The Banished King: Death is Only the Beginning

By Sam Updike

When Michael died, it was just the beginning of his story. A half-elf, half-human outcast at birth, Michael was raised in a secluded village by his loving parents, away from the world that hated him. Then, one day, his village was destroyed, and Michael lost everything. His home, his parents, and even his own life. But death was not final for Michael. A mysterious and powerful entity called the Divine rose him from the dead to accomplish a mighty task.

In the fantasy land of Anathoth, where different races have been taught to hate and distrust each other, Michael must become the hero they desperately need. Even though the land has shunned and mostly forgotten the Divine, Michael must learn to trust Him because a terrifying threat creeps ever closer. An ancient evil from the mountains to the west is coming, bringing death and destruction with it.

Aided by special gifts given to him by the powerful Divine, Michael sets out on a journey where he finds himself in unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory. He meets both allies that he must convince to work together and enemies intent on his destruction. Can Michael overcome the obstacles in his way and convince the land to come together to face the ancient foe? Or will the wickedness that banished the Divine and taught the land to hate each other allow the ancient evil to conquer them all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886856705

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The Banished King

Death is Only the Beginning

Sam Updike

ISBN 979-8-88685-669-9 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88685-670-5 (digital)

Copyright © 2023 by Sam Updike

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 1

An ancient legend was told and revered in that part of Anathoth, in the shadow of the Black Mountains. It was a tale of an ancient evil descending like a flood from the heart of those dark mountains and plunging the world into chaos and war. The rest of Anathoth shunned the old story, choosing to believe it was a fable that had no real worth. Even at the base of the Black Mountains where the legend had found fertile soil, some still said that it was a tall tale meant to scare the young and impressionable. I was one of those people.

The Black Mountains serve as the western border to the entirety of Anathoth and stretch from the southern point of the land to its northern tip. The vast mountains were so treacherous that no one who had ventured into them had ever returned, and what lay on the other side was not known by anyone in the whole of the land. I lived at the base of those mountains, but not by choice. I, like every other inhabitant of my village, was forced to.

My elvish mother had been a member of an envoy of royal elvish representatives that traveled to the Capital city on a diplomatic mission. There, she met my father, a human street merchant. One day, when the representatives that my mother was tasked to serve were summoned to a meeting, my mother found herself with a few hours of freedom. She decided to walk the city streets where the merchants were peddling their goods to see what the people in the Capital bought and sold. While she was taking in those foreign sights, she saw a handsome human working at one of the many stands. She walked over to the stand and bought only an apple from his wares but left with more than just that apple. She left with her heart no longer her own.

My mother was only in the city a week, but a week was all that was needed. The night before her envoy was due to leave, my mother and father were secretly married and planned to run away together to start their lives anew.

Their choice was a dangerous one. If it was found out that two different races had been joined in marriage, all those involved would be sought after and dealt with harshly. Any union formed of different races was an illegal act, and it was just my parents' luck that their secret marriage was not so secret, after all. Someone had reported that they had seen them being bonded to one another, and before they could flee the city, my parents were arrested.

My mother and father were marked with the brand of the transgressor as punishment for their act of impropriety. An image of an X was forever seared onto the skin of their foreheads, and they were transported to a village of exiles that was tucked away against the Black Mountains in the southwestern part of the land. However, it was not just my parents who were exiled. Nine months to the day of their wedding, I was born.

That is the reason my family was living at the foot of those dreadful mountains. My name is Michael. This is my story.

Chapter 2

Not knowing any differently, it took me quite a long time to realize that as a half-elf, half-human, I was not welcome in my own land. I was shielded by my parents from the harsh realities of what my life was and what it was going to be. In the end, it really didn't matter how good of a job they did because one of my strongest childhood memories is the day the mark was forced upon my flesh. It is a day I'll never be able to forget.

Every year, our village received a visit from two men who rode down our solitary trail with the sole purpose of marking the children of the outcasts that had been banished there. They did not burn the young who would not be able to remember the trauma they caused but waited until they were old enough to feel and remember the pain and smell of their burning flesh. I was unaware of their intentions that day because every year, my parents made sure that I was as oblivious as I could be to their purpose. That year, however, I had turned eight, and the Markers, which is what we called them, deemed me old enough.

Every other year, I would watch them ride by, then go inside my small, cozy home to play. That year, though, one of the men yelled out to my parents from his horse, letting them know it was my time. The two men jumped down from their mounts, and one held me down in the dirt street in front of my own home while my mother cried into my father's arms. I tried my best to not give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry or hearing me scream, but when the other man pressed the scalding metal against my forehead, I could not hold either back. With a smile and a snicker, they left me on the ground and rode out of our village until their next visit.

I watched them continue their work year after year until I couldn't stand by and do nothing any longer. My blood began to boil when I watched a young girl named Meredith being held down and branded in the street. The sight was too much for me to handle, and without thinking, I intervened.

You guys seem to enjoy tormenting young girls more than I remember you enjoying my marking! What? You don't get much attention from young ladies where you come from? I shouted at the same two men I vividly remembered marking me.

My words got the men's attention, and as soon as they had finished with the young girl, the two of them made their way to me. The first one made the mistake of thinking he could physically manhandle me. He grabbed at me, but I easily swatted his hand away and landed a fist square on his nose. I sent him sprawling down onto the dirt road, screaming in anger and pain as he held his nose.

The second Marker learned from the others mistake and drew his sword, placing its point to my neck. By that time, my father and mother had heard the commotion. They saw me staring down the evil man that was threatening me and ran toward us.

Whoa, whoa, let's not do anything too hastily here! my father said, stepping in between me and the sword. The Marker showed no interest in listening. He yelled at my father to get out of the way because I needed to be taught a lesson about my place.

Then why don't you put that sword down and teach me like a man, I taunted.

Silence! my mother shouted at me. If he needs to be taught a lesson, then do to him what he did to your friend.

What? I said, turning my gaze to my mother.

That sounds good to me, the bloodied Marker said as he got up and walloped me in the same manner that I had done to him. The two men laughed as I laid there, and both felt manly enough to spit on me before they left.

Thanks, Mom! I angrily said as she and my father helped me to my feet. I was confused and hurt at the willingness of my parents to let me be hit. After all, they were the ones that taught me to stand for what was right, even when it was not the easy thing to do.

Be quiet, my father sternly told me, she just saved your life.

My encounter with the Markers was probably the most exciting event to happen in our little village of exiles until a few weeks before my twentieth birthday, when things began to change. Storms that had always lingered deep in the mountains began to slowly creep closer and closer, and earthquakes became commonplace, leading to dangerous and horrifying rockslides. It was like the mountains became aggravated or even enraged and seemingly began to throw down chunks of rock at us. I didn't understand how bad things were until two days after my birthday. I came home from my deliveries that day, and the world as I knew it vanished from existence.

My family raised pigs, and it was my job to deliver the meat to those who had purchased it or to those who could not. My deliveries that day, like every other, started in the dark. My home sat almost in the middle of the lone road the village was built around, so it usually took me quite a while to finish. As I would walk, carrying slabs of pork up and down our village road that led to the base of the Black Mountains, the sun would gradually peek above the horizon. It would stream through the sky and illuminate the many sights of my village. There were houses much like mine, made from the wood and purple foliage of local plum trees. The method of how those colorful foliage roofs were kept vibrant and fresh for years was an amazing elven skill that I was not taught.

Other homes were quite different, using the dark rock provided by the mountains instead of wood. Mud was used as mortar for the crudely made homes, and bunches of long strands of grass were tied together and stacked for roofing.

A normal day's sun didn't care if the home was bright and colorful or muddy and covered with grass. It shone equally on all of us. It shone down on both the gardens where the vegetables were grown and the pens where the animals were kept, showing off the hard work of those who had been dismissed from society. Normal, however, had nothing to do with that day.

By the time I had finished my last delivery that fateful day to Mr. Grester, I couldn't tell if the sun had risen at all. The enormous storm clouds that had come from deep in the mountains were hanging low and thick, blocking out any semblance of the sun. They failed to bring any rain, but the clouds brought tremendous thunder and wondrous lightning like I had never seen.

Hurry home, boy! the shaky voice of the hobbled Mr. Grester hollered after me. These are not safe times to be out frolicking about! I never took the old man too seriously. He was always the old loon who lived up against the mountains, but in that instance, he sounded more logical than crazy. I heeded his warning and hurried back home to where my mother was cooking breakfast.

Did you get the meat delivered? my father asked as he sat at our table, waiting for the meal that would sustain him until after his day's work was done.

Yeah. The old-timer was quite agitated by the weather, I answered, sitting down across from the burly man that was my father.

These are definitely strange times, my insightful, elvish mother said as she prepared our usual breakfast of pork gravy and biscuits. I have never seen nor heard of anything like this in all my life. She shook her head as she spoke, making her long, flowing, brunette hair swing gently from side to side and briefly revealing her pointed ears.

Strange times, indeed, my father concluded, ending our brief conversation on the subject.

Just as my mother was ready to put the food on the table, we heard screams from the west. The three of us looked at each other, and as we tried to figure out what was happening, our door was violently thrust open. In a blur, three beastly creatures violently stormed into our home. Without time or weaponry to properly defend ourselves, we stood no chance. I saw my mother being grabbed as she reached for a knife, but before I could do anything to help, something pierced my chest, and everything went black.

Chapter 3

Amidst the deep, black nothingness that engulfed me, an explosion burst forth, and the brightest, most magnificent light appeared in front of me. It was so intense and luminescent that I could not dare look at it for more than the briefest of moments, but I was able to make out the light's source. Standing before me seemed to be some semblance of a person.

What are you? I asked the presence, looking down to spare my eyes.

I am what you cannot dare look upon. I am the entirety of all existence—the dawn, the day, the dusk, and the night. But in this world, I am the Banished King, relegated to myth and legend, mocked and told I have no place among you, the presence's voice forcibly yet graciously answered.

But why am I here? I asked timidly.

Because my love endures, and with this gift, you will bring hope and light to the darkness of this world, the self-proclaimed Banished King said with great power and authority. He then reached forth and touched my forehead, sending a wave of energy through me that contracted every muscle in my body.

The shocking power that coursed through my muscles snapped me back to reality, and I awoke on the floor of my home. I was still woozy from my out-of-body experience as my eyes looked up at the roof of my house that was burnt to the point where most of it had collapsed. The few support beams that still stood were blackened and scorched by fire. I forced myself to sit up as I tried to remember and understand exactly what was real. Ash, soot, and little bits of my scorched home fell off me and my clothes as I did, revealing that I and my clothes had miraculously escaped the flames that had consumed my home.

The fog that laid on my mind was lifted when I realized I was unharmed, and my memories quickly became clearer and clearer. Anxiety and fear hit me like the force of a lightning bolt as I remembered my home being invaded and seeing my mother attacked. I frantically began scanning the remnants of my home, screaming, Mom! Dad! Where are you? hoping beyond all reason and rationale that they were still somehow alive.

My screams were not answered, and my hopes were dashed as my searching eyes came across something I desperately did not want to see. Two charred bodies were lying where the kitchen used to be, the larger one's hand stretching toward the smaller. I crawled through the burnt remnants of what used to be my home toward what I feared were the bodies of my loving family. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes and began to run down my cheeks. I found it harder and harder to breathe with each move I made, and when I reached the larger body, my breath was taken away at the sight of a gold band on one of its fingers.

Nooooo! I wailed through my tears, knowing that my father never took off the golden ring that symbolized his everlasting love for my mother.

I swallowed my pain and forced myself to crawl over to the smaller body. I slowly reached down to roll it over because I wanted to see the hands that were tucked under it, but when I touched the crunchy, burnt skin, chunks of it fell off. Knowing I had to make sure this was who I desperately hoped it was not, I was compelled to continue. I gently rolled the corpse over and could plainly see my mother's matching ring. The realization that my family was lying there, dead, overtook me. I stood in the mid of my burnt-down life and stared at their charred bodies, unable to do anything other than weep.

The tears eventually stopped flowing, and I slowly regained some semblance of composure. I knew that there was nothing I could do that would bring them back, so I walked out from the smoky ruins to see if any of the small village that I knew as home had survived. None of it had. Every other home had suffered the same fate as mine, and the bodies of those who tried to flee were left lying in the street. Not only had they killed the people and burned their homes, they also slaughtered the livestock and burned every last crop that our small village had grown. I stood in amazement at the complete and utter destruction before me and then turned west, toward the direction the creatures had come from.

I stared at the Black Mountains and remembered the old story I had heard and disbelieved. A dark army of soulless creatures called Rakasa descended from the Black Mountains. Led by a sorcerer named Azrial, they embarked upon a crusade of death and destruction and brought darkness to Anathoth. But the spreading darkness was met by the Divine's light, and the two battled. The dark army was beaten back by the light and its champion and sent back to the Black Mountains, where they waited until they could spread their darkness once again.

I did not know or believe that what had happened to me coincided with the story. What I did know was that I could not stay among the destruction of what had been my life, and my eyes shifted toward the road that led out of the village. Through the smoke that still lingered heavy and thick in the air, I saw a radiant white horse standing calmly and quietly at the edge of the village. I knew the horse did not belong to anyone from my village, and I was instantly drawn to the unknown steed.

I quickly made my way to the saddled horse and saw that it had two sheaths tied to it. It was like someone had ridden it there, but there was not a soul to be seen. My first thought was that this could be the gift that I was told about, and since there was no one else around, I assumed it was all mine for the taking. I grabbed one of the two sheathes and unsheathed the weapon it held. It was a silver sword with a white handle, and even in the sunless, smoke-filled air, it shimmered. When I examined the blade, I could see that it was made out of some sort of fine metal but seemed too light and thin to be usable. I had never seen such a blade before and decided to test it on the nearby wood fence that kept what few mules Myrion Bladis had owned penned in. The mules it once corralled had been slaughtered and consumed by fire, but the double-railed fence had escaped the flames, making it a good test for the blade.

The rail I intended to strike was a solid foot thick, and I was quite sure that it would break the fragile, thinly made blade. My thoughts were quickly proven very wrong, though, as the blade not only sliced cleanly through the top rail of the fence but carried through with enough force to do the same to the bottom rail. Stunned by the strength of such a light blade, I examined it more closely. When I brought it near to my eyes, I noticed my reflection on the silver blade, and I could not believe what I saw. I quickly put my hand to my forehead, and my touch affirmed what I was seeing. The scarred mark of an X was no longer there. I had been freed of the label of an outcast. Confused about everything that was happening, I placed the sword back in its sheath and went to examine the other.

What I found was quite unusual. Two separate sheaths, each carrying a dagger, had been fused into one piece of equipment. Straps meant to be tied around my shoulders made it so the two weapons rested on my back, making it so all I would have to do is reach over either shoulder to easily grab one or both of them. The blades of the daggers were almost identical to the sword, except much smaller. They had the same white handles and were made of the same thin, light metal that gave off the same shimmer. I did not feel the need to test them, though, as I was sure they would be just as powerful as the sword.

With my newly acquired blades on my back and around my waist, I mounted the white steed. I rode east, not knowing what else to do but get out from under the storm clouds and away from the death and smoke that clung to the air. When the smell of death was finally behind me, and the sunny, blue sky was once again visible, I noticed a red star in the northern sky. The entrancing anomaly mesmerized me, and as I stared at it, I began to see a vision of another village being attacked by the same creatures who had slaughtered my family. I saw the red star shining directly above the carnage and realized that it was a guide showing me where I was supposed to go.

Thrilled at the notion of vengeance, I grabbed the reins of my mount and hastily rode north toward the twinkling, crimson guide. I rode over grassy green hill after grassy green hill with the stormy mountains to my left and the wind in my face. After hours of riding, the early day turned into night, and I began to notice a faint smell in the air. The smell grew stronger and stronger as