Requiem of the Fallen Part I: Light of Mantra

By G.H. Starks

Written by G.H. Starks, Requiem of the Fallen: Light of Mantra,
is an epic tale that follows the travels of a young warrior (Ralir), in
a world dominated by the call of a soldiers duty and the shadow
of his fathers greatness. When Mantras greatest defender,
Shivalsa Nomrai (General of Mantras Grand Army and Father
to Ralir) is infl icted with a mortal illness, Ralir becomes the
reluctant successor to his legacy. Heir to an ancient family pact,
Ralir and his father embark upon a spectacular and magical
journey of revelation, betrayal, and redemption. Along the way
Ralir encounters the ultimate evil (Wodahs) and is given the
choice to turn his back on a soldiers duty and join Wodahs, or
lose all he holds dear. Requiem of the Fallen: Light of Mantra,
also follows the fi ght of a wondrous woman (Queen Patricia) to
save her land, her child, her King, and her subjects from the will
of Wodahs. Will Ralir and the Queen successfully fend off the
onslaught of the ultimate evil and save their world or will they
lose all to the approaching cataclysm?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469174167

G.H. Starks

A veteran of the US armed forces (NAVY), Mr. George Starks is a loving father and avid writer. Greatly influenced by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and J. K. Rowling, he was taken by their detail and artful approach to storytelling. Inspired by their great works he took up the craft in 2006 with his eff orts culminating in the upcoming release of his epic fantasy novel Requiem of the Fallen; Light of Mantra (2011), the fi rst in a series. Residing in Virginia (USA) Mr. Starks continues to study and practice the craft with the hopes of bringing quality tales to your fingertips for years to come.

Book preview

Requiem of the Fallen

109318-STAR-layout-low.pdf

Part I

G.H. Starks

Copyright © 2012 by G.H. Starks.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2012903582

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4691-7415-0

                   Softcover                               978-1-4691-7414-3

                   Ebook                                    978-1-4691-7416-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

1

Nightmares and Bullies

2

Home Troubles

3

Advice From Friends

4

A Soldier’s Responsibility

5

A Night with Friends

6

The Sickly Noble

7

Shadow of the Lost

8

On Deaf Ears

9

Successor

10

A Recollection of Lost Memories

11

The Black Creeping

12

A Little Bad Ale

13

The Needle Fingered Stranger

14

The Fighting Ways

15

To Walk as the Ancients

16

Father and Son Time

17

A Little Game of Ball

18

Burned Embers

19

A Night of Frivolity

20

Flames of Hate

21

Maston the Savior

22

Truth of the Pact

23

The First Guardian

24

Child of the Twelve

25

Brothers

26

The Devourer of Men

27

Spider Mountain

28

Shattered Peak

29

Vala’s Embrace

30

City of Webs

31

Long Live the Queen

32

The Candle Shop

33

Friend or Enemy

34

The Light of Mantra

Epilogue

The Hooded Savior

To the memory of the two women who gave their all that I may have this chance at life I dedicate this novel to you, Mrs. Patricia Starks (Mother) and Mrs. Martha Nelson(Grandmother).

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1

Nightmares and Bullies

Chess is a wonderful game. Some play it out of necessity to sharpen the mind, others merely to pass the time. Chess is truly a wonderful obsession, whether played out over a matter of minutes, days, weeks, years, or an eternity. Chess, my boy, chess.

—Jasupha Paraes, Memoirs of Ralir Nomrai: A Collection of Sayings from Family and Friends

All was silent and still within Arbor’s borders that night. All slept except for a lone figure walking slowly along a dusty trek at a cat’s creep.

The stranger was a tall man of six feet, the breadth of his shoulders clearly showing beneath a flowing black cloak. His hood hung low, casting the darkest of shadows, hiding his face from sight. He swayed in a slow promenade as though a wraith had risen from Arbor’s cemetery in search of vengeance for some wrong that had been done.

The stranger did not peer up as he traversed Arbor’s otherwise vacant central street. His footsteps barely disturbed the soft dirt of the narrow boulevard; instead, he gazed into the dust of the path. He had no need to see where he was going. He could feel the object of his search and so knew, without looking, the location of his prey.

For a time, the dark figure walked in silence and then paused for a moment some fifty yards away from a two-story home constructed of pale aged wood. The home’s planks were illuminated in the silver light sprinkled here and there by the shadows of the night. He stood in the darkness and looked up for the first time, with his eyes still hidden by his hood. He spied two wooden shutters perched on the home’s second floor just above its lower rickety canopy.

The strange visitor raised a black-gloved hand from beneath his cloak. A blue luminescent gem glowed brightly in his palm. The rune was held in place by his third and fourth fingers. He pointed his other fingers toward the shutters, his hand resembling a three-pronged orb of radiant sapphire light. The air rose to a light draft, and the shutters—a distance away—nevertheless swung open in silence.

Ralir and his new bride, Kathryn, slept deeply that night, their individual journeys into dream worlds redirecting their conscious focus to their subconscious wanderings. Their bodies shifted only a little in reaction to the new breeze, which now wafted in through the open window, its coolness touching them gently.

Ralir’s almond brow glistened with sweat beneath the light of the moon as the breeze invaded their place of rest. His lean muscular build, clothed in a white wool sleeping gown, welcomed the cool air. He stirred beneath the thick covers of their wedding bed, a wonderful thing of silver and bronze. It seemed quite out of place in a room, which was so obviously in a state of dilapidation.

Ralir sighed in his sleep but did not wake. His eyelids remained tightly closed and lay hidden from sight due to the thick dark strands of his hair—shoulder length and raven black. His fingers brushed at the wet locks, but his hair, defying his unconscious grooming, clung to his clammy skin and the damp fabric of his goose down pillow.

Father, he said in his sleep as his eyes danced the dance of dreams behind exhausted eyelids.

Neither he nor Kathryn noticed the stranger who appeared before the open window in a silent flash of pale blue light.

The black-clad figure waved his hand toward Ralir’s Kathyrn, who began to stir and then became still. Her red hair, slender angular body, and freckled skin were like the subject of a beautiful portrait, one capturing both passion and flame.

The stranger moved silently from the window toward the unsuspecting husband and wife. He returned the blue rune to its place inside his robes. Stopping at Ralir’s bedside, he removed a second stone from beneath his cloak. This rune was white and gave off a dull luminescence. He held it in his palm as he had the first rune. Suspended above the head of Ralir, the three-pronged light revealed the face of a young man no older than sixteen, a man newly come of age.

Young Nomrai, the stranger muttered in a hushed and almost unintelligible voice, I have a message for you.

Ralir’s head shook as his mind was gripped by a dream of the stranger’s design.

* * *

The sun, high in the noon sky, bathed the dirt streets and cabin homes of Arbor village in its warm light. The jasmine and flame vines that framed the windows and shutters of the homes basked in the sun’s rays. A colorful variety of plants filled the air with their sweet scent.

To the east of the village, Arbor’s farmers tended their fields of corn stalks which lay in emerald rows behind the town’s stable and tavern.

In the center of the settlement of wood and glass, a festival roared loudly as a young Ralir moved about the bazaar. The boy observed his surroundings with the most brilliant pair of green eyes as he enjoyed the mix of locals, tourists, and merchants arrayed before him. Eight years of age, he swayed from side to side as he shuffled along happily. The dragging sound of his tan leather boots against the grit of the earthen street joined the cacophony of sounds that permeated his surroundings. He followed his father, Shivalsa Nomrai, who strolled a few feet in front of him.

As they walked along, people looked at them in wonder. The Father and Son were so much alike. Their chins personified the same strength, and their brows the same handsome profile. Ralir watched his father closely. Smiling at the thought, he believed that in time, his limbs and core would grow into the same powerful build possessed by his only surviving relative. Only their eyes and skin told different stories.

Shivalsa’s fair skin and blue eyes spoke of a man of the northlands, a man of the frost. In contrast, there were Ralir’s almond skin and emerald eyes. These were traits that spoke of a mother Ralir had never known. He would frown whenever the absence of her memory touched his heart.

An old man dressed in a dirty brown top and cowhide pants now spotted Ralir and yelled to the boy. Little majestic one! he called, waving a slender wrinkled hand. The old one, a fisherman, brushed back silver strands of hair matted with sea salt and the sweat of the day. His hair hung loosely over his tanned brow as he smiled brightly with uncommonly straight white teeth for a man of his profession and age.

Ralir noted that the man wore an odd earring in his left ear. It looked like the rook from a chess game. Chess; he and his mentor Jasupha were very fond of playing chess. But the fisherman’s misplaced piece had its top sheared off at an angle. Ralir thought it more resembled a broken plateau now.

How now? the angler called to him in the traditional greeting of the sea.

Ralir turned his head and smiled at the man. Now he could see it was Naan, Jasupha’s friend.

My net is strong! he responded with the traditional reply of the seafarer as taught him by Jasupha. Then he held his tummy, and an expression of longing crossed his dimpled face. But no fish! his youthful voice squeaked, at which the angler laughed and slapped his knee.

After hearing this exchange, Ralir’s father turned and glanced back at his son. He was a bit perturbed because earlier he had told Ralir ten times that they were going to eat soon and to be patient. But after hearing the boy’s reply to Naan, he could not help laughing before saying, Give it time, Ralir. We can’t just grab the first morsel that looks good. We have to be cautious, lest we end up with angry bellies and loose innards. Remember the last time?

Ralir rubbed his belly again, remembering a rather unpleasant moment in his recent past. Then a rumbling sound came from his stomach, and he grimaced. Shivalsa heard the growling from his son’s belly and smiled.

Good, you remember, Shivalsa said. He nodded and motioned with a wave of his hand for Ralir to follow.

Ralir looked back and nodded to the angler. The veteran of the sea nodded in return and smiled brightly at the lad. Ralir noticed that before Naan could continue his meanderings, he was stopped by a hooded woman wearing a black veil about her face and dressed in fine purple and black garments. Ralir watched closely as they spoke heatedly about something. He could not understand what they were saying, but the woman was definitely not happy.

Little majestic one! Shivalsa called impatiently to his son.

Ralir turned to Shivalsa and bowed respectfully. Sorry, Father.

They continued on through the crowd, in Ralir’s mind, hopefully toward a morsel of food. Some roast pork would be nice, he thought.

As they strolled along, Ralir turned his gaze to the dirt of the path and smiled at the name Little Majestic One. The old fishermen of Mantra with their lean salty features, tanned leathery skin and foul mouths had named him that due to his walk. They called it the waddle of the ice, the walk of the birds of the Northern Isles.

A thud, punctuated by a sudden stop, returned Ralir’s attention to here and now. He lifted his eyes from the back of his father’s long legs. He had failed to notice that Shivalsa had stopped before a merchant’s stand. Ralir gasped, realizing he had crinkled the once smooth pants of his father, who was attired in the crisp robes of a Mantran Elite warrior. He looked up to meet his father’s gaze.

The kind man was a veteran soldier, grand general of the Mantran army. Having spent thirty years in the service of the Mantran King, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes told the tale of his many missions conducted in response to the call of duty. He looked on his son, and a smile creased his lips. But Ralir frowned in embarrassment.

I’m very sorry, Father, Ralir said quickly.

It’s all right, my little warrior in training, Shivalsa answered with a loving wink, such things happen.

Ralir nodded, but the frown remained. He always felt such mistakes were beneath him. He was a Nomrai, and his father’s only son. But despite this valiant heritage, there was never a time he felt he could be the equal of the men in his father’s tales of heroes and successors.

Shivalsa smiled again and gave Ralir a fatherly pat on the shoulder. The time has come for a morsel.

Well, this is a pleasant thing! the merchant said, catching the duo by surprise. Father and Son stopping before Dubai’s Cart of Delectable Delights!

His manner of speaking intrigued Ralir. It was full of well-timed hills and valleys, prompting lightheartedness and a feeling of wellbeing.

And not a moment too soon for the choice tidbits I carry, which, I assure you, are much in demand, the lilting voice continued.

Ralir and Shivalsa turned to find a dark-skinned man of eighty years staring back at them. Though he had been taught to avoid rudeness, Ralir found the bushy silver eyebrows of the ancient merchant funny. He chuckled at the sight.

But Dubai did not become angry. His eyebrows were raised in welcome, below a blue turban and crinkled brow. Ralir was young, and Shivalsa a patron. He nodded with utmost confidence toward a handcrafted chess board which lay on the right corner of his cart.

Ralir peered at the display—a gold chess board with a single piece sitting at its middle. The blue rook was made of crystal, its crest sheared off at an angle. Ralir looked at it, his eyes wide. The board’s craftsmanship was better than anything his mentor possessed, and Jasupha owned many beautiful chess boards. Ralir’s attention to the board was quickly usurped by the morsels of dried seafood which were arranged on Dubai’s left. Then the assortment of fruits at the middle of the cart caught his eye.

Dubai could see the longing in Ralir’s eyes and smiled, for he knew a sale was near. He motioned with his slender arms, dressed in blue robes, for the Father and Son to come closer. His robes ran from his shoulders to the sandals protecting the bottoms of his calloused and dust-covered feet.

So you know us. Odd as you are unfamiliar to me, Shivalsa said to Dubai.

He looked curiously at the merchant. Few in Mantra were able to draw the connection of parentage from Shivalsa to his son, yet to Dubai, this had been no problem.

Yes, I am new to your land. But a master such as me knows his craft and so know of you, I do. The most generous general I’m sure you are. Come, let us talk the talk of coin and trade. Buy from me, and I assure you that you and your son will seek me again in due time. Indeed, the sooner the better, Dubai said.

Shivalsa smiled, and his suspicions were allayed. There was no deceit in the merchant’s eyes. Yes, you are gifted, let us barter.

Of course, Dubai said.

Shivalsa and Dubai entered into negotiations as a gentle breeze rose and nicked Ralir’s ear.

The boy’s attention was drawn to a nearby cart on which rotten fruit and putrefied meats were displayed. The rancid smell turned his stomach. Draped over the cart’s side was a black banner with three drawn diamonds arranged in the shape of a triangle. In the center of the triangle was the symbol of infinity. Behind the cart stood a tall hooded man dressed in black.

The man lifted his black-gloved hand slowly and pointed a finger to the left. Ralir followed the line from the man’s shoulder to a point beyond his finger. The hooded man was pointing to an odd crowd of villagers.

Ralir turned to face this crowd. They were all dressed in meager robes. They looked at Ralir with dark eyes and vacant stares. They swayed back and forth like reeds in the wind as they parted in a wave to reveal a young girl of five years.

She stood before others of her own age. Each of the little vagabonds was dressed in torn dirty clothing—the common dress of the village’s orphans. She knelt low, screamed, and cringed beneath their taunts.

Strange Katy! the mob of urchins chanted again and again.

The commotion of the bazaar fell to silence except for the young girl and the cruel children surrounding her.

Ralir looked back and found his father still busy with the bargain of the day. In fact, Shivalsa seemed oblivious to the eerie happenings before him. The boy shrugged and decided he could handle this one on his own. He balled his fists and walked through the strange crowd of onlookers, plunging into the circle of angry children.

Leave her alone! Ralir demanded.

A pudgy child with red cheeks and dirty black hair stepped into the circle and extended a pointed finger at the girl’s savior.

Not your business, the portly fellow of ten retorted, his belly shaking when he talked. He frowned at Ralir, clinched his fist, and brandished it in the air. But the young Nomrai ignored him. The bully then clinched his other fist and shook them together at Ralir. He soon found that, try as he might, there was nothing he could do to strike fear into the heart of this young descendant of warriors.

I said not your business, and if it were, which it isn’t, it still wouldn’t be! the youngster said again. You hear me?

Ralir only smiled at the bully. The chubby one’s awkward words made him laugh.

What? The plump bully was now so angry that he gave the interloper his best mean face.

Ralir chuckled even harder, thinking that his adversary’s face resembled the backside of a camel.

I’m pretty certain my master would call you a bit dimwitted. Then again, I’m sure he would. So please, leave her alone, he repeated as clearly as he could.

In the moment of silence that followed, Ralir looked around to find the crowd of strange swaying villagers gone. He turned back and faced the round bully.

He’s a Nomrai! a little girl’s voice called out from the crowd of children. The chubby one turned to find Shivalsa’s watchful eye on him from the distance.

Ralir also turned, and Shivalsa nodded and saluted him. His elder had been watching all along. Then without warning, the children scattered, disappearing in a cloud of dust and stomping feet.

Ralir watched them go then looked back to see his father returned to bargaining. He turned to the little red-haired girl, with whom he was left alone.

The little girl ran to Ralir and hugged him tightly. Her stringy red hair slapped him in the face as she threw her head flush against his chest. He spat out the threads of dirty tangled hair which lodged in his mouth. He tried to step back, but it was too late. He was gripped tightly by the thankful freckle-faced but dingy little girl. He stumbled slightly as a rush of a thousand unintelligible whispers filled his ears. Soon he found that the girl’s embrace was the only thing holding him on his feet. He looked down at her, seeing how pretty she would be if only she could have a bath. She did not hear the whispers, he thought. He knew this because she did not try to stop the river of voices making him unsteady. In time, the rush of whispers faded away. As the sounds departed, Ralir’s legs again stood firm.

Thanks for the help. I’m Kathryn, she said, looking into Ralir’s eyes—her black pearls meeting his emeralds.

It… It was nothing, Ralir stammered, finding it hard to breathe. Something is wrong, he thought. Not because of her hug, but because the air around him was suddenly thin.

She stepped away from him, curtsied, and then said, But it was something. Thank you. He said you would.

Ralir took a step back. I don’t understand, he said as he inhaled deeply, trying to catch his breath.

Again the little girl ran to him and hugged him tightly. Will you protect me from him? she pled.

Su… Sure, Ralir said hesitantly.

Then a gust of wind ripped at the pair, and their surroundings were stripped of all color. The bright hues melted away to reveal a gray vision of black and white.

To Ralir’s surprise, a hooded man, dressed in long white robes, appeared in a crackle of thunder and a burst of dark mist.

The man reached for Kathryn with a pale emaciated hand and ripped the young girl from Ralir’s side. With his other hand, he pointed toward the startled boy.

There you are! he said. His voice was an ancient bellow, deep and uncaring. Spurts of black mist shot out from under the white hood concealing his face.

Kathryn struggled beneath the man’s grasp as she reached out to her would-be savior. Ralir! she screamed.

Ralir looked back toward his father, who continued to bargain with Dubai. The young Nomrai marveled at the idea that his father had not attempted to intervene.

At last I’ve found you, the hooded man said.

Leave her alone! Ralir yelled.

Now the Dire Pact will be fulfilled. Take her! the hooded figure said with malice, shoving the little girl forward.

Kathyrn reached for Ralir as he stretched out his arms to accept her. But before he could take her hand, there came a loud roar of tumultuous wind as Kathryn’s body burst into white flames.

Ralir! she screamed.

Kat! Ralir yelled. He ran toward his newest friend, but was instantly thrown back by some unseen force.

Kat!

The pact, you must fulfill the pact, the hooded figure intoned. He pointed at Ralir, who was yanked off his feet and thrust into the air.

Ralir was pulled over Kathryn’s burning body and toward the hood of their assailant. The closer Ralir was drawn toward the man, the more his mind was gripped by fear.

* * *

Ralir’s eyes opened wide as he sat up in his wedding bed. His white gown was drenched in sweat, and he shivered in the cool of the night air entering through the open window. He turned to find his Kathyrn lying safely beside him.

It was a nightmare, he thought, or was it? He felt a pain somewhere deep within his head. Then he saw a shadow standing just at the corner of his eye and turned quickly toward the room’s open shutters, only to find no one there. Nevertheless, he maintained trained eyes on the dark beyond the window frame. There, his gaze remained for some time.

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2

Home Troubles

Sometimes the greatest battles are fought in the mind.

—Jasupha Paraes, Memoirs of Ralir Nomrai: A Collection of Sayings from Family and Friends

Ralir’s frame had filled out well since his younger years. His new bride Kathryn had grown into a beauty to behold.

Still having those nightmares? Kathryn asked, stirred awake by Ralir’s movements.

Yeah.

The king’s son?

Ralir shook his head and threw back the red camel-skin spread. He rose from the bed and stepped lightly onto the floor. The wooden slats creaked beneath his weight as he moved toward the room’s lone window. He winced as the cold of the flooring stung his bare feet. Thoughts of the nightmare clung to his mind, and he pondered what it could mean. But nothing troubled him more than the vision of his Kathryn set aflame.

A crunching sound split the air as Ralir’s pinky toe colliding with something hard. Ouch! he exclaimed.

He then remembered they had received a wooden chest the day before. It was the newest of their wedding gifts. At his bride’s request, he had set the fine cherrywood trunk at the foot of the bed.

Can’t sleep? Kathryn said with a smile. In a few years, I’ll be able to do more than hold you at night.

Ralir smirked and nodded as he hopped about the floor on one leg.

The king’s son? she repeated, in reference to his dream.

Not this time.

Ralir limped to the window and was stretching his neck from side to side, when something caught his attention. He looked down into Arbor’s streets and was startled to see the murky outline of the hooded man dressed in dark robes. The figure stood just beneath his window, looking up at him. Ralir blinked, and the man was gone. He rubbed his eyes hard and took a second look to confirm what he had seen. Nothing was there, but Arbor’s empty streets.

"The Dark Merchant?" he wondered aloud. From his dreams, he remembered the figure with the nasty produce of spoiled whatnots. Ralir shook his head.

What? Kathryn asked as she left the comfort of their bed. What’s wrong?

Ralir again shook his head.

Kathryn walked to him from behind, laid her head against his back, and held him tightly. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of his body.

If you keep trying to hide things from me, I’ll give you a hug so hard, she said, squeezing him tightly.

Is that a promise? asked Ralir.

They laughed as Kathryn clapped him on the shoulder. Ralir turned toward her, smiled, and returned her hug with one of his own.

I love you, he said.

Then his eyes narrowed, and he realized for the first time just how much she had changed from the dingy little girl with the matted red hair. That much of his dream was true, he thought. Now long silken strands of her ruby-red locks ran from her head to the small of her back. Her face was so fair that it appeared to glow in the moonlight. Tall for her age, her eyes almost met his.

It was him, wasn’t it? It was the hooded man, she said, tears welling in her eyes.

Kat… , Ralir said in a soothing voice.

He hated these moments. Periodically, she would confide to him tales of the hooded man in white. When she had been a toddler, the beast in white cloth, as she called him, had plagued her dreams for some time.

He would say terrible things to me and show me things, she often said before spiraling into incoherent spasms of fear followed by a river of tears.

From what he could gather, it was not until she had embraced him that day in Arbor that she had found her first taste of freedom from the torment visited upon her by the beast in white cloth. But even so, from that day and for the eight years following, she had cried herself to sleep. Before closing her eyes at night, she still insisted that the shutters to their room be tightly latched. She was adamant that the beast in white cloth had vowed to return and take her one day. This was why, when he confided in her his nightmares involving the death of the king’s son, he left out the part about a similar apparition.

It was, wasn’t it? He’s come back for me! she said, her voice quivering as she spoke.

Kat… , he said as he held her tightly.

Did I die in your dreams? she asked, looking deep into his eyes. Ralir turned away and gazed out the window into the night sky.

Did I die?

Ralir hesitated and then shook his head no.

Liar! she proclaimed. He’s coming for me.

Kat, it’s just a dream, Ralir protested.

If it’s just a dream, then why are you going back so early? she said. You had a few nightmares about the king’s son, and you’ve been on edge ever since.

I’ll protect you, Ralir said. He reached out to hold her, only to be shoved back.

With her voice breaking into a high-pitched squeak, she said, How can you protect me if you’re not here? Aren’t I your duty too?

I have to do this. I’ll be back soon, I promise, he said. He parried her angry arms with his own, pulling her near him and embracing her tightly.

There was something about his embrace. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt a calm come over her.

How can you protect me if you’re not here? How can you? she asked more quietly.

I will protect you. I will. Now let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.

The two lay down for the night, but sleep resisted them both for a long time.

* * *

A new day begun; sunlight peeked above the horizon and tickled Ralir’s eyes through the room’s open window. His arms reached out in all directions, and he yawned as he stretched. He looked to his side but found only a vacant pillow; he wondered where she had gone.

Kat?

Ralir sat up, and his eyes surveyed the room. No longer shrouded in the shadows of night, it was a small but quaint place of relaxation. His eyes first fell on the wooden planks of the walls and floors. His attention then turned to the garment closet in the corner of the room.

This wonderful piece of furniture was new, like the cherrywood chest at the foot of the bed, the closet was also fashioned of cherry. It filled the room with a pleasant aroma, and he enjoyed the life it gave to their surroundings. And there was Kathryn’s beauty table, made of solid bronze and equipped with a fine crystal mirror.

He paused for a moment in admiration, feeling warmed not by the gifts themselves, but by the friendship they represented.

Both the closet and chest had been given to them by the old men of the sea. The beauty table and bed were given by a mysterious benefactor, who marked his gifts with the symbol of infinity. Ralir always wondered about this odd nom de plume.

He smiled at their good fortune. He was sure no one had better friends than he, for even their house was a gift. As dilapidated as it was, it was still far better than a young man of his means could hope to afford. His gratitude for this gift was owed to the Tykail family, Traijah, and his sons Demarious and Talon.

Shaken out of his thoughts, Ralir searched for the source of a loud clang and clamor. With a deep breath and a good cough, the mystery was solved; he now knew where his Kathryn had gone. He smiled brightly, wiped his eyes, and flung the covers to the side.

* * *

Ralir swaggered down the loudly creaking stairwell and gazed about the small living room. It was vacant, save a small cedar chair sitting beneath a sizeable windowpane and a large chalk circle drawn in the center of the floor.

I’ve really got to fix those stairs, he said to himself, shaking his head.

He coughed again and looked toward the kitchen’s entrance. A cloud of smoke billowed from the opening as the smell of burned lamb and flour filled his nostrils. Dense smoke and the sound of crackling grease signaled that things were not going well for his young bride in her maiden voyage into their kitchen. Ralir fanned the smoke with his hand as he stepped carefully around the chalk circle and entered the kitchen.

Kathryn stirred scrambled eggs in the pan to her right while fighting the flames surrounding a blackened leg of lamb crackling in an adjacent pan. She coughed in sputters as the smoke invaded the home despite the chimney and the room’s wide-open windows.

Ralir hesitated before he looked toward his young bride. When he did, he couldn’t help but smile at the experiment in culinary arts she was conducting before him. His smile, however, was quickly squelched when Kathryn returned his gaze with an angry cut of her eyes. She was not pleased to see him in military garb.

Have a seat. I’m almost done, she said somewhat sharply.

Ralir looked about the room and took a seat in one of the two chairs.

It was nice of the Tykails to help us buy this place, he said just before one of the kitchen’s cabinet doors fell off its hinges and crashed to the floor with a clamor.

Kathryn smiled, and they both enjoyed a laugh.

I’ll fix it.

Yeah, I know. When are you going to fix the floor out there? Someone could get hurt.

Soon. I’ll speak to Naan when… , he stopped short when he noticed the sudden anger in her eyes.

Owww! Kathryn exclaimed. A loud crackle and pop from the pan had sent a speck of grease onto her cheek.

Kat? Ralir said, chuckling.

Don’t laugh!

I’m not. Want me to kiss it?

Touch me and you die, she said with a wry smile.

Ralir held up his hands, I give.

Keep it up, and I’ll take this pan and hit you so hard!

OK, OK, but your cheek is a bit red, he said.

Ralir puckered his lips, and again they enjoyed a playful moment. Kathryn took the pan from the stove and placed it on a metal plate sitting on the flour-coated table.

So you’re going? she asked, with finality in her voice. The laughter ceased; her question seemed to suck the air from the room.

I have to.

What about your dreams of me?

I’ll be back.

Then I’m going too!

Ralir sighed at this and turned away. Kathyrn stepped quickly around the table and, with a tug of her finger, turned his chin and looked into his eyes.

What? she asked.

You can’t come, he said, forcing the words past his lips.

Why? You haven’t told him, have you?

I haven’t had the time.

What do you mean ‘haven’t had the time’? she said. You see your father and you say ‘Hi, Dad, here’s my loving wife Kathryn.’

Kat?

Ralir stood and looked down into her eyes, marveling at her beauty and fire. He reached for her hands, but she stepped back and turned away from him.

You’re ashamed of this barmaid, aren’t you? I’m not good enough for your father? she queried.

Of course you are, Kat. I love you.

Apparently not enough.

Ralir tried again to hold her, but she pushed him away.

I’ll tell him soon, when the time’s right.

No, don’t worry about it. Just go! she said, knocking the hot pan from its resting place. With a clang and splatter, the pan and its sizzling contents crashed to the floor.

Ralir saw the red blotch of burned flesh as she held her injured hand and followed her as she dashed out of the kitchen.

Kat! he called.

They entered the living room, just as a knock shook the door. Kathryn paid no heed and continued up the stairwell.

Just leave me alone! You can have your blasted duty!

Ralir stopped at the foot of the stairwell. Kat, he called but received no reply other than more strident rapping at the door. Ralir frowned, bowed his head, and turned away.

Kat, I’m sorry, but I must go. I will return! He hated leaving with such bad air between them. He opened the door but turned back, calling out I love you.

Elder Brother, I think he just declared his love for you, Talon said in a high voice as the door opened.

Ralir looked up into Demarious’s eyes and frowned.

3

Advice From Friends

Should you ever find yourself before the judgment of an immortal being, one with eternal patience, and this being gives you a choice between the abyss and oblivion, ask for more time to think on the matter.

—Jasupha Paraes, Memoirs of Ralir Nomrai: A Collection of Sayings from Family and Friends

Ten years his senior, Demarious returned Ralir’s gaze with a smile.

Ralir, you are like a brother to me, but honestly?

Ralir managed a smile. Long story.

I heard. You ready? asked Demarious.

Yeah, sure, Ralir replied.

* * *

Ralir looked up into the sky and shielded his eyes from the rays of the golden orb, which now rested at the noon hour. For a time, he cleared his mind and enjoyed the warmth of its rays. His discussion with Kathryn still weighed heavily on his mind; he was also still hungry and thinking about the meal left on the kitchen floor. Luckily, he had a stash of wild black raspberries on hand to tide him over during his ride back to Mantra.

Then the sound of thunder rumbled from the eastern horizon, and he looked back to see dark clouds gathering in the distance. He was happy that the storm was behind him. He looked up as the cry of a hawk called to him from on high, and the sight of this bird of prey caused a smile to crease his lips.

Shimacon, as she was named, was a beautiful albino hawk. Her purple eyes could see for hundreds of miles, her silver wingspan was twice that of a common hawk, and her talons and beak were as sharp as the blades of the Mantran Elite.

Ralir wiped the sweat from his brow just below his blue turban. As he did so, his father’s words echoed in his mind, Before she passed, your mother gave her to me to give to you. For a moment, his mind fought with a quiet longing, and his gaze turned from the blue sky to the path on which he traveled.

Come now, Ralir, we can’t help if you don’t talk about it, Demarious said.

Ralir shook his head lazily from side to side, but held back his words.

You know, Elder Brother, Talon said in his usual high-pitched manner, my guess is he was losing his first fight with his new superior.

I wasn’t losing, and she is not my… well, you know, Ralir said, giving up.

Then what is it? Demarious insisted. Let’s talk about it.

But Ralir remained silent, and the brothers did not press. The click-clop, click-clop of their horses’ hooves sounded loudly along the cobblestone road of the Mantran path. Ralir’s black stallion trotted alongside the white steeds of the two brothers.

Ralir wasn’t angry with Demarious and Talon, in fact, he loved them. They were the closest thing to siblings he had. They had treated him like a brother from the first day he learned to talk till the moment he became the youngest captain in Mantra’s history. This closeness was bolstered by Shivalsa and their father Traijah being lifelong friends.

Demarious shrugged off Ralir’s silence and breathed in deeply the fresh air of the open meadow. He knew Ralir and so expected moments like these when the young Nomrai would internalize everything and shut out other people. His brown eyes gazed out, and he enjoyed the wide-open fields of green grass and sparse shrubbery. He watched as the tall grass seemingly bowed in waves in respect of the noon breeze that cooled his skin. They continued for some time in this silent manner.

Demarious’s strong arms held tight to his horse’s reins, and he nodded to his brother, who was the younger of the two by six years. Talon returned his brother’s gaze with a shrug, and Demarious decided that now was the time to break the ice. He looked toward Ralir, who stared down blankly at the cobblestone road.

Come now, Ralir, enough is enough. Talk! Demarious implored.

Ralir again shook his head from side to side, but he knew he owed his extended family this much.

Talon flashed a smile at Demarious, who nodded his approval. You know, said Talon, maybe he’s scared.

I’m not scared! Ralir retorted.

Then what is it? Demarious asked pleadingly. Let’s talk about it.

Ralir sighed deeply, paused for a moment, and then for the first time since they had left Arbor, looked up and faced his friends. She doesn’t understand, he said finally.

Let me think. You end your leave early because of something that couldn’t wait till after your honeymoon, that very special time for you and your new bride. Hmmm, rarely do women understand these things.

By the scorpion’s tail, I don’t understand it, and I’m a man! Talon added.

There is something I have to do. I need to see Jasupha, Ralir said.

A patriot to the core, Talon said mockingly.

Duty often takes us away from family. Rarely do those of your age understand these things, said Demarious with a glare at Talon. I have your back, Ralir.

So do I, Talon said in deliberate confirmation of his loyalty as a friend and brother-in-spirit to the young Nomrai. He then turned his eyes to Ralir, even though you will not tell us the secret that also drags us off our liberty so early.

Don’t mind him, Ralir. You know how he gets when he misses his morning meal. Besides, we needed to get back anyway. Father wants to see us, said Demarious.

Reminded of his hunger, Talon turned his gaze toward the path ahead and placed his hand over his stomach, rubbing it hard.

I’m sorry, guys. Thank you both for lending me an ear. I know I can always count on you, Ralir said.

No problem. You’re a brother to me, Demarious said and nodded toward Talon. The good one.

Ralir and Demarious chuckled heartily as Talon frowned at them both.

Well, I’ve heard it’s unlucky to meddle in matters of a magician or his apprentice. But, Brother, usually things that concern needles over there concern us all at some point, said Talon.

Ralir noted that Talon had referred to him by the nickname given him by his superiors. He had earned it the day he won his first match against his instructor at age nine. It had been a training session with short swords. Ralir was so small at nine years old that his instructor had to have a sword made especially for him. It was an even shorter version of the short sword, a little larger than a dagger. Their instructor, BaBai, called it a needle. To everyone’s surprise, Ralir wielded the weapon with great precision. His ability to block and counter with it at such a young age took BaBai completely off guard, and so Ralir won both the day and the nickname. He smiled at the memory.

I think we hit a nerve, Ralir, Demarious said.

Or two, Ralir added as they enjoyed another laugh at Talon’s expense.

Whatever, Talon said, reluctantly joining in their chuckle.

Gents, how about we make a wager? Demarious proposed.

Sure, Ralir said, longing for a good distraction.

What will it be, Elder Brother? Talon asked.

The last two to the palace have to take care of the horses. Meanwhile I… er, meanwhile the winner continues on to the mess hall for chow.

You are on! Ralir and Talon yelled in unison.

With that, the trio’s mounts erupted into a clamor of hooves down the white cobblestone road, galloping toward a grand civilization built along an incline of lush tropical greenery set on the distant horizon.

* * *

Kathryn entered Arbor Village’s barn and frowned at the hay littering the ground. It smelled of horse dung, and something in the air made her sneeze. The eight stalls before her were filled with her equestrian patrons, whose owners had stopped by the Arbor Tavern for a flagon and to get some rest. Being the junior bar attendant, Kathryn was tasked with grooming and caring for the steeds of customers. Gingerly, she put on a pair of old leather gloves to protect the burn on her hand and tied her red locks back into a ponytail. With a contented sigh, she grabbed a brush from the entrance of the first stall and began her work. As she brushed, she hummed a melancholy tune to the horses. Happy for this getaway, she was so engrossed in her work that she