The Silver Arrow (5 page)

“Angela will take and ready the
child,” the Council member said. “The washer is waiting for you at
the back; the water is ready so we can begin your cleansing so
Rami-hado might not possess your seed.” Her tone was flat and empty
of any sympathy.

“Please come with us,” Hilda
said as Angela took her son away. It was heartwrenching letting go,
like losing a part of herself. The baby started crying.

Supported by Hammond, she was
led to the back of their home. A small tent made from banana leaves
had been erected. Twenty feet from the house, steam oozed between
the layers of leaves as she walked over to the woman who stood
waiting. Removing all her clothes, she walked into the makeshift
tent.

The heat inside was intense at
first, but slowly her body adjusted. Inside the middle of the tent
was a vase filled with boiling water containing herbs, buried in a
hole, supported by hot coals, with another pile on the side.
Archena could hear a single drumbeat…tap, tap…that slowly changed
into a succession of rhythmic beats. The people outside chanted
while keeping up with the beat as they moved around the tent; it
had begun. Alone, she let her tears flow freely.

In her solitude, she wondered
if she would ever see her son again. It had been over a hundred
years since something like this had ever happened in this village.
Thinking about it, she realized that the children who were taken
never returned…

“But it will be different this
time,” she said, interjecting her own thoughts. It will be
different this time.

After several minutes that
seemed like an eternity, the drumbeat stopped. The makeshift door
to the tent was pulled open and she was beckoned. A woman stood at
the entrance with a green sheet for her to cover up as she stepped
out. Her face, shoulders, and arms were glossy with sweat as she
was led back to her home.

Once inside, she noticed her
son was already dressed in red swaddling. She was no longer allowed
to touch him. As Angela and the baby headed for the door, an
audible voice that couldn’t hide its aching spoke. “Stop!” They all
turned to look at Archena. She asked if they could wait for a
minute and ran into her room. A second later, she came out with a
necklace that held an emerald ring. She placed it on the babe,
careful not to let any part of her touch him.

“This is his,” she said,
placing on him her most precious possession, a family heirloom.
Angela looked at Hilda, making sure it was okay. She nodded
slightly to give her approval, and they left.

As the Council journeyed into
the forest, they had two other babies with them, a boy and girl
from two other villages. It was a half-day’s walk to the Shrine of
Olinar buried inside a cave. As they journeyed into the forest,
Angela could not help but wonder about the baby she was holding.
When he was crying and she touched his hand, a tingling feeling ran
though her body and his eyes flashed from brown to silver, but she
said nothing about it.

The sun was setting when they
arrived at the entrance of Olinar’s cave. Two Council guards stood
at the entrance with a spear in one hand and a raised shield on the
other, so it was over their chest. Others hid behind trees that
served as camouflage. As Hilda led the group into the cave, a male
voice spoke from behind them. It was loud and clear.

“Stop!”

Everyone that heard it, did,
and they turned in the direction of the command. Hilda, who was now
behind the group, made her way to the front. And while her face
held no expression, she was going to show the person who dared stop
them the sharp side of her tongue.

Once in front, she could see
six armed men in circular formation, weapons in hand. They were
covered in cloaks made of animal hide and tree leaves that allowed
them to blend into their surroundings.

They were the priestess guard,
the highest-ranking member of their Council. The guards were tall
men with faces hidden behind brass masks, their bodies wrapped by
their cloaks. They watched their surroundings like hawks, with eyes
searching for anything out of the ordinary.

The guards in front parted,
revealing a woman in her older years. Her hair was pure silver
gray, which was a contrast to her smooth skin. She wore a
white-laced dress that was illuminated by the green and gray around
her. Hilda and her company bowed their heads as she walked past
them.

“Rise, child,” she said to
Angela, whose head was bowed. She rose with the babe that had the
emerald necklace around his neck. The priestess gently loosed the
cloth wrapped around the child and her eyes widened. She stared at
his hands and then began to speak almost prophetically.

“He cannot enter Olinar. He is
of the lineage of Lamtin and shall bring freedom to us all, but
blood and destruction will set his path. Soon people will have to
choose, and many will follow him to their end. Two stand with him,
and our fates are tied to theirs, but only he has access to all the
keys…”

*************

Iseac could not believe what
he’d found, an account of one of the three. Reviewing the document
again, it prophesied of some great battle to come. It said nothing
about where the child was taken, other than the fact that he was
never returned to his family. He rolled the scroll and placed it
back on the shelf. His biggest concern had been where to start, and
this document had just made it clear. He would begin his search
heading west toward the island now called Rehaj.

The sun was still behind the
horizon, even though signs of dawn marked the heavens, when three
men stepped out of the Rod Stone temple, their distinct light-blue
robes catching the firelight as they made their way toward the
courtyard where men known as Ackalans, or Kalans of the Scroll,
were gathered.

The Ashra, or commander, of
this group of Ackalans was a man named Tremay. He had his eyes
fixed on the temple doors, watching as the men known as Patrons
approached. When they were in a close enough proximity to hear him
speak, he announced in a loud voice so those in his company could
hear. “We have come to heed the call and fulfill our oath.
Ta-respir a’new mania
,” he chanted, meaning, “For our honor
and duty to the oath.”

The Ackalans gathered in the
courtyard joined Tremay, repeating in unison “
a’new mania
,”
“to the oath.”

The chief Patron, Thorlak,
walked over to the podium, which was a small wooden stand. He
raised his hands in the air to acknowledge their salute, which was
ritualistic.

“So are we, to the truth that
binds us all,” he said before putting his hands down, and it was
once again quiet.

Thorlak looked out into the
group of men gathered and began to speak. His voice rose and fell
with the strength of an old man who was wise as all eyes were fixed
on him.

Two men stood on opposite sides
of Thorlak as he spoke. Like him, they were dressed in their silk
Patron’s robes, which were light blue. Torches were posted on
columns around the yard, and the firelight seemed to reflect off
the Patrons’ robes, giving them a glow. The chief Patron’s hair,
mustache, and beard were white, and his eyes were
brown.

Thorlak had a gold ring with a
round blue stone on top, which pulsated with flashes of light,
while the men that stood next to him had green stones. Their rings
were the only item of distinction in their clothing.

"A war is coming, the likes of
which mankind has never before seen,” Thorlak said. “It will ravage
the land and push mankind to its brink. The signs of its beginning
are appearing around the four Kingdoms, but we shall overcome this
force that threatens to rip apart the fabric of our society; for in
the darkness, a new dawn will arise as we hold onto the flames of
freedom.

“The Anamerian has returned
with the amulet of the Messenger, which has once again been
revealed,” he said as he gestured toward Iseac, who, taking his
cue, stepped out into the open. “Follow, protect, and fulfill your
oaths,” Thorlak said as the men turned to look at Iseac.

“We have received and we shall
fulfill. We ride with the Messenger,” Tremay said as Iseac came to
stand next to the Patron. Thorlak gestured for Iseac to go as his
horse was brought to him. The Ackalans waited for Iseac to mount
his horse, then the men all got on their horses. Led by Tremay,
they trotted out the temple gate, heading north, which led to the
city called Bremah.

It was still midmorning when
Iseac and the Ackalans made their way in a trot down the
mountainside. Rod Stone temple’s entrance rested on the northeast
corner of Mount Va’lenna, with the front landing built in on a
semi-circle, supported by four pillars that looked like a crown.
Each pillar was inscribed with a symbol of the sun, wind, water,
and earth. These massive pillars looked like they grew out of the
mountainside, each balanced at the base by what was called the hand
of time. The ledge from the top spiraled around the mountain.

As Iseac rode to the head of
the group, he counted sixty-five men riding in his company.
The men were all uniformed with their dark brown cloaks and black
boots. The hilts of all their weapons were engraved with the symbol
of an Ackalan, and outside of that, they had no visible armor.

The Ackalans were masters of
most weapons, which included the double-edged ax, sword, and spear.
They had the ability to hear and
see beyond normal sight. Their senses were
heightened from mastering their body and surviving the po’ra, or
fountain fruit, only found in Mevi-tra. This freezing tundra was
said to be the area where the first seed of creation was
planted.

The po’ra fruit had the ability
to cleanse or kill those who ate it. For the Ackalans, it served as
a reminder of their call and duty. The perilous fruit remained in
their system, trying to kill them, while they mastered its flow,
moving it to their subconscious. The cleansing power of the fruit
caused a silver ring to appear around their pupil, which was more
pronounced at night. This awareness allowed them to be alert, even
in their sleep.

The nearest town, Bremah, was a
day’s ride.

“Ashra…my goal is to make it to
Bremah before nightfall,” Iseac said as he rode next to Tremay.
“Please inform your men, then join me.”

Tremay turned his horse around
and trotted back to his men; when he returned, they picked up their
pace, intent upon reaching Bremah as soon as possible.

They galloped and trotted
across creeks, miles of meadows, and long spans of forested areas
with narrow and wide trails. The sun rose and was beginning to fall
when the Red City came into view just over the horizon. Tremay
raised his hand to the square, slowing everyone behind him to a
canter.

Bremah was called the Red City
because the streets were made of red cobblestone, and even some of
the homes were built with the same reddish stone. The wall around
the city was about five stories high and extended as far as the eye
could see. The area around the city wall was an open meadow, making
it hard for intruding forces to come upon the city without being
spotted from miles. It was ruled by Queen Viasen.

The land, though, had changed
since the last time Iseac remembered being in Bremah. He wondered
for a second if it was his own memories or those of his
predecessors, both slowly becoming indistinguishable.

The smaller villages and farm
towns farther away from the city were now abandoned. He could
remember not that long ago when the villages were growing, and he
couldn’t help but wonder why they were now abandoned. The people
they rode past seemed more cautious.

Farmers herded their animals
alongside the packed earth that made up the road to the city. There
were people on mule carts, or pulling handcarts, and less than a
handful were on wagons heading along the long stretch of road into
the city. Guards could be seen on towers around the city wall and
at the eastern gate where they were heading. A light flickered in
the distance, and Tremay knew they were being watched.

People moved out of their way
as they approached the entrance into the city.

Two armed men, dressed in
scaled sheets of iron breastplate with the insignia of the crown on
their left breast, stepped out in front of them, bringing everyone
to a halt. They knew who the Ackalans were, but this was protocol.
The man to the right of Tremay spoke.

“Welcome to Bremah, Ashra,” he
said in his Ma’hian accent. “It is required that a party greater
than eight, as decreed by the Queen, be entered in the books. You
must also declare your exit gate and return to it on your
departure. How many are in your company?”

“Sixty-six,” Tremay replied,
“and we’ll be leaving at the western gate.”

“Will any portion of your
company be staying when you leave?”

“No.”

“Please wait here,” the guard
ordered.

As they stood waiting, the
guard walked over to a man sitting in a booth at the corner of the
gate. They spoke briefly, and the man in the booth started writing
something down.

When the guard returned, he
raised his hand in the air, signaling to the tower guards who were
all watching with their bows drawn and waiting that all was
well.

Everyone knew the tower guards
were renowned marksmen that some said were Golans.

“You may enter,” he said,
moving out of the way. The guard returned to his post to resume his
watch.

The sun was almost below the
horizon as they trotted along the main street inside the city wall,
passing merchant shops that were beginning to close for the day.
Peddlers and hawkers alike were clearing the streets, as most
people began preparing for the night.

They took their first left by
the Wine-Hoppers Inn, heading west of the city. The part of the
street they were on was noticeably older, just like the buildings
themselves. They passed several other streets with shops already
closed.