy to upon a certain signal at the festival, spring forth their weapons and fight. He also has kept close to Droghan watching for any signs of Mackelvie interfering. I think we both just hope Mackelvie died out there somewhere because the distraction of finding him cannot be afforded in these critical days before the big battle.

Most days Shokane manages to give me a few hours with continued lessons in how to act like a boy, apprentice duties, and seamanship. I even let him show me more extensively how to use the dagger he gave me. After having made love, it is somehow easier to handle that weapon. Plus, I am more mobile now that my arm has healed.

In addition, he has prepared me for my duties for when we will camp ashore at night. Apparently, there will be two nights of camping before we are in Uppsala. I learned how to erect a tent, tend his armor, and the protocol to serve him in front of others.

We practice Norse when we can. At night we make love on the ship or in my small quarters, and I make him wear his condom, much to his chagrin. We make small appearances together so that it is assumed I am his apprentice.

Sometimes I have meals with him in the Great Hall sitting at one of the apprentice tables. He has different apprentices in charge of different things, and my special duties involve aiding him on ocean voyages. My contact with his other apprentices has been minimal, and they are jealous for the special attention I seem to receive, including having quarters of my own, but mostly because I have been chosen to sail with him. However, they are also honored that Shokane, one of the greatest warriors that lives, has chosen them to be his students. Hence, their disgruntled demeanors remain fairly repressed.

After six weeks of this careful preparation, it is finally time to set sail. Tomorrow is the day.

Tonight, however, Shokane and I lay upon on my small bed, in my dimly lit small room, naked in each other’s arms under a wool blanket, our lovemaking complete. With my head on his shoulder, breasts squashed on his brawny chest, and my arm draped over his waist, I squeeze hard. I dread tomorrow.

He brushes his hand over my hair, almost grown to my shoulders now, a fashion common amongst the boys and men. My bangs have been kept cut over my brow though, to keep up the disguise. I am glad. I want to hide.

He says softly, Fear not, Shallee. Let thy blood be fired for the adventure ahead. He twirls his fingers around a tress of my hair. For we shall now make the final move to victory in but a few days at the Festival of the Autumn Equinox.

I sigh, Victory. Hmm. I’m sure you have this all figured out, but if this festival is to be on sacred ground, and a fight breaks out, isn’t that sacrilegious?

It would be, if we were not fighting to preserve the Nordic relationship with the gods and goddesses. The rulers of Sweden and Norway agree with me.

"So, even though Denmark, Sweden, and Norway have in the past warred with each other, they will join for this cause?"

Aye.

But how can you trust them?

His low voice reverberates in my ear, This trust amongst the northern provinces when their way is threatened is something foreigners do not understand. The Norse, unlike much of Europe, as thou dost know, worship nature, celebrating life by celebrating the land, sea, and sky. They embrace the moment, acting upon natural yearnings to experience a life rich with adventure, instead of repressing themselves by the monotheistic belief that we must suffer in this life to be saved in the next. This radical difference imposed would threaten our internal well-being. So thou see’est that battles with each other do not threaten the Norse way. Those, like Droghan, who use a religion that separates deity from the natural world as a weapon to dominate our lands, pose a much greater threat.

I see. I squeeze him again. So we can trust them, and everyone will play their part, I sigh nervously, but I fear greatly I will fail to play mine. Though you have schooled me with the dagger, I’m not confident I will use it.

Thou shalt, he says, rolling me over on my back, his face coming to mine. When the time is right, thou shall do what thou mustest. Of that, I am confident, for I cannot believe thou wouldst let thyself fall away from me into the Big Empty. He kisses my lips deeply, tenderly as if implanting all his power. Then he lifts his head. As Grandfather Torrigan always says, ‘Let the tale unfold and trust thy story’

I sigh hard again. I am trying.

I wish I could stay with thee this night, but I must go now and make ready for the morrow.

He starts to get up, and I blurt, I’m afraid to be with all those men on the ship.

He comes back, landing lightly on top of me with hands cupping my temples. He says, The ocean hath great beauty, rocking thee like a babe, carrying thee over shiny water. The sun makes the ocean look pure blue and sometimes green. Think of tomorrow that way, Shallee. Think not of men or war, but rather of our love making in the very spot thou shalt be sitting when we make way. When thou art afraid, think of that.

All right, I say with a jagged sigh, I will think of that.

He kisses me on the forehead and climbs off the bed. I watch him dress in the dim light, shed only by one oil lamp on the wall. His body, by the rigors of war and rowing, is well muscled. I never cared about muscles in a man, and actually, I was more attracted to men without bulging muscles. That a man could protect me, even though I fought the notion—was enough. But on Shokane, those muscles bespoke the rigors of battle, the will to survive, and his success in so doing. Oh, my beautiful man. With tunic, breeches, and boots on, he fastens his war belt, then heads for the door.

He turns before leaving. I love thee, my sweet. Rest thee well.

Boo-hooing a bit, I say, You too.

He leaves, closing the door behind him. My little oil lamp highlights the smallness of my quarters. And I feel small inside, and shrinking more every minute.

I slip on my boyish nightshirt and breeches, and try to sleep. I flash upon my twenty-first century life: Kyle, Trina, teaching classes, and my activism. It all seems so long ago, even though only three months have passed.

I roll over on my side into a fetal position. More flashes: the teenager who attacked me, the red, ragged face of the man at the park who said I ruined his business, the Bible lady in the moo moo, Mackelvie’s evil grin.

I roll on my stomach, grabbing the pillow under my head. More flashes: flying to Denmark, getting sick on my grave, falling through time, Shokane carrying me, Shokane beheading his own man, and then slaying the Syllions.

I flop onto my back, arms spread eagle. More flashes: Durga in town, seeing Shokane as my lion, Droghan’s wicked face, Kurchat strangling me, Cerridwena dead, King Rake’s ghost saving me from Mackelvie.

I smash my palms over my face, flashing scene after scene: Kyle showing me how to use weapons, Shokane and I scuffling with Mackelvie, making love on the longship, apprentice training.

I survived all that, but oh my god, what is next? I sit up in bed, hyperventilating with sweat beading on my forehead, imagining the future: sailing on a Drakkar longship disguised as a boy in a fleet of a few thousand men; arriving in Uppsala, finding Markasus, giving him the ring, the great double cross, a hellacious battle, lots of death, Droghan defeated, or maybe me and Shokane. Me killing Droghan as planned, or maybe him—killing me.

I lay back down, pulling my woolen cover up close around my neck. I rub my fingers over the magic ring I wear like a necklace. Can I spring Kali forth to do the deed? And what of Mackelvie? Where is he now, and how does he play into all of this? And if all ends well, then what? Will the twenty-first century be different for the part I am playing in the ninth? And what of Kyle, King Rake's ghost, and the ghost of Aunt Calina? What will become of Shokane and me if we should succeed? And what will happen if one of us is killed?

I roll to my side, back in my fetal position. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I cry hard as silently as I can, stomach hurting. Help me, oh gods or goddesses. I summon thee Kali, oh please rise in me, and help me through this thing!

‘Trust your story,’ Shokane’s grandfather always said. And with that, I am comforted. Trust my story. Trust my story. Trust my story. And at last, I fall asleep.

––––––––

Morning has broken. I awaken early and steal a bath in my old quarters, not knowing when I will have the chance to bathe again. Dressed in my apprentice get up, I follow slightly behind Shokane as we journey toward the Great Hall for a meal that will be tantamount to a pep rally.

Over my shoulder, I carry my travel gear in a leather sack, made heavy by the extra water I have to carry. In my shoulder bag, I have my pepper spray, waterproof flashlight, Sig, tranquilizer and flare gun, all nestled in there, under spare clothing. On my belt, I have my lion dagger, and my pouch, filled with pepper spray necklace (which Shokane had fixed with a strip of gold brocade), poison ring, waterproof flashlight, matches, and burlap wrapped dried red algae and herring. Over my shoulder is also the strap that holds my waterskin, resting next to my shoulder bag. The magic ring, slipped through twine, is wrapped around my neck, tucked close to my heart under layers of attire. And I know I shouldn’t do it, but I also have my pearl wedding necklace hidden in the corner of my pouch. It is a symbol of my hope that Shokane and I may one day yet marry.

Shokane wears a shoulder bag too. It harbors the underwater flare, grenades, Sig, and MP5 with magnifier—and of course lots of ammunition. His travel gear, helm, and shield will be brought to him before we board the ship. I am just a peon, so I have to carry with me all that I will have on the ship now.

Almost to the Great Hall, Shokane glances over his shoulder, seeing, I am sure, my petrified face. He says lowly, The girl in thee is showing; an apprentice should be eager to prove himself.

I want to throw my arms around his back and beg for us not to go, but instead I swallow hard and nod, trying not to cry. I’m terrified to be amongst and journey with hordes of men, but in truth, I feel safer going with Shokane than staying back without him. And disguised as a boy, I do feel a bit empowered.

Staring at Shokane stepping fast ahead of me in full armor, save his helm, I try to emulate his stride.

As we enter the Great Hall I’m a bit stunned by hundreds, maybe thousands that have gathered about feast laden tables. Dozens of tables have been added, along with rows and rows of benches filling the room. About half are dressed as farmers and merchants, women and children. Weapons are conveniently stashed beneath cloaks, and most have a leather stuffed sacks with them, as do I.

The other half are in armor, wearing Droghan’s dragon crested tunics, for we would understandably be allowed to protect our people on the voyage over. Shokane walks on to the head table to sit with Droghan. And I go to the long trestle table designated for the apprentices that do not wait on the warriors during meals. I’m glad that is not my duty. I’d rather be amongst boys than men any day.

Droghan gives a rousing speech, and then Shokane. War energy rises in the mass of men like one great blood lust erection. I want to shrink, but I force myself to shout out the obligatory, huzah.

The men dig into their food, and I try to stuff my mouth with sausage and egg like the other apprentices. This is not one of those well-mannered meals that include women. My stomach is unhappy dealing with food that doesn’t sit well in my nervous condition.

I am trying not to heave. Finally, we are done and it is time to board the ships.

Apprentices of upper level warriors appear with their lords travel sacks. Other apprentices carry their warrior’s shields and helms. One of Shokane’s apprentice’s hands him his helm which he dons. As we make way to the harbor, that same apprentice carries Shokane’s round black and red shield of four triangles, and yet another, his travel sack.

We journey out of the castle, down the hill to a road that circles around to the harbor. I’m glad that the trunks, where the sacks will be stored, are already on board because my sack alone, slung over my shoulder, is heavy enough.

Shokane’s apprentices are close behind him, one with his shield, and the other with his sack. Of course I am lagging behind them, struggling to keep up with my weighted load. Shokane glances back between the two apprentices to me. I can’t help panting some, and I’m sure my face is red. He can’t help me, but by the look in his eye, it means something to me that he wishes he could.

We arrive at the massive string of various size ships, and walk to the Drakkar longship in which Shokane has conducted my training. Shokane’s two apprentices rush up the plank and go to his spot, apparently in the middle of the ship by the mast. One puts the sack in a trunk, and the other fastens his shield on the inside of the ship. They scamper back to us, each of them giving me a dirty look, and then eyeing Shokane as if he’d betrayed them for choosing measly me to accompany him. I ignore them, actually feeling quite special to be number one in Shokane’s heart.

These great ships have majestic bows that swoop up high curving into statuesque dragon heads or swirling knobs. The sterns swoop up too, but less so. The upper part of the hull is embedded with intricate carvings that seem to tell a story.

The men go to their various ships. Apparently, oarsmen go first. Our ship is almost completely manned, so I summon strength, knowing soon it will be my turn.

Shokane steps back, takes my arm, and pulls me aside. Droghan walks past us, and I’m so surprised, I almost swallow my tongue. Shokane didn’t tell me he would be on our ship, probably to spare me the angst that would have surely prevailed leading to this moment. Or maybe he assumed I knew. I don’t know the rules of war, but maybe it was such a logical thing that the king would ride with his most powerful man.

As Droghan crosses the plank that leads onto the ship, I stare at his black boots, the rims lined with red jewels. His tight black leather pants look smooth as butter, almost shiny. Scrolling my eyes slowly upward, I stare at his back. His woolen cloak covers the red belted tunic beneath. His long black hair is topped with a woolen hat, brim lined with red jewels, making it seem quiet the crown.

My face wants to bunch in pain, but I make it look blank. Shokane nudges me in a manly way, but I know it is meant to comfort. I gaze up at him with my desperate eyes nearly popping out of my head.

Shokane nods lightly as if saying, ‘All shall ring right, Shallee,’ but he says, Thou mayest board the ship, Gregor.

I nod tenuously, then stare at the worn spots on the toes of my brown boots as I step in a boyish gate along the oaken plank to the ship’s edge. I suck in a breath and jump in as Shokane showed me in our practice visits here. My boots smack the ship’s floor. I journey along the hull between mighty men on either side sitting at their rowing stations. Bundled in my cloak, peeking beneath the edge of my long bangs, I focus on the nook, way in the back, to my little lonely sea chest awaiting my arrival. At least I don’t have to row. And there is another large grace; it doesn’t appear Kurchat will be sailing with us.

I arrive at my chest, toss my sack inside, and sit on it as Shokane instructed. I’m smashed in close to the stern in the back of everything, and it’s better that I face the men’s backs than them facing me. The ships sides swoop up, encompassing me like a sugar cube in a teacup. I feel secure enough, but dread the moments ahead: sailing into the open ocean with rough waters and creatures beneath, and with ninth century Vikings no less.

Shokane has boarded, standing in the ship’s center by the mast, his helm in place, making him look cold and heartless. Over his warriors’ heads, he gives an assuring glance slicing through the roles we play.

Then he shouts orders in Norse. Droghan appears beside him, apparently allowing Shokane to run the pre-approved show. Our ship begins to move, one in a fleet of twenty-five, all filled with those formally invited to the festival. Then aways behind another fleet of forty ships will follow, coming along solely for matters of war.

And as I stare at the rower’s red backs with bow and quivers slung