The Lastlight

By B.G. Campbell

In the nether region of the cosmos, a great battle between good and evil rages so powerfully, it rips through time and space, opening a rift between two alternate Earths, allowing evil to seep in.

Two Earths, separated by infinity, suddenly joined by a breach in the multiverse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.G. Campbell
• Release date: Aug 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798891454675

B.G. Campbell

Retired Air Force Master Sergeant, Retired Contracts Director, landscape oil painter. Lives in Windsor, Colorado with my wife Christina.

Book preview

The Lastlight

B.G. Campbell

Copyright © 2023 Barry G. Campbell

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN Hardcover: 979-8-89121-917-5

ISBN E-Book: 979-8-89145-467-5

Cover design by: Ambient Studios

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

Printed in the United States of America

To Chris

My True Light

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

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Acknowledgement

About The Author

The Kingdom of Luur

A map of a fantasy world Description automatically generated

Prologue

In the heavens, where dimensions are infinite; where neither time nor space exists, a great battle between good and evil will rage for thousands of years, until one day the fabric of time will be torn asunder, and two worlds will converge to a single point. And through this tear in space, evil will be let in.

​​​​​From Elder Hamel’s visions as recorded in the Luurian Histories

Thin, dark clouds swept like phantoms over the three full moons, shutting out their light and bringing a dark and ghostly feeling to the small village. The trees, a living barrier to the world beyond, swayed in the growing breeze, stretching their wraith-like branches as if to fly away. Flickering shadows danced on the roofs of the thatched huts and the air grew thick.

​Nestled deep within the giant trees of the Gosalur Forest, all was quiet in the village of Luur, the inhabitants fast asleep after a long day in their fields, readying for the annual harvest feast. This was a time to celebrate the gathering of corn and wheat, olives, apricots, and figs; a time they would pray to the Creator for the blessed abundance given to them.

​Even Aschilar, charged this night with keeping the eternal flame burning in the center of the village, had fallen into peaceful slumber.

​Only the elder Hamel remained half awake, stirring restlessly, fighting with unseen demons that plagued his sleep for days. Prophetic stirrings of doom haunted him. Visions pounded into his mind, pressed in on his frail chest.

​Finally, Hamel threw off the blanket and cursed under his breath, forcing his worn body gently from the straw bed. He wrapped himself in a shawl and paced inside his thatched hut. The visions were sporadic of late and clouded with portents he could not decipher, but the prophecies he had received did not bode well for the people of Luur.

​Outside the hut, a cool breeze rustled leaves, but beyond that sound, a low pounding echoed through the walls, and Hamel stopped, turning his head from side to side. He opened the door to his hut and stepped out into the evening air. Dark, frightening clouds crossed the sky, like the signs in his visions, causing him to stagger in horror. Hamel clutched his chest and fell to his knees.

​He is coming!

​ Hamel almost stumbled as he rushed to Aschilar and shook him awake. You must get inside. Quickly!

​He offered the bewildered sentry no other explanation, but as if evil itself heard, the air became heavier still.

​The sound arose like thunder, a slow rumbling to the east. Hamel’s heart sped up, and he saw Aschilar stop in his tracks. The rumbling grew louder, and Hamel strained to understand its source. Not thunder, despite the unnatural clouds.

​Searching his long and ancient memory, the realization hit him like a physical blow. Horses.

​The ground shook, and Hamel knew for certain there were horses. Horses with riders. Hundreds, thousands even.

​One after another, the doors to each hut opened, and confused villagers spilled out into the village square. Hamel raised his hand before they could speak. The sound surrounded them, and Hamel spotted the first rider beyond the trees. He left his hand raised, demanding quiet as more and more appeared.

​Luur was a protected place, and as Hamel expected, none of the riders turned toward the village. On and on they went, dressed in black armor, roaring past with great speed, but never noticing Luur.

​When the last rider passed, Hamel turned a solemn eye to the bewildered crowd. The council will meet at dawn. He then turned and went inside his hut.

​He heard the men of the village as they ushered their wives and children to their homes. The sun would not rise for at least an hour, and they talked anxiously among themselves, awaiting the elder’s return.

​Hamel felt as if a great weight were crushing him because he had witnessed such a horde in his divinations and fitful dreams of late. As he gazed down at his withered body, he knew his time of passing drew near, and it was neither a pleasant nor an unpleasant thought. He worried only about the others. He had guided and cared for them for centuries, knowing the day of evil would eventually come.

​Luurians were simple farmers and blessed beyond their realization, with soil that was always fruitful, and weather that was eternally kind.

​Conditions such as these existed nowhere else in the world and this Hamel knew well. A quiet comfort surrounded Luur. Its people were farmers and artisans, and the living standards were the simplest possible. The people worked, slept, and prayed.

​To a stranger, the village would appear unassuming. But mystery surrounded it. It was a sheltered place, a protected and holy place. And the strangest mystery of all was that no one outside the village boundaries knew of Luur's existence. The eternal flame was a symbol of this mystery and a reminder that Luur was everlasting.

​ The trees were hundreds of feet high; their trunks so immense it would take twenty men stretching arm-to-arm to encompass even one. And there were no paths leading out of the village because no one ever thought to leave. There was no reason to leave. The people of Luur were quiet and happy and knew nothing of the violence which dominated the outside world. And this is how it was planned. The people of Luur were the descendants of the creation, the first gift of life imparted to the world. The pure and true progenies of an omniscient force from which good and evil sprang. And in the village of Luur, each day had been the same for a thousand years - until now.

**

​Our legends have warned us of this time, Hamel began, unsure how to address the gathering. "A time when evil is loosed upon the land. However, you should not frighten your families with this news.

​"I am the keeper of our sacred Word and bound to protect our people. For many centuries, since my father’s brother left the fold of Luur, evil has risen in the other world and has slowly turned its eye to Luur. We call this evil Mordak."

​ Murmurs arose among the men at hearing this forbidden name.

​"Fear not, my children. You are descendants of the first people. The great Creator has long protected our village and clouded Mordak’s knowledge of Luur; held him in abeyance. But I fear he has awakened.

​"I know not if the great clamor that descended upon us this day is Mordak, but my visions tell me the time is ripe for his appearance in our land.

​We must learn if he approaches, for if so, there is much to do. I require five volunteers to journey beyond the boundaries of Luur and into the other world. These five will be our scouts, and they will return with the answers we seek, or die in the quest.

​One by one, all the men lifted their hands high.

​So pure of heart. A tight smile formed on Hamel’s face. You are all good and true, but some must stay to care for the women and children. Lucious, Kevyn, Homilar, Michiel and Heschliar. You five will go. Would that I could make your journey easier. I can give you no guidance save for this: Reject the ways of the other world. Discover what you can of this evil and return. Go now and prepare to depart when the sun has set beyond the trees.

​In the quiet evening, Hamel watched as the five brave men from Luur stood at the edge of the Gosalur Forest. The tall bearded one glanced at the others but said nothing. Then, together, they stepped beyond the protective boundary into an unknown world.

1

Kovali, Turkey

June 2000

Do not turn around, a female voice whispered in Taylor Pierce’s ear. Something sharp pressed against his back. "Walk slowly down to the end of the block. You will die if you do not do as I say." He suspected he had found the girl named Yildez — or rather, she had found him.

​Taylor did as she instructed, dodging vendors and motorcycles, weaving through the crowds of shoppers. They reached the end of the market, and he turned his head slightly. The blade pushed harder.

​This alley on the right. And do not turn around again.

​Once in the alley, the blade came up to his neck, her lips almost touching his ear. I will give you five seconds to answer my questions, and if your answers are not satisfactory, I will slice your throat. Do you understand?

​Taylor nodded as best he could, the sharp edge of the blade pushing hard.

​Who are you, the voice asked, and why are you asking for me?

​My name is Taylor Pierce, he choked out. I’m a friend of Frank Loge. We’re in the Air Force together. I’m here to find him.

​How did you know to look for me? And what makes you think I know this Frank Loge?

​He told me about you, how he met you here. He told me about your — your gunshot. The pressure from the blade lessened, then left his neck altogether.

​Taylor turned around. A stunning Turkish woman stood before him, with long black hair and eyes like saucers, but there was also pain. A faint scar ran from her brow down the middle of her left cheek.

​You are very stupid coming here, she said, glancing around. And even more stupid asking for my name.

​"I’m not as stupid as you think — I just don’t have much time. I must find Frank. Please tell me if you know where he is. I need to talk to him urgently."

​Yildez eyed him suspiciously. How do I know you are who you claim to be?

​I have my identification. He reached into his back pocket. With amazing speed, the knife was at his throat again. Identification can be altered! she hissed. Speak, or you will surely die!

​Taylor felt days of anger, frustration, and weariness combined, building with such a force that a familiar power surged. After all that had happened in the last few days, he decided no one would stand there and threaten him. He shot his hand up and ripped the knife away, turning her around in one swift motion and putting the knife up to her throat. She gasped, her eyes darting around the alley. She tried to back away, but Taylor gripped her arm with his other hand.

​I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this. I may have been followed — I’m not sure. Frank told me once you were sympathetic to America — he even asked me to recruit you to work for American intelligence. I don’t know what else to tell you. I must talk to Frank now. Both our lives could be in danger. He waited for the words to sink in. Yildez said nothing.

​I just want to find Frank. Taylor pulled the knife away from her throat and let her go. He flipped the knife around and handed it back to her. Please take me to him.

​Yildez paused, then accepted the knife. I believe you, she said. Come. This way. She started down the alley, and Taylor raced to keep up. Finally.Maybe I can start making sense of everything, including the dreams.

2

One Week Earlier…

Central Southern Turkey

May 2000

The white SUV bumped and skidded across the desert floor, as sand, finer than talcum, swirled like mists of vapor in the constant wind, obliterating any tracks left behind.

​Snaking through the Karapinar Desert on what could graciously be called a ‘path’, the SUV wound past small hills created by ancient volcanic eruptions, sink-hole lakes, and dunes of red sand, into the Taurus Mountains.

​ The noon sun bore down hard, battling the vehicle’s air conditioning for supremacy. It reflected off the driver’s mirrored sunglasses as he swerved to avoid a buzzard feasting on some unfortunate rodent. Another man in the passenger seat held on tight.

​They had traveled eight hours, all the way from Gaziantep, where they retrieved Captain Frank Loge from the security team.

​ The man on the front passenger side turned and glanced at Loge, now rope-bound in the vehicle’s back seat. Without the benefit of a seatbelt, he bounced from side to side, his hands tied behind his back. His blood-streaked face looked like a steak that had gone through a meat grinder. The traditional Arab baggy pants and t-shirt he wore were now as red as the sand outside the speeding vehicle. But despite being thrown around as the SUV swerved through the desert, he made no sound.

​The vehicle bounded on for another ten minutes, then the driver keyed the radio mounted to the dashboard. Prime to Base. After a moment of static, the reply came. This is Base. We have you on screen. Two miles out. Opening Portal One.

​A large craggy hill appeared in the driver’s view, and he reduced his speed. As the vehicle approached, a camouflaged panel opened, revealing a dark tunnel. The driver pointed the car into the opening and the panel closed behind.

3

Southern Defense Complex (SDC)

Taurus Mountains, Turkey

May 2000

On the third morning, Lieutenant Taylor Pierce woke with a single thought: The dreams are real.

​He flung the covers off and sat up in bed, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his hair.

​Scents of roses and honeysuckles filled the air. Tree branches hung low to the ground, silhouetted against three bright moons. A small fire glowed a short distance away. Peculiar folk, dressed in hides and furs, were speaking an unknown language, and huddled around the fire to keep warm. But the night already felt warm, with no need for a fire. Like a specter, Taylor appeared in their midst, beside the fire, and the people were talking and pointing.

​Then the light! A blinding light appeared, and the people fell to the ground, frightened and crying — and Taylor woke. He woke to his room filled with the same light.

​ Once again, the dream invaded his sleep with its consecutive narrative, flowing like a movie, transporting him to another time, another dimension. Each day, he found it harder and harder to break free and return to the waking world.

​But this morning held something new.

​Taylor stared in wonder at the faint aura of color and light that now bathed his quarters - inexplicable, no apparent source. Just there, as if passing through a huge prism. Every piece of furniture shimmered with a warm glow of distinct hues. He blinked, but the light remained.

​I’ve brought part of the dream back with me. I’m losing my mind.

​He sat fully up in the bed, curiosity taking over. Shades of red and amber danced across the room and showered color on the Turkish rugs that hung on his wall. His blue trousers, draped on the desk chair, glimmered pink and purple. It reminded him of the way things looked after swimming in a chlorinated pool with your eyes open. Like a rainbow following you around.

​He closed his eyes, chasing away the remaining cobwebs. When he opened them again, the intensity of the light diminished. Then, the glow faded like a candle flickering out, and within seconds, disappeared.

​A million thoughts raced through his mind as he wondered about the causes of this hallucination. Is there something in the air? Should I see a doctor? Have I been drugged?

​After the first two dreams, he’d battled like Heracles, refusing to allow the dream’s presence to invade his waking world, refusing to believe it held any true significance.

​Curiously, this morning his thoughts drifted to God and church. His parents were religious, and Taylor resisted the dogma, but he always believed good and evil existed in the world. The dream and the light must be slivers of imagination ghosting into his subconscious as he slept, but the light felt genuine, and the dream still lingered.

​A glance at the clock shook him back to reality. Why did his roommate, Eric, not wake him up as agreed?

​He needed to get into the office early this morning. His supervisor and friend, Captain Frank Loge, had been missing from the Southern Defense Complex for three days now. He had allegedly stolen a vehicle from the motor pool and disappeared. The information Taylor received so far indicated Frank was selling secrets to the Iranians. Taylor didn’t believe this for a minute. He knew Frank well. There must be a mistake. Did he steal a vehicle? Officers could check vehicles out of the motor pool for excursions into local towns. Maybe there was an accident.

​Regardless, because of Frank’s position as Intelligence Assessment Division supervisor, tension was high in the complex. Taylor, next in line by rank, found himself the acting supervisor.

​He jumped from the bed and headed to the shower, washing the dream away and worrying about Frank. Taylor kept in touch with several Special Forces teams who supported the Intelligence Division. They were searching all over the country, with help from the Turkish Police.

​Dressed in less than ten minutes, jacket on, belt tightened, shoes tied, he paused and took a hard look in the bathroom mirror. Only two years out of college, a lot was on his shoulders now.

​The dream continued to assault his mind while he dressed, and made him uncomfortable, as if an unseen secret hid behind his eyes - a secret even he didn’t know.

​As he dressed, he looked at the picture of Robin, his ex-fiancé, that still sat on the desk in his room. Despite the disturbing dreams, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering where she was and what she was doing. His heart still ached badly from the recent breakup. It wasn’t a breakup, Taylor. She dumped you for another guy.

​He pushed thoughts of her away as best he could; ran a comb through his hair and headed out the door, thinking about the dream, the light, and his friend, Frank Loge.

4

When Taylor arrived athis office, he was told that Captain Loge had been captured and returned during the night. He was to report immediately to the interrogation observation room.

​Gray walls and ceramic tile floors of the observation room reminded Taylor of an old broom closet, with speakers mounted in each corner, near the ceiling.

​He sat at a small gray metal table in a hard, gray, straight-backed chair positioned in front of a pane of one-way glass. He figured millions of gallons of gray paint sat in a warehouse somewhere, with truckloads going out every day to ensure every building, and every office on every Air Force base remained the same shade of gray.

​On the table lay two pads of ruled paper and his favorite pen. A steaming cup of coffee sat next to them, and he would have been downright happy if there was a different reason for being there.

​ General Hank Bose stood to his right, chewing on the end of a cigar, waiting for the interrogation to start.

​General Bose said nothing when Taylor arrived with only minutes to spare. He stared through the glass, his gray-blue eyes reflecting like laser beams. The General’s lips curled in a near-snarl, causing Taylor to shiver. He revered the General and with good reason.

​Hank Bose had not been appointed commander of the SDC - he gave birth to it. SDC was his brainchild, his legacy, and turning down the Army Chief of Staff job to build it embarrassed the President. But Bose didn’t care about the President or his proclivity for embarrassing situations.

​To Taylor’s left sat a small, fidgety man dressed in a dark suit and wearing spectacles too large for his face. A bit of disdain sounded in the General’s voice when he introduced the man only as Sam. Taylor smiled and pegged him as CIA. The obvious lack of physique and glasses screamed tactician.

​ On the other side of the glass, Captain Frank Loge paced like a caged rat. He bore little resemblance to the man Taylor knew and worked with for almost a year. He now sported a five-day-old beard, and a swollen, probably broken nose. Even his posture appeared different. His labored breathing made Taylor wonder why he hadn’t seen a medic before being brought in for questioning.

​Taylor glanced down at his notes and flipped to the brief General Bose provided. Frank put up quite a fight when the security team located him. Two team members were in the hospital with multiple injuries. Taylor grimaced as he pictured the altercation. Frank was a former Golden-Gloves kickboxer in college, and he and Taylor often sparred in the gym, with Taylor holding his own and even beating him occasionally, but most often ending up on the canvas.

​Besides the obvious swelling in the face, his appearance looked wrong. Taylor studied his friend hard. Is he taller? Is his hair a different color?Maybe the shirt. Why would he have on a clean shirt?

​Is he aware of our presence? Sam spoke for the first time, breaking the silence.

​When the General did not respond, Taylor said, No.

​Sam cleared his throat, and Taylor knew this would be a long day. He reminded Taylor of someone who rarely said anything, but once begun, would never shut up.

​As if to confirm Taylor’s suspicion, Sam asked, "How damaging are the codes Captain Loge passed to the Iranians?"

​This time General Bose spoke up, never taking his eyes off the glass. I thought they briefed you, Samuel.

​There wasn’t much time, General. I only arrived a short while ago. Quite an amazing complex and so remote. A marvel of engineering. Sam’s glasses slid to the end of his nose, and he pushed them back up.

​Loge is a traitor, Sam. No emotion in the General’s voice, as if that one statement explained everything. He passed secrets to Iranian Intelligence, the magnitude of which I can only estimate. But there is enough in that young man’s head to set us back years.

​I assume everything is being recorded?

​Bose gave him a look that suggested he had been invited to observe but could just as easily be asked to leave.

​We have video and audio, yes, Taylor offered. All classified Top Secret, Specially Compartmented Information access only.

​Ah, that’s very good, Sam said. I hoped to have information to take to my people.

​Bose spun on him. "I have absolute authority here, Sam. Maybe you want to run that by ‘your people’. Nothing leaves this complex without my express approval. Not a single piece of information, not a single word. That is an order supported by the Secretary of Defense. Do you understand?"

​Sam stared wide-eyed at the General. He pushed his glasses up on his face and nodded.

​The interrogation will continue for days, Taylor interjected. I think you know the release process.

​Taylor knew the General was watching his every move, and he had every intention of doing things by the book, despite Frank being his friend and the inner conflict he was feeling.

​I see, Sam said, appearing to struggle over what to say next. You realize at some point the NSA and the President will have to be briefed in full. He let the statement sink in. And as soon as possible.

​Sam, General Bose said, I will inform the people who need to know once we gather and assess the information. If you disclose any information without my consent, it will be very painful for you.

​Sam shot Taylor an anguished glance.

​A door opened in the small room beyond the glass, and two Army CID agents dressed in civilian clothes stepped in. Let’s see what this traitorous shit has to say, the General said.

**

​Two hours into the interview, General Bose departed without a word, leaving the room silent, except for Sam’s incessant and irritating requests to clarify everything Frank said. Taylor also had a disturbing sense about Frank’s answers to the questions put to him. Instead of showing signs of confusion and fear, Frank appeared almost calm, his answers too perfect, admitting to every allegation.

​Unknown to Taylor, during trips to nearby towns, Frank had been meeting with Iranians for months. Why? And at one point in the interview, Frank mentioned being in Kovali. But the notes General Bose provided didn’t mention this town. Taylor remembered the name. He and Frank visited the market there.

​And in between all the questions and answers, Robin crept into his thoughts. Her face and her scent marched into his consciousness throughout each day for almost a month now. As much as he wanted to forget what she did, he had no control over his emotions, just as he had no control over her.

**

​The interrogation lasted all day. The information Loge passed was even more damaging than expected: computer code, satellite encryptions, threat assessment reports - all classified as Top Secret. Loge had given it all to Iranian Intelligence operatives, and repairing the damage could be arduous.

​When the interrogation ended at 1800 hours, Taylor went to his office to label the video and audio discs. His back ached, and with increasing frequency, he stood and stretched. Frank’s interrogation left him angry and in a foul mood. That, along with irritation at his roommate, Eric, for not waking him up.

​Eric knew the importance of Frank’s interrogation, and Taylor had asked him to make sure he didn’t oversleep. He didn’t tell Eric how hard it was to wake up, because of the dreams he continued to have each night.

​This single thought allowed the dreams to sneak back into his head. Mordak.

​The elder Hamel spoke of this evil in his dream. And now, the mere conjuring of the malevolent name in his mind brought a sudden stabbing pain to the side of Taylor’s head, and he grimaced, pushing his chair away from the desk.

​Tendrils of gray smoke rose from the floor and Taylor shoved his chair to the wall and toppled onto the floor. He tried to shout, but no sound came. The smoke followed and rose to the ceiling, encircling him. It’s not real. There is no Mordak! This is only a dream again.

​Then Mordak invaded his thoughts; spoke in a foul voice heard only in his mind.

​You have been chosen through time, but the Lastlight is of no use to you. Find the Light and give it to me. I will give you riches beyond your wildest dreams. I will bring Robin back to you. Do you understand?

​Smokey fingers seemed to slip around his throat, choking him, while at the same time, he felt the pull of temptation.

​Robin?

​Yes. Bring me the Light.

​I don’t understand, he said in a strained whisper.

​Bring me the Light. The fog pulled away and seeped into the floor.

​For a long time, Taylor sat in silence, rubbing his neck, feeling remnants of the vile touch. What am I supposed to do? I can’t function like this!

​The dreams steeled him in a way he didn’t yet understand, but he still felt paralyzed by this real-life encounter. The dreams are NOT real. And yet, they felt real. But how? And the voice…telling me I have been chosen. Chosen for what? And how can I bring Mordak the Lastlight? I don’t have it; I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know where it is.

​As he’d done the past few days, Taylor tried to push these thoughts away with sheer willpower. But this was different. He was not asleep. Could it happen again? What if Mordak returned? What if he couldn’t deliver the Lastlight to Mordak as demanded? And why would he deliver the Lastlight to something so evil?

​He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed his forehead, and considered all the ramifications. He could not let these delusional episodes take over his life. But were they delusional or truly supernatural? And which was the better option? If they were delusions, then he had somehow developed a serious mental illness and he should report it to the SDC doctor. But what if it was real? One way to find out.

​Taylor pulled himself off the floor and headed out of the office and down to the nearest bathroom. He burst through the door and looked at his neck in the mirror. Nothing there. Taylor slid down to the floor again and sat there, a million thoughts going through his mind. So, if Mordak is real, he can’t physically hurt me? But he can tempt. Maybe that’s his only power.

​Eventually, he stood up and looked in the mirror again. Get a grip on yourself. You have a job to do.

​He went back to his office, pushed the door open a crack, and peered in. Everything looked normal, so he took a deep breath, opened the door and sat down in his chair, rolled it to the desk, and tried to concentrate on his notes. The job needed to be finished; everything catalogued and analyzed.

​ He contemplated General Bose’s remarks in the observation room. How would Bose keep a lid on the Loge situation? The SDC gathered information daily and provided it to every military branch, and a summary report to the National Security Agency, the FBI, and a sanitized version to the President each morning. How did Bose plan to explain a sudden interruption in the expected service?

​What would happen to Frank? And why did he flee? If he was selling secrets but was in no danger of being caught, why run away so suddenly? I’ve got to get in to see him privately.

​ During Loge’s interview, Taylor struggled to understand why his friend would do such a thing. He graduated from the Academy near the top of his class. His father was a circuit court judge in Cincinnati, and his mother was a very successful real estate agent. It couldn’t have been for the money.

​The answer came three hours into the questioning and surprised Taylor as much as any other aspect of the whole affair. Frank Loge claimed to be homosexual, a fact that was used to blackmail him. Taylor shook his head and let it sink in for a minute. Even though Frank was his supervisor, they were also friends. They ate dinner together almost every night, went camping together, and sparred in the gym. Taylor had gay friends back home. There was no way Frank was gay.

​A knock at the door interrupted Taylor’s meditations. Sam poked his head in. Do you have a minute?

​I have to brief Bose in half an hour.

​Well, that’s one thing I wanted to talk to you about. Sam came in and sat down. It concerns me very much the way he’s handling this matter. I can’t make him understand the intelligence community needs this information as soon as possible. The Director would be very pleased if you could help.

​Taylor smiled. "I think the General made it quite clear how he felt about releasing information. And you know General Bose well enough to take him seriously.

​He’s a son of a — Sam didn’t finish the sentence. Always was. He cannot keep this information contained.

​Taylor pushed back his chair. I assume you’ve heard the stories about him. More a statement than a question.

​What does that have to do with anything?

​He is one of the few living Medal of Honor recipients and the fact that he’s been in his current position well into his 60s should tell you a lot, Taylor explained.

​ Sam shifted in his seat. I know he’s well respected, but this is national security, Lieutenant. Besides, one of our teams spotted Captain Loge in Kovali, but he eluded them. They’ve been badgering me to death for details.

​Kovali? I remember Frank mentioned that in the interrogation, but according to my notes, he left here and went straight to Gaziantep.

​Sam puffed out his chest. No, our men spotted him twice in the market in Kovali. The team almost took him there.

​Interesting. Kovali. Something about the place nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Another mystery. Uh, Sam, I’m sorry, but I need to brief the General now. You should leave this alone for a few days and let us do our job. I’m sure General Bose will give you all the information you need and let you brief God and everybody after we’ve fully assessed the damage.

​Sam stood. I’m expecting a message from the CIA Director that will let General Bose know who is in charge of national security. Then he stormed from the room.

​A time bomb ready to explode. Between this and the dreams, and now the supernatural manifestation he had experienced, Taylor wondered how he could sleep again. Was he even safe from Mordak? If this — this entity could manifest itself as a physical being, what protection did he have? And more importantly, was he mentally strong enough to resist?

**

​Walking the long corridor back to his quarters, Taylor’s thoughts drowned in the idea of dreams crossing into reality. He didn’t know what to do.

​He swiped his keycard and opened the door. Lieutenant Eric Scott stretched out on the floor, watching TV, and drinking a beer. A string bean, tall and lanky, his legs appearing to reach across the room. He wore his favorite Dodger’s cap, turned backward, a patch of dirty-blond hair poking out the front. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, and a fine line of smoke hung in the air as if suspended by a wire. He glanced up. Rough day, huh?

​That’s an understatement. Where the hell were you this morning? Clutter filled the room, and Taylor made a quick mental note to clean on the weekend. I almost overslept.

​Don’t get mad at me, Eric said. Your friend Loge had everybody jumping through hoops. I left by five this morning. Do you have any idea how much work is involved in reprogramming the computers? I was supposed to start my leave in three days, but Bose canceled all leave until the situation is resolved.

​Taylor threw his notebook down on the couch and went to the kitchen for a beer. I know. I briefed him, and I’m beat. Taylor twisted the cap off the bottle, experiencing a strange emptiness, on top of confusion. The emptiness had been there for a month, ever since Robin dropped the bomb. His mother would always say, Just ask yourself–will this matter in a year? Considering I planned to marry Robin this spring, yeah, Mom, it will matter in a year.

​The hole she left in his heart now paled compared to the dreams. Oddly, the dreams provided much-needed relief from the heartache and pressures at work, and he felt compelled to sleep again and learn more about his role in this magical tale. Mordak mentioned the Light. Was that the same light from his room this morning — a morning that felt like years ago?

​I checked out the second season of Babylon Five from the library. It just came in. Eric said. Thought you might want to relax and watch a little. At work, Eric could make a computer do amazing things. He could manipulate complex math calculations in his head, and a keyboard was an extension of his arm. But in his room, he sat glued to the television every night, and he hated to watch it alone. If ever anyone fit the description of couch potato, Eric did.

​After what Taylor had just experienced in his office, watching television seemed the most mundane thing in the world. I’ll pass tonight, Taylor said, walking into the living room. I want to take a shower and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s probably going to be no different from today.

​Knowing he would regret it, he asked, Did you notice anything different about the room when you woke up?

​Different? What do you mean?

​Nothing. It’s been a tough day. And by the way, smoking is gonna kill you.

​Yeah. If this job doesn’t kill me first.

**

​During his shower, Taylor tried again to convince himself that the dream and the light that morning were nothing more than pure imagination. Even the smoke and the voice in his mind. It must have come from all the tension lately — Frank going missing, and responsibility for the Intelligence Division falling to him. And Robin leaving him. Add to that the dreams and the encounter with Mordak. It had to be stress-related…but how to explain the light in his room, and feeling the tendrils around his neck?

​Could Mordak get Robin back? The enticement was compelling. He thought about his bible schooling. This was how Satan wormed his way into the hearts of men. Was Mordak Satan?

​Too many questions and not enough answers.

​He flopped down on his bed and stared at the picture of Robin. Little by little, his eyes grew heavy, and he felt the dream return.

5

The Kingdom of Lurond

May 1st, 1192

The day’s receding sunlight sprayed shades of red and amber across the horizon. Peter sat alone on the large stone windowsill in his room. His back ached, so he stretched his legs one at a time and leaned over, touching his nose to his knees. A crude wooden ladder rested against the sill leading down to the floor, ten feet below. He built the ladder three summers before, so he could sit in the window and watch birds in the sallows growing beyond the moat. That now felt like eons ago, the innocence that marked those warm days lost in the blood spilled on the fields beyond the castle walls.

​The castle was built on the side of Mount Luur, and it dominated the landscape for miles around. It was surrounded by a deep and wide moat, with a single drawbridge, and huge gatehouse. The outer bailey housed shops and served as an open market when crops were in season. The inner bailey housed the livery and a three-story keep, with a great banquet hall, the King’s chambers, various guest rooms, and a dungeon below.

​Over Peter’s lifetime, Lurond grew into a mighty kingdom, encompassing the lands to the Muratis River in the east, and the lands to Poccmoor in the north. Protected by the Lastlight, Peter never thought he would see Mordak attempt to conquer the kingdom. It was futile. So, after all these years, why was he attacking now?

​Though he celebrated his eighteenth birthday a month ago, his father still resisted letting him join the battle, which left him with nothing else to do but watch and wonder. He spent the last few days in the same position, surveying the devastation before him. Armored bodies of soldiers and horses lay on the ground, twisted, burning, and rotting in the sweltering heat.

​The troopers who were still alive took no notice of the dead, save to use them as barricades to protect their frail existence. They drew their swords and drove them home, and arrows filled the air like thick swarms of mosquitoes.

​ The townships dotting the countryside became the battlefield and were spared no mercy. Enormous boulders, covered with flaming pitch, flew through the air, battering, and burning the homes and farms.

​And there were the sounds, the wild and horrid sounds that tore into Peter’s ears. The shouting battle cries, the crash of crumbling walls, and the groaning agony of dying men, burned by the pitch. And through it all, Peter saw the black banner of Mordak’s forces raised high as they moved closer to the castle.

​We are going to die.Mordak’s armies are too powerful and somehow plans have gone wrong. But nothing must go wrong.Sarah is to arrive today.

​The familiar ringing seeped into Peter’s consciousness. His concentration broken, he turned away from the window. The dinner bell. Ringing the dinner bell as if it were