Chains of a Dark Goddess (2 page)

“I am no hero, not anymore. That man died seven years ago. I am nothing but a shadow now.” 

He turned his back on her.

“Reborn you would have the strength and vitality of several men. A shadow? Perhaps. But one with powers you have never even imagined.” 

He shook his head and started to walk away.

“You could see Orisala again.”

Breskaro stopped. 

“Orisala.” The name rolled off his tongue like a caress. He said it again, with more strength, as if simply hearing it brought him closer to life. “Could I hold her?”

“You could.”

His hand strayed to his war-ravaged face. “And would I be whole again? Would I look like myself?”

“Your body was well preserved and most of your wounds mended, but it has been dead seven years. I cannot undo that damage.”

“Orisala.” He whispered her name to himself as his brow furrowed in thought. “No. A walking corpse can bring no comfort to the living.”

“Comfort? Perhaps not. But what about salvation? Orisala
needs
you, Breskaro.”

“What do you mean?” He spun around to face her. “I made certain she would be taken care of, surrounded by loved ones. My squire, Kedimius, pledged his life to protect her. What has happened?”

“She is alive, but barely. The priests who pulled her from the River Ayre saved her life. She cannot move or speak, though her mind is intact and alert. They have no idea who she is. They care for her out of religious duty but can do no more to heal her. She is all alone and trapped inside a broken body.”

“How could this happen?!”

“That is a tale only she can tell. But if you come back and serve her, Harmulkot can heal her.”

“
Harmulkot
? You expect me to trust Harmulkot? You expect me to serve that wicked old goddess?”

“You have no choice. And neither does she. You are her only hope, Breskaro Varenni. Just as she is your only hope of saving Orisala.”

Breskaro straightened his back. “No deceptions. If I return, I
will
see Orisala healed, and if Harmulkot betrays me, she will regret it.” He ripped the Eternal Sun medallion from his breastplate and tossed it away. “I will serve Harmulkot, for Orisala’s sake. Now take me back.”

“It is not so simple a task.” Nalsyrra drew her sword and handed it to Breskaro. The hilt was onyx, the blade long and thin. “The Sword of Shadowed Light. It is the only other help we can give you.”

“We? Is anyone else involved besides you and Harmulkot?”

“There is one other. A benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous is performing the spell to prepare your body for your spirit’s return. It is a demanding ritual and she has made a tremendous sacrifice to get you back.”

“Even though I could have said no?” Breskaro asked. “There was no guarantee that I would return with you.”

“Your benefactor never doubted that you would return to save Orisala. See that her faith is not in vain. Everything depends on you. Come. Follow me.”

Chapter 2

Nalsyrra crooned an archaic song. The mists parted, revealing a circle of tall, adjoining standing stones. A single archway led inside. 

“The Way of Return,” Nalsyrra announced. 

Breskaro nodded and readied the sword Nalsyrra had given him. 

“You will meet the Keeper of Death within,” she told him. “Defeating him is said to be nearly impossible.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I will see you on the other side then.”

Breskaro walked inside the circle of standing stones. In their midst, a column of black smoke shot up from the ground. The smoke dissipated, revealing a seven-foot tall being with lean muscles, expansive multicolored wings, and the head of a falcon. He wore only a loincloth and a choker of gold. In one hand he held a book, in the other a curved dagger.

The being said, in a hollow, stilted voice, “I am the Keeper of Death. You are not welcome here.”

Breskaro’s face was a blank mask. “I am Breskaro Varenni. I would return to the world of the living. Let me pass.”

“It is not good for the dead to return to life, friend Breskaro Varenni. I urge you to turn back. Embrace Oblivion and pass on from this bleak place.”

“I
must
return.”

“You would be a wraith with no a physical form.”

“A friend has repaired my body through sorcery and can return me to it. I’m not concerned.”

“You died seven years ago, my friend. Much has changed in the world. It is not the place you left behind. You may not like what you find there.”

Breskaro grew irritated. “Let me pass, demon! I go there to save one I love.”

Birdlike, the Keeper cocked his head to the side. His piercing eyes locked onto Breskaro, who met his gaze with a fiery intensity. 

“Returning to life cannot bring you happiness. The part of you that enjoyed the pattering of a spring rain, the scent of rich, fertile earth, or a lover’s kiss is gone. Your humanity has withered. Your virility shall never return. Are you certain you wish to go?”

Breskaro tried to remember breathing, laughter, blue skies, warm sunlight on his skin, his body dripping with sweat after a forced march. But those things were lost to him. 

And they didn’t matter.

“I’m certain.”

“If you perish again in life, your soul will assuredly fall into Torment. There you would long for your years here in the Shadowland. Is this love you profess worth eternal damnation?”

“I don’t care what happens to me. I
must
return for Orisala. She’s all that matters.”

“I think you will find, even if you do succeed and return, that the price you must pay is higher than you bargained for. What can I say to change your mind, friend Breskaro Varenni?”

“Nothing. If there’s a test, set it and let me prove myself.”

The Keeper expanded his wings and cried out in a loud, inhuman screech. Breskaro covered his ears until the cry stopped. 

“My test is simple. You will relive the day you died. It will seem to you as real as it ever was, but only in the moments just before death will you be able to change anything. This time you must survive.”

“I was overwhelmed by a host of enemies!”

“Did you think it would be easy to return from the dead?”

“And what happens if I fail this test?”

“You will be thrown into Torment. It is wrong for the dead to seek to return from life and it defiles the natural order of the universe.”

“If returning is wrong, why does this path back to life exist?”

“Because my people made a mistake, and once the Way of Return was created, it could not be unmade.”

Breskaro hefted the Sword of Shadowed Light. “Perhaps it would be better for me to fight you than to face this test.”

He charged forward and swung the sword. The blade passed through the Keeper of Death as if he were made of nothing more than mist. 

The Keeper began to fade away, as did the Shadowland itself. New forms began to rise around Breskaro.

“The test and myself are the same, Breskaro Varenni. The
only
way to defeat me is to defeat the test.”

Breskaro spun, amazed at the half-formed world around him.

“I have recreated the day of your death. It is an illusion, yes, but the results are real.”

“Has anyone ever succeeded?”

“Two have. They came to regret it, just as you will. After the first returned, she—”

“Do no bother telling me what became of them. Nothing will sway me from this path.”

“As you wish, Breskaro Varenni. Just know this: Only grief and suffering lie at the end of the Way of Return.”

Chapter 3

Seven Years Ago

Breskaro rode at the head of the Valiants, Issaly’s most celebrated century of lancers. Their bright pennons snapped in a vigorous breeze. The sun glinted on their silvered helms. Beneath them, warhorses stamped and snorted. They were spearheading the long march of Seshalla’s Third Crusade against the savages of Brekka, who worshiped Zhura Dark Moon and other heathen gods. 

Breskaro should have been breathing in the fine autumn air and preparing himself for the glorious battle ahead. Instead he glared broodingly at the men around him — Colonel Dero Fortrenzi, General Magnos Togisi, and Captain Vin Amrasi — all close friends. He knew them well enough to sense that something was wrong. Their behavior was that of men who were agitated, yet they were strangely quiet. But Breskaro couldn’t quite figure it out.

Colonel Fortrenzi had been Breskaro’s mentor when Breskaro was a squire, and while Fortrenzi was still lean and fit, his hair had long since gone gray. Fortrenzi commanded the Breakers, three centuries of horsemen that followed behind the Valiants. Though their current position was relatively safe, Fortrenzi seemed unsettled and anxious, as if expecting to be ambushed. He watched his war-weary mentor with concern. It was an open secret that this would be Fortrenzi’s last campaign.

“You are brooding today, Breskaro,” said General Togisi. “Do you think poorly of our chances? Or has your mind wandered elsewhere?”

“I was thinking of home. Orisala was unwell when I left. And lately I feel as if I’ve spent my entire life in this saddle. As for our chances, the Goddess is ever with us. She will see us through.”

“We smite with love, in Her name,” General Togisi stated. All nodded their agreement. “The enemy ahead is nothing but ill-equipped rabble. Men we can break easily.”

Magnos Togisi was the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army. He and Breskaro had served together as squires and fought their way up from the lowest ranks, winning acclaim throughout the Issalian Empire. Each owed the other his life a dozen times over and had, in their youth, been best friends. But as Magnos climbed to greater ranks and responsibility, Breskaro set off on quests for holy relics and won wide acclaim as a hero. Breskaro had achieved the rank of First Colonel, while Magnos rose to General, one of only three, and then Supreme Commander. Over the years they had grown apart, but recently that distance had increased. 

“Our infantry’s exhausted from the fight in the gorge,” Breskaro advised. “We should stop and rest for a few days.”

General Togisi stroked his long mustache. “The Matriarch wants us to conquer Spente before the first of Winter.”

“We have enough time for that,” Breskaro said.

“I fear that in the coming weeks we will encounter more than we initially anticipated.”

“Have I missed a scouting report?” Breskaro asked, looking at his second-in-command. Captain Amrasi shrugged.

“Just a feeling,” Togisi replied. “Regardless, I’d like to get there before the heathens in Spente can mass in greater numbers. The rabble ahead of us now pose little threat. We risk more if we let their spirits rise and their numbers swell, both here and in Spente.”

“What would you have us do, General?” Colonel Fortrenzi asked.

“Archers and cavalry. The infantry will provide our reserve. The Valiants and the Breakers will strike head on. Split their lines, crush their command. Without their leaders, their army will flee the field. As soon as you engage, I will attack their weakest flank with the Imperial First.”

Colonel Fortrenzi fidgeted. Breskaro chewed on his bottom lip. He started to say something, but stopped. 

“The Valiants shall do their best,” he said with a sigh the others seemed not to notice. “If need be, we could win the day on our own.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Magnos patted Breskaro on the arm. “Take care out there, my friend.”

Magnos, your recklessness will doom us
, Breskaro thought.

~~~

Captain Amrasi drew reign beside Breskaro as the Valiants began their final preparations for battle.

“This plan is ludicrous, Colonel.”

“Could be worse, Captain. We can make this plan work.”
This time.

“But at what cost, sir?”

“The plan is what it is.”

“Why didn’t you protest, sir?”

“Would it have done any good? Magnos doesn’t listen to me anymore.”

“I’m sorry to ask this, sir, but did the two of you have a falling out? He used to listen to your every word. I was at the planning sessions on the last crusade. The army may not know, but I saw how it worked. You drew up nearly all the battle plans, and we suffered far fewer losses for it. This crusade has already become too costly.”

Breskaro gazed at the hills beyond.

“I don’t know.
Truthfully.
I do not know. Magnos no longer values my council in war. I have asked him about it, but he won’t give me a direct answer. Perhaps he feels the burden should fall on him alone as General. Maybe it is inspiration from the Goddess…”

“You are the hero of two crusades and a half-dozen quests! You brought Seshalla’s spear back to Issaly. Every man in this army looks up to you. Your bravery and leadership have carried us well. He’s a fool not to trust in your skills.”

“Whatever my old friend Magnos is, Captain, he is not a fool. Show him the respect he deserves. I’ll not have you speak ill of him.”