Kristietiba - Chapter One

Following the legend of King’s Salvare’s triumph over the Darkness in the Land of Erde blossoms the tale of his most beloved Kristietiba. Loved before she was even conceived, Salvare did wait with patience for his long anticipated bride. He sent forth trusted persons into Varjama to watch and guard over his precious affection, but like Erde the Darkness grew great there by the seed of Rubicund. Hidden away at birth, his delicate rose was taken to a place whereby she would be nourished in peace and safety. When the time was right, Salvare would journey with his knights to take unto himself Kristietiba and free the souls of Varjama from the evil that plagued them. Unto Neios he would bring them all, to embrace the purity and marvels more radiant than any had ever seen.

But, between the appointed time of birth and the prophesied arrival of Salvare, we have the life of Kristietiba…

Treason 1

The night fog was thick and blinding, almost suffocating. Dampness filled the air, carried by the wild breeze, cherishing its last breath granted by the recent storm. Humidity caused everything to feel sticky, with a most irritable mood. It was a darkness to be avoided, for such an hour was given to mischief and the things most unbecoming of a noble.

Rasul lay resting in his bed of oak, with golden plated rods protruding upward from the floor at the four corners, draped overhead by a scarlet canopy with gold trimming and tassels. With droopy eyes, he rubbed his lightly graying brown beard, while laying his head on the soft fluffy pillow. The satin sheets gave him solemn comfort, as he awaited the return of his wife.

Memories filled Rasul’s mind, as he dozed in and out of shallow sleep. Thoughts of his young bride and her delicate features vibrantly raced before him. Her faintly pinkish lips held such a heartfelt smile, with eyes of green which sparkled in the moon light. He loved to run his fingers through her silky black hair, while holding her tightly next to his heart. He missed her soft breath and gentle voice beside him.

Suddenly, a loud pounding pulled Rasul from his dream, as the door to the bedchamber broke open. Men, dressed in shinny armor the color of night, swarmed the room like shadows. Swords drawn upon him, Rasul forced his mind to grasp reality. His breath was short and shallow, surprised to be surrounded by armed soldiers. Questions of how and why quickly faded to the rear of his mind, while concern for his love sprang forth as a dagger within him.

Rasul tried to lift himself from his bed, but was held down by two of the men who bound him. A dark figure swiftly moved behind the soldiers and caught his glance. The face of a ghost, deathly grey, gazed upon him. Rasul tried to fight his bonds, but could not against the strength of the men. Neither could he scream for the guards, for his vocal chords refused to give sound.

With beady eyes, the hunched back figure peered into the face of Rasul. Studying each other both refused to blink. The men looked wild-eyed and blood thirsty, while the cloaked individual appeared sadistically in charge of them. Rasul was frustrated that he could not move, and was unable to yell to his guards. He thought it odd his men were not already there at his room, and feared the worst for his wife.

“My dear Rasul, oh how you have found yourself in such a predicament,” the dark figure hissed, pointing his boney finger toward Rasul.

Rasul tried to speak, but could not.

The figure waved his hand over Rasul’s face, and Rasul could sense the movement in his vocal chords return.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

“Do you not recognize me, Rasul?”

All of a sudden, the assailant’s image changed from the ghostly bones to the form of a younger fellow. Rasul’s eyes widen, it could not be. It was now the young Maldinat who stood before him, but how was such possible? Rasul’s mind found itself fighting against such trickery. One could not be the other, nor the other the one. Maldinat was to be his most vigilant trust, to one day take the place of his high guard, in such a weary time. Hope…like the wilting of a rose which has lost its source of nourishment…faded from Rasul’s essence.

“Before you taste what lieth at death’s door Rasul, I want you to know that all you have has been taken from you this day. Tonight you shall be stripped of your kingdom, for it shall be given unto the mighty Apostas, new ruler of Varjama. He shall take your wife Tanar unto himself, and claim your new born child his own heir. Your mighty and faithful knights have chosen to follow rather than die.

“I would offer you the same choice, but we both know that the new king cannot truly rule well while the old king yet liveth. Do not linger long at trying to understand how such has come about, dear Rasul. The light dwelleth with light and the darkness with darkness, till the time cometh when the shadows of the darkness overcome the light by gradual persistence, layer by layer, point by point, precept upon precept, while the light does sit prideful in its glory. The light must bow to the darkness, just as the day must give way to the night.”

Tears pressed against the edges of Rasul’s eyes, but refused to escape down his cheeks. His heart groaned within his chest, while his muscles did tense and push against the soldiers’ holds upon him. Rasul’s face reddened with anger and determination to free himself to slay such a devil before him. Irritation did tingle throughout his body, driving him insane. He wanted to scream. He wanted to scream out to Tanar, his love, and to his new born child, having yet to see her, being born this very night.

“I have waited so long to witness the torments I now see in your eyes Rasul. Oh the pain and sorrow you must feel, knowing all is lost to you this night, and there is nothing you may do about it.

“Tonight is the end of an era Rasul. Tonight is the beginning of something much more powerful. Tonight you shall taste death, and tomorrow we shall taste new life.”

Maldinat slid his darkened dagger slowly through the ribs of Rasul, as if to linger his suffering unto death. The cold blade sliced through Rasul’s flesh, penetrating deep into his broken heart. Rasul gasped as he momentarily tensed, then released all resistance. His lips moved as though he were trying to speak.

Maldinat lowered his ear near Rasul’s mouth. He could feel his dry breath. At first, it was too quiet. Maldinat could not understand Rasul’s words. But then…faintly…he could hear them almost crystal clear.

“May God send the high prince of Himmel… the son of King Allmachtig… the mighty King Salvare… to save these people…” Rasul struggled for breath. “An unworthy servant have I been.”

Maldinat’s face twisted with fury. Such defiance in his moment of triumph was most distasteful. Maldinat drove his dragger deeper, with anger and malice, till Rasul’s life flowed freely from him. Tanar drifted slowly off Rasul’s lips, as his mind grew dark and his eyes glazed over in death.

§ § § §

Criada held delicately the first born daughter of Rasul and Tanar. The maid softly cleaned the little one with a damp warm cloth. She smiled at the child, thinking how beautiful new life was to behold. The babe’s light eyebrows and crystal blue eyes, rosy cheeks and long eyelashes made her so adorable. Criada hoped to have one of her own one day, but as a servant she knew her future may not hold such happiness.

“Criada, come help me child!” cried Parteira, the mid-wife. Parteira worked diligently to keep Tanar calm and breathing correctly, as she prepared to help deliver a second child. “I need your help over here, so place the baby in the bassinet,” she expressed hurriedly.

“Yes ‘em Parteira,” Criada submitted, as she gave the babe another smiling glance, before moving over to lay her down and return to Tanar.

“Please let me see her Criada,” Tanar whispered between contractions. “Please let me see my precious daughter.”

Criada brought the babe near Tanar. The child was now clean, wrapped in fine white linen. Her eyes were open so wide, as she looked around the room. Her little fingers interlaced with each other, while she gazed at her mother. Her tender face beamed, with a crooked grin.

“Oh, my precious Kristietiba,” Tanar smiled through her pain, gently touching her child’s cheek.

Tanar so longed to hold both her children near her heart. She could suffer the pain just a little while longer, for it would be worth it all in that moment of sweet embrace. She, her love Rasul, and their inheritances from heaven all together, oh what a marvelous day to behold.

“Ahhh…” Tanar jerked in pain, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes tightly, while grasping at her belly.

“Breathe my lady, breathe,” Parteira encouraged Tanar.

Criada rushed over to place the babe in the bassinet, returning quickly. Criada stood by Tanar’s side, caressing her hand and patting her forehead with a fresh damp cloth. Tanar was still exhausted from the birth of her first child, but would need to endure yet a little while longer for her second. She laid her head back on her pillow, for just a moment of relief, though she felt something was oddly different. It was like a peace, a disappearing of the pain, a loss of consciousness.

Suddenly, Criada noticed Tanar’s breathing weakened, while her fingers loosened within hers and went limp. She glanced at Tanar’s closing eyes, and noticed how pale she seemed. Criada twisted to face Parteira, with shock on her face. Parteira, stunned by the amount of blood which now covered the sheets, slowly returned a blank stare. Both knew such was not good, and Parteira knew she must rush to save the child.

Surprisingly, the door blew open abruptly. Parteira and Criada both jerked to see who would enter. Both knew that Rasul would not disturb them during the time of his children’s birth, and did know he had made declaration that the room was to be off limits to any and all persons but those of Parteira’s choosing. So, who was it that did barge in upon them in such a delicate hour?

A young man, dressed in a long beige tunic, overlain with a brown cloak, entered. He shut the door behind him, and faced the women.

“Fear not dear Parteira and Criada, for I have come in the name of Salvare.”

Although they somewhat knew the name he spoke, it did not comfort their anxious spirits. It did not explain his reason for being there, and already they were in panic as to the wellbeing of Tanar and her second child not yet born.

“You have broken into the room of Tanar, wife of King Rasul, have you gone mad?” Parteira questioned. “Get out! Get out! You are not permitted to be here! Do you not see that my lady is in the middle of childbirth?”

“My name is Ziener, seer of the mighty Salvare. I have been sent here this day to protect the child known as Kristietiba. The darkness is upon this place, and the workers of iniquity do now come to take heir to the throne. She must not be given unto them, nor shall they be allowed to take her.”

“Sir, you must leave, my lady is sick and the baby is not yet born,” declared Criada. She prayed the man would not notice the child in the bassinet, that the babe would remain silent.

Ziener moved close to Tanar, but was filled with restlessness. He placed his hand upon her brow and closed his eyes. The ladies watched him. His lips moved, but they heard no voice. Ziener could feel her life quickly leaving her, and sensed the child still within her womb. He pulled his hand back from her forehead, and turned to face them.

“If I do not let her go in peace, she will be slain by those men who come to take the babe already born. The daughter, yet within her womb, is not the one I seek.”

Shocked filled Parteira and Criada, leaving them to consider what they should do. No, you are crazy! They wanted to shout. Tanar would soon die, bleeding the way she was. So too would the child, if she could not deliver soon. And this crazy drunkard was already pronouncing her dead, desired to take the king’s child, while claiming the kingdom itself was under attack. What were they to do?

Just then, the child whimpered. Ziener turned toward her. There in the bassinet where Criada had laid her, smiling with her tender eyes, seemingly pointing at him. Ziener’s face lit up, as he went to her.

“The blessed Kristietiba,” he stared and whispered, reaching down to pull her to himself. “Oh my precious child, may the God of heaven grant you safety this night.”

As the ladies were about to move toward Ziener, the door to the room was forced open once more. Ziener drew the babe close to his chest, and twisted away from those who entered. Maldinat’s face expressed surprise to see the man before him. Everything was happening so fast, the ladies merely froze in place near Tanar.

Softly, as if all other sounds vanished away, they could hear a still small voice within their minds.

You must not tell them of Kristietiba, for this night have they come for her as they have for the whole realm of Varjama. Your king Rasul has been slain, and your queen Tanar does now fade away. Varjama shall be cast into dark times, for its lasciviousness and discontentment.

But keep hope, for your time of struggle will not be more than you can endure. Salvare shall send you witnesses and comforters of himself, and shall one day come to set you free.

You shall see her again when the time of reconciliation is at hand.

“Seize him!” Maldinat shouted to his men, to grab hold of Ziener.

They rushed toward him, but the seer was no more. He had vanished.

Angered by Ziener’s disappearance, Maldinat turned to the mid-wife. “Tend to the birth of the heir to Varjama woman, and mind not the business of men!”

Parteira shuttered and tried to focus her attention back on Tanar. Criada slowly made her way by Tanar’s side, glancing at Maldinat and his men through the corner of her gaze. There was so much blood loss now, a tear escaped Parteira’s tender eyes. Criada continued to pat Tanar’s brow with a damp cloth, and Parteira worked to bring forth the child.

Much had transpired so quickly, the minds of the servants were constricted with what to do. Were they to believe the words of the man who called himself Ziener, or trust the entrance of Maldinat with his soldiers? The queen lay there dying, while Maldinat did not even appear to care, and the unknown man who called himself a seer of Salvare had just taken the king’s first born. Parteira and Criada met each other’s sights; their hearts did agree to keep what they knew a secret, for the sake of their own lives as well.

“You two,” Maldinat called out, pointing to two of his servants. “Stand guard here and watch. Bring me the child upon its birth, and deliver the mother to the flames of MuAlah. May she burn in torment with the fallen king, and their remembrance be no more.”

Parteira and Criada’s hearts pounded heavy with such words, but would not dare look upon Maldinat. They found themselves barely breathing, not wanting to do anything to draw his attention. They had grown to love the sweet, friendly company of Tanar, and it grieved their souls to hear one speak so ill of her. An acknowledgement of that which the seer had spoken to be reality, namely the fall of Varjama and her rulers, made their stomachs twist sickly.

Land of Erde - Digital Copy for Kindle and Nook

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Land of Erde - Purchase A Copy

After three years, the Land of Erde story is finally complete and in a single volume, which was the original intent. The division of volumes just made it easier for a novice writer to separate my ideas, and to make them available for feedback as the story continued.

This manuscript is the same as the one recently submitted to the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. If you would like more information, please see the Pitch and Excerpt of the Land of Erde book.

Land of Erde is currently available in the following formats:

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Because the stories (Ekleipsis, Daegsteorra, and Andeis) are simply stages within the Land of Erde, they will soon no longer be available in print or download; as the Land of Erde has been edited once again in whole.

My hope is that you will enjoy the Land of Erde, while returning every once in a while to give feedback and to check for future adventures.

Land of Erde - Pitch

Far away, there once dwelt a land of men, dwarfs, seers, and the King’s knights known as the Sealed, who fought against the pales, heks, Gottlos, Gibborims, Ubils, the Dragon, and the Wicked One. Through the seed of a traitor, the land was tossed into turmoil toward the foretold coming of the Ekleipsis. If Jagare were to rise to power, while his army secured a perimeter of evil across the land, would there be any chance of freedom at the time of the Andeis? Would the promised Daegsteorra lend hope?

In the Land of Erde, a child was born. Vandor grew in the knowledge of the law of the Book of Wisdom by his father, along with insight concerning the teachings of the Sealed from his grandfather. As the Ekleipsis came forth, troubles burdened the hearts and lives of many in Erde. Should faith in the King endure, or would all of Erde perish? Though the prophecy of the return of Salvare to vanquish the Darkness lay deeply within the essence of Vandor, the loss of family, friends, and internal turmoil did squeeze life from his very spirit. Would faith triumph in the Land of Erde’s darkest hour?

The Land of Erde tells a story of a teenager’s inward and outward battle with faith and doubt, fear and bravery, loss and triumph, trust and betrayal. Building upon the principles and struggles many young people daily face, while drawing similar comparisons from biblical stories and characters most have been taught while growing up, the reader is able to grasp a sense of putting themselves into the story as if it becomes familiar to them. Showing it is more than age and race which enables and unites mankind in bravery, perhaps the reader will go forth and desire to make a difference.

Land of Erde - Excerpt

To Begin At a Moment


It was a cold, stormy night in the midst of a small village, nestled quietly among the mountains and valleys. Howling winds blew wildly through the large trees that surrounded the village, protecting it like a great wall around a castle. The streets are empty of souls, where only debris flew effortlessly on the breath of the night. Hoping for a brighter tomorrow, families snuggle in bed resisting the fear that creeps among the shadows waiting to gain entrance into the mind that dares to embrace it.

These storms seemed to come forth from the mountains, most unaware to the people below. Sometimes ceasing as quickly as they had come, other times lingering well for hours without losing strength. Attacking with the force of a mighty army, the bitter winds sliced through the thickest clothing, chapping faces, and reddening exposed flesh. The heavens sent forth hardened crystals upon all caught beneath the clouds, often simply melting away into the sodden paths.

Through the gloom, a small home near the edge of the village remained alive, entertaining the dancing of lantern lights and the patter of footsteps.

Why tonight? Why must it be during a time of such disarray?

A small, elderly lady, with silver- laced hair flowing to her waist, paced the floor. She ran to and fro, ministering to a young girl slightly above her teens.

Dear God, I pray that you show compassion. Hear the frail attempt of your child, to call upon such a mighty God to request such a selfish thing as this. Lend your ear to my pleading and see what is right in your own eyes. Thou hast given Sorie life and have been gracious to spring forth life from within her womb. Shall she carry such a love only to perish at its coming? Do as thou see fit, but remember compassion. In thee will I trust to do that which is right.

Sorie was due any minute with delivery, yet boiling with fever she felt her life slipping ever so slowly away. Her brown hair, tangled and glued to her face with beads of sweat, hid well the beauty she possessed. Hardly able to hold her eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness, there was but one thought which griped the entire essence of her being: How is my baby?

For the last nine months Sorie could think of nothing else than the soul who had grown within her. She caressed her stomach often and longed to see the face of her child. As those who she knew would speak of their own, her lightly tanned face would glow as her brown eyes sparkled with eagerness of what was to come. Sorie delighted in the stories of others, and hoped to the uttermost that she would be a good mother to such a lovely gift.



A History of Sorts


From the beginning, Sorie had a fondness for a young tan lad by the name of Tindal. Tindal, though rather small in stature, was fearless. Somewhat defined, though not overly muscular, he was the son of his athletic father MaZak. Hairless from birth, Tindal would often be mocked by the other boys, who soon learned to keep their comments to themselves or in secret.

Tindal was very smart and loved history. He would often spend hours in the makeshift library reading books on all types of topics. He enjoyed comparing the different perspectives of various authors’ writings of the same time and subjects. Tindal could never read enough, as he would audibly agree and disagree with various writers. He was full of passion when it came to the law and history of Erde, whether it would be of King Salvare and the Sealed, or the Darkness.

Tindal’s father, MaZak, had brought books from his days at Kirche, the school of the Sealed. Others, who sometimes visited the markets in Trachten, would also purchase a variety of books to share in the communal library in Nesal. Although MaZak did not agree with the content of all the books, they were there none the least. Men would read that which they wished, and he could not be every man’s conscience.

Tindal’s father was a well-defined swordsman. He was known throughout the lands as The Bladesman. He was considered to be, if not the best, one of the best sword makers and carriers around. MaZak had chosen to move to Nesal for the purpose of removing his family – and himself, admittedly – from the mainstream of things. Although he had served the Sealed well for many years, he desired to keep his family far from the deceits of the Darkness due south. Even the mere gossip within the limits of Signum at Kirche burdened his heart, and wished not to lend his family’s ears to it.

Nesal was a small valley hidden by the Cadas Mountains and Lake Szikla to its north and east, with large oaks and sycamores of the Ascuns Forest to its south and west. It was a quiet and peaceful place, out of sight and mind of most in the Land of Erde. Most preferred the large, busy spaces of Erde, while some still held to the peaceful calmness from the crowds.

MaZak felt that he could enjoy his wife and raise his family away from all the problems of Erde by hiding away. He had seen too much he wished to keep from his family. He cared not that he would have to leave the luxuries of the modern, large village of Signum, which lie northwest of Nesal. It was in the quiet of Nesal MaZak felt his family could better hear the voice of God, and ponder the words of the Book of Wisdom from King Salvare.

Twice a year MaZak traveled to the Land of the Seekers, who set up markets to have those from around the Land of Erde bring new and interesting creations to buy, sell, and trade. Men of dignity and power sometimes sent their servants from far kingdoms to have The Bladesman handcraft each minute detail into the finest metals, to become weapons of war and protection. And on occasion, some dignitaries paid a personal visit, just to view and offer a price to his prized possession – Reflection.

MaZak named his most famous piece of work Reflection for two reasons; or so he said. The first was due to the nature of his work: his swords were created to hold the smoothest, shiniest reflection even after a day’s worth of battle. As for the second, which he most often enjoyed to tell: if it were true that man indeed saw his life flash before his eyes at the very moment of death, then very well it was the Reflection which brought him face to face with it.

MaZak was a gracious man and full of wisdom. Strong as an ox and built like red cedar, none dare cross him. Though he held the image of an immovable force, underneath he was a man of compassion with a soft touch for his wife and child. He taught them the way of the Sealed and spoke often of the Shimmering kingdom. Numbered among the Sealed himself, he long served the true King, Salvare, valiantly along the frontlines and as a craftsman for the better part of his life. He had recently removed himself from the frontlines, moving to Nesal to spend his time defining works of art, namely swords. He claimed the frontlines were for the young to fight fervent and fierce, while it was the old one’s duty to lend support through teaching and training.

“One cannot fight forever, for no man’s light is eternally lit in this life, but our knowledge and swords may be passed down from generation unto generation; for the battles against the Shadow Lands and the kingdom of Darkness shall continue to rage on long after we are gone. Fight while you are able, so the feeble may be protected. Hold on to faith in times of doubt, to give encouragement to the weak. Live life by the law, so the unrighteous may know what is right. Give honor and show compassion, that others may want to follow.

Remember your testimony before the kingdom as you serve in all obedience, Salvare, the true King, that all of Erde may know that he is righteous, pure at heart, is yet alive, and has a love for people. Let not King Salvare return to see us standing idle in the streets, as those around us are slain in the name of the Wicked One. Become one with your sword and wear the King’s armor proudly. Fight for Truth! Long live the King!” From his farewell address given to the youth who much enjoyed his stories, he said goodbye to a life of battle, but not of service.

Tindal’s mother, Eslar, was much in love with her soldier, MaZak. He had rescued her from the Shadow Lands and told her of King Salvare. Although he would never take credit for saving her; for he told her it was the King’s Whisper that indeed had led him to her, and awakened her from the Shadows.

§ § § §

The Shadow Lands were where many a soul drifted away, never to be seen or heard from again. It was a veil whereby the wickedness may pass between the light of Erde and the Darkness of Oscuridad. There were those who had lost themselves among the thick fog of the Shadows in search of the Darkness, but most had been taken captive by the Darkness itself. Being brought there, hearts soon became burdened beyond measure, minds confounded by the wickedness which dwelt therein, bodies worn by the unhealthy conditions of the climate, and soon all hope was lost as the Darkness overcame them.

Though difficult, some souls were graciously saved, being pulled from the bonds of the Darkness back into the glorious light of the sun, nourished by those who fought against the Darkness and served the true King. Of such a one was Eslar.

§ § § §

Day after day, as MaZak spoke of the King and the Shimmering kingdom, Eslar longed the more to see it and to meet this great King of who he spoke. He told her that one day soon King Salvare would indeed return with his kingdom, and that she would then be able to behold him face to face. Until then, one’s faith must rest in the words of the King, “Fear not my children, I shall return to you my people.” So she did.

Even from her youth, this lady looked small and frail, but was very much a hard worker and quite feisty when the situation called for it. Ever striving to please MaZak, never had Eslar felt such love from any other man. She had neither known her father nor mother but was an orphan, who most seemed to over look. She would often claim, “When one has been pulled from the Shadows, what are the trials of life but a small thing.”

If there were days Eslar would consider the greatest of all in her life, she would say it was the day she was saved from the Shadows, the meeting of her love, and the birth of her only son Tindal.

Tindal was a most disciplined young man. He would anxiously await the arrival of his father and beg him to tell him the stories again and again - though he had heard them many times before - of how King Salvare had come, was betrayed by a friend, and slain by kindred and those who served the Darkness. Yet, did he rise again by the power of his father Allmachtig, and promised to return to gather his people unto his Shimmering kingdom, called Scimerian.

§ § § §

Scimerian, the Shimmering kingdom, was described by King Salvare himself in the Book of Wisdom. “My children, behold when I shall return, to henceforth destroy the Darkness forevermore, I shall bring you forth to New Erde as Erde shall be no more. Even now do I go away to prepare a place for you. As you approach, ye shall see Scimerian’s gates of precious stones, which shall never be closed.

“Ye shall enter upon streets of purest gold, able to be traveled by foot, as they are soft and pleasurable to walk upon. The vegetation shall cover the ground as a blanket, with colors so beautiful to behold, one can feel the warmth of their color. The trees stretch forth their arms, full of ripened, bountiful fruit, toward the bright sun which casts its light, forbidding forever the Shadows and Darkness entrance.

“There shall be no more sorrow among the inhabitants of Scimerian within New Erde, for my desire is for your hearts to be pure and full of joy. Ye shall behold me as your king, and I shall love you as my people forever.”

§ § § §

Tindal listened carefully as MaZak read him the law and would tell his father that he would be the first to keep that law perfectly, so the King would know he loved him.

MaZak would chuckle and say, “Dear Tindal, do not fear if you by chance falter or stumble at the law. Indeed it is right to desire to obey without error, but the law is not what allows you into the kingdom. The King himself must grant you entrance.”

“Aye, father, but how much more so shall the King accept that one who is perfect?”

Sorie’s family had been slaughtered by an attack from the servants of Oscuridad, the kingdom of Darkness, as they overtook Almozak, where she lived. As the Gottlos attacked, strong delusions overwhelmed the people of the village, causing them to slay one another amidst the battle. It was as though the people were controlled by another, having them do things they normally would not.

§ § § §

The Darkness was that which some believed had always been, though others considered began with the treason of Judarius. Dwelling along the southwest outskirts of Erde, though close enough to touch it, the Shadows Lands were all that appear to divide Oscuridad from Erde – though truly never separate, but by sight. Those who fell into the Darkness, such as the Gottlos, never again returned to the light except to fight against it. The Darkness and the servants thereof merely waited eagerly among the shadows throughout Erde, to overcome the souls who knew not their devices.

§ § § §

There were no survivors, save Sorie. The village was left desolate with the bodies of those dead, lingering where they lay in the streets and homes. The Gottlos left as quickly as they had come, snickering and laughing with delight in what they had done to the people most unaware. Though rebuilt, Sorie had never returned.

Was it by chance or something more that young Sorie had been saved from such torture? She pondered often why the entire village had to perish, save her. She still missed her family, but was no longer angered by it. She had returned from visiting her cousin Tamar in Felter, to find the village and all she had burning. Her joy was stolen that day, and in its place put sadness.

As the smoke pushed its way through the fresh breeze, it carried the smell of death and sorrow like a message to others who may also fall prey to the desires of the Gottlos, or other servants of Darkness. The stench of the smoldering bodies was horrendous, along with the ashes carried by the wind, which caused Sorie’s eyes to burn. These were people she knew, family she loved.

Sorie stood in fright, yet amazed. Wanting to turn away but unable, her tears found themselves watering the grass beneath her feet. If only she had not gone to visit Tamar – though she may have likewise died – she would still be with her family.

How could such have happened? Have they all perished? Am I but left? Shall I call to them only to hear the crackling of the fire midst the ashes that remain?

Sorie stood alone as time seemed to stand still. She scarcely heard the thunder of hooves quickly approaching from behind her, caring not who did approach. Had the savages returned to consume her also? She would readily embrace it.

Rather, an average-sized, bearded man, wearing a tan cloak, carrying a strait smooth wooden staff, did dismount. He solemnly approached, and placed his hand upon her shoulder. Though unknown, his touch was comforting. She wanted to be held, but her angered kindled.

Sorie’s lips drew fierce. “Where then are the King and the Sealed? Have they no desire for the peasants of the land? Are we but nothing in their eyes? Have you come now but to scoff?” She was fifteen years old, but not some silly child of adolescence.

The man who stood beside her was Ashvar, a seer¦ among the Sealed. He explained indeed, the village leaders had been told of the coming threat many moons ago, but had played the spoiled child choosing not to heed the warnings. Ashvar softly shared that although the Sealed desired to enlighten and move the villagers to a safer location, King Salvare’s words had always been clear that they were not to force people into protection, but to persuade through words of wisdom.

It was peculiar, perhaps an inward persuading, which moved her to trust the words of the unknown man. With no family or place to go, Ashvar took Sorie home with him. From that day, he beheld her as daughter and she loved him as father.

It was in the Land of the Seekers, at the semiannual market, that Sorie first laid eyes on Tindal. Instantly, there was a drawing attraction between the two. From that day, they became inseparable. Were they meant to be together by providence, or was it that neither had found another to take interest in? Neither cared for such foolish questions; as they were young, in love, having eyes for only one another.

A few years later, they made vows to seal their faithfulness to one another, and chose to marry. They decided to live in the village of Nesal with Tindal’s family, but were not too far from her adoptive father in Breckenly. Things were going well for them, as their relationship developed from young love to couple charity: the love which brings forth both action and commitment, above and beyond mere youthful lust.

Tindal had chosen a life of knowledge and learning over following in his father’s footsteps of the craftsmanship of swords. At the first, MaZak wanted much to persuade his son to embrace the skill of the swordsman, but soon gave in to the idea that his son was more involved in learning and studies. It somewhat disheartened MaZak to acknowledge Tindal’s lack of want toward his talents, but recalled the desires his own mother. Had she had her way, MaZak would have been a shepherd instead of The Bladesman, wishing to keep him away from the dangers of being numbered among the Sealed.

Tindal desired to be a master of the law and study of not only the King and the kingdom, but also of the Gottlos and history of Oscuridad. MaZak warned against such peering into the hidden thoughts of the kingdom of Darkness, but Tindal would not heed his father’s wisdom. MaZak knew he could have demanded obedience, but Tindal would have merely found time to fulfill his desires of such studies in secret.

MaZak told Tindal an overabundance of law study would lead to a legalistic view that could cause one to be blind to grace and mercy. He urged an exhausted study of history could create a lack of desire to act, feeling it had all been tried before. Even as taking the Book of Wisdom out of context could cause one to falter into heresy, or become lax in duty waiting on the King. MaZak also knew peering too deeply into the Darkness was not good for a man’s soul.

Soon after marriage, Sorie told Tindal she was with child. He was excited and began to plan out their entire future together. Though, little did Tindal know, his plans did not include what lay ahead for him, his family, and all of Erde. Nor was he prepared, yet he thought he was.

For life is but a journey, and though a man plan for the future, he cannot prepare for that which he knoweth not of.



Return to the Moment

With a loud thump, the door flew open as the wind threw it against the wall. Two men rushed into the home, with the rain soaring through the doorway like locusts. Eslar turned in fright, as the fresh bowl of water in her hands fell to the ground. She froze still. At the noise, the men jerked to face her. Pottery and water covered the floor.

Rushing over to her with his arms stretched forth, one said, “I have the doctor Eslar. Are you okay?”

“Yes MaZak, you startled me,” Eslar replied excitedly.

“Sorry, my dear Eslar, has Tindal returned yet?” MaZak asked, still panting from the weather, as Dr. Toggle pushed the door closed.

“Not yet. Oh, I wish he would hurry,” she sighed, holding her hands. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Toggle. Please see to Sorie as I clean up this mess. She is boiling with unquenchable fever,” Eslar pleaded, turning her gaze to the doctor.

Dr. Toggle moved around the spilt water into the bedroom with Sorie, closing the door behind him. MaZak grabbed a towel to help Eslar soak up the water, and pick up the large pieces of broken pottery.

Within the space of half an hour, two more men arrived at the home. Fighting against the climate, they entered and locked the door behind them. They were soaking wet.

MaZak stood to greet them, “Tindal. Ashvar. Dr. Toggle is here. The time of birth is upon us, but her fever will not fade.”

Tindal felt his blood carry the uncertainty of what may transpire next throughout his body. He removed his drenched poncho, while Ashvar took off his saturated cloak.

“Fear not, Sorie shall live to see her child,” claimed Ashvar, most assuredly.

Ashvar’s eyes were fixed with truth, and his voice quivered not. Neither Tindal nor MaZak questioned the seer, but both held still the slightest seed of unbelief. Never had any known Ashvar to lie, for he was one who was close to God, but faith easily wavers in times of suffering and worry.

Ashvar made his way to the room and Eslar followed, closing the door behind them. Dr. Toggle stood over Sorie checking her vitals and assessing her condition. Patting her face lightly with the damp cloth, he feared there was nothing he could do. Looking up from Sorie’s pale face, seeing Ashvar, he stepped aside. He knew Sorie was in need of a greater physician than he, if both she and the child were to live.

As if Eslar and Dr. Toggle were not present, Ashvar moved around to the head of the bed. One could hear the sloshing of his wet robe against the floor while he walked toward Sorie. Kneeling beside her, he placed his left hand over her brow, laying his other atop her right hand. He bowed his head as the room was still.

Ashvar spoke with his heart to God, words not audible for man to hear. He was a man of prayer, one who communed with God. Prepared from the womb of his mother, raised in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, he had always been a seer and friend of the Most High.

Moments that seemed like hours passed by. Afraid to move, Eslar and Dr. Toggle watched as the seer knelt in silence with his eyes closed. Eslar cried in her spirit for God to grant healing, as Dr. Toggle offered his own prayers to the Father.

MaZak and Tindal remained outside the room, knowing there was nothing they could do to help. Helplessness is not one’s favorite state to be found in, but few there be who escape it. Fighting for prominence, fear and faith – mixed with prayers – filled their minds as they waited. They could not deny the doubt which desired to overwhelm them, but fought against giving it precedence above all else in their being.

MaZak kneeled, hunched over the seat of the wooden chair in the corner of the living area. Across the room in the kitchen, where the bowl and water had been cleaned up, Tindal sat with his eyes staring at the floor between his legs. The sounds of the storm could still be heard through the small cracks around the windows and door, along with the beating upon the roof. As MaZak sent up words to heaven, Tindal’s mind was full of small repetitious prayers of, “Please help Sorie and the baby,” over and over again.

Ashvar lifted himself from the ground. Bending over, he gently kissed Sorie upon her forehead and turned toward the Dr. Toggle and Eslar. “God has seen it fit to remove the fever. The time is at hand. She is ready to deliver.”

Sorie’s eyes faintly opened, instantly renewing faith in the room. Color slowly filled her cheeks once more. The baby was coming! Washing his hands, Dr. Toggle prepared for the child’s deliverance. Eslar was there to help with towels and fresh water, while Ashvar made his way out to be with MaZak and Tindal.

Eslar touched the face of Sorie as she looked into her eyes, allowing Sorie to squeeze her other hand. Sorie’s skin was cool, no longer burning with fever. It’s a miracle, Eslar conceded, a marvelous miracle indeed. Sorie puffed and blew trying to make herself take deep breathes and excel fully, pushing with each contraction.

Little Vandor was about to flow from darkness to light, from the womb into the Land of Erde. Today he would be born among the dark howls of the night storm, but tomorrow he would feel the warmth of the bright sun upon his tender skin. From the safety of his mother’s womb, he would soon be among the forces of good and evil.

Sorie anticipated the precious smile of her son, which somewhat eased the discomforts of her groans and cries through the pain of birth. Dr. Toggle, with his sleeves rolled up and freshly washed hands, held the newborn. With a fresh damp cloth, Dr. Toggle cleaned out the eyes, ears, and mouth of the child. A small cry and then another.

New life: a beginning with opportunity and promise for both failure and success; a desire for wants and a need for understanding; a blessing and a gift.

No one cared for the disarray among the wind and rain of the night. A baby was born. New life had sprung forth. Cheers and tears filled the home. Burdens lifted, fears released, prayers answered; it appeared mercy had been granted. The small room, moments ago filled with silence, was now full of family and laughter.

Sorie, exhausted, beheld her child with sleepy eyes, “My little Vandor Leshing.”

A bond, that which a mother instinctively feels for her baby, was made without thought. She held him close, wrapped in a soft blue blanket covering his body and head, only revealing Vandor’s face and arms. His eyes squinted against the light, with the faintest hint of eyebrows.

Tindal gazed at his son, so delicate and innocent he looked. Countless things passed through Tindal’s mind, taking in every bit of baby Vandor. There were things that must be done, which must be taught, and made known to be expected. Does not every father ponder these things within his heart, he wonders.

“Shall we dedicate him to God and the King, as it is written in the Book of Wisdom Ashvar?” asked Tindal.

“If you and Sorie be agreed, then so be it,” replied Ashvar.

“We are. Let it be so,” claimed Tindal.

“Yes, father, we would like as much to be done,” agreed Sorie faintly, still looking ever so tenderly at her newborn.

She lightly kissed Vandor and lifted him toward Ashvar. Vandor’s eyes were wide open as if taking in all that was new. MaZak and Eslar stood near the door anxious to hold the child, but patiently waited their due turn. This was a moment of dedication, an important time indeed. A picture, whereby the parents offered their precious gift of life back to God, who saw it fit to grant them as an inheritance.

Ashvar stepped up to the bed, taking the child from his mother’s arms. Lifting Vandor up toward heaven, Ashvar began to speak: “Dear young Vandor, before knowing good or evil, thy parents doth dedicate thee to the great and holy God, thy Creator. It is He who has seen it right to grant thee life, and to Him doth thou eternally owe it.

“To the law may thou be obedient. Love God and serve the King with diligence. Honor thy father and mother, that thy days may be long. Take heed to godly wisdom from those which prove to be wise. Strive to give light to those in darkness. Give service to those around thee, thy kindred and thy neighbor. Shun the teachings and babblings of the kingdom of Darkness and the servants thereof. In all things keep thyself pure, for we know one shall reap from what is sown.

“Long live the King, and long may thou serve him in pure of heart. To God be all the honor, glory, and praise forevermore. Amen.”