Ekleipsis (3 page)

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.”

Spring Forward a
Little

“Come on Kayla. Let’s go to
my grandfather’s shop and see what he is working on,” begged
Vandor, seeing Kayla sitting in the flowers. She was a true flower
child; for she dwelt among them always, like they were her very
family.

“Yes Vandor, but give me a
moment. I must tell mother before she frets,” replied Kayla,
running into her house.

§ § § §

Now thirteen, Vandor met
Kayla when they were about seven. Her family lived in Felter, near
Trachten, where Tamar, Sorie’s cousin lived. For fear of the
Gottlos and all the people during the times of the market, they
chose to move. When they arrived in Nesal and found at least one of
the Sealed dwelt there, they decided to stay.

§ § § §

Not to be confused with the
Masonisti, who often dabble in secrets, the Sealed were formed for
the open proclamation of the Truth as pronounced by King Salvare
through his Book of Wisdom, and for the protection of the people
from the servants of Darkness.

The Masonisti claimed to be
a secret sect of the Sealed, but there were neither reference to
them in the Book of Wisdom by King Salvare, nor in the writings of
the men who held the office of Auctoritas, nor in the records of
the meetings of the Council of Kirche. And they are so secret, that
which may be known of them, was not by any Sealed or non-Sealed
outside of the Masonisti covenant.

§ § § §

The first time Vandor saw
Kayla was at his grandfather’s shop. She appeared very shy as she
hung on her father’s leg, while he spoke to MaZak. Vandor instantly
took a liking to her. She had delicate features with a hint of
tomboy. Kayla smiled at him, as he stood there covered in dirt from
head to toe, and that settled their friendship with him then and
there.

The family was new in the
village and stopped by often to hear MaZak tell the stories he
often told of the King, the Shimmering kingdom, and the battles in
which he had once taken part. Not to mention the swords and such he
had for sale. Children loved the stories, and so did most
adults.

Many would often stop by
just to see his artwork engraved in the shiny blades of
craftsmanship, not to mention Reflection. There was probably only
one in a hundred or more who could match his quality of work. He
was a hidden legend, one well known as The Bladesman of the Sealed
of Erde, but few knew he dwelt in Nesal.

Kayla’s father, Tebad, had
a sword he had found that was old, which was dull, twisted, and
held not a shine. He heard The Bladesman may be able to repair such
a weapon, but if not, surely had another ten times its worth. MaZak
informed him it wasn’t worth the repairs, because of the material
from which it had been forged. Tebad told MaZak he could keep the
sword and would think of purchasing one for himself
soon.

§ § § §

Vandor and Kayla ran as
fast as they could, racing down the dirt path to MaZak’s workshop
in the middle of the village. With their hearts pounding and lungs
trying to keep up, they embraced the feel of adrenaline pumping
through their bodies and the wind against their faces.

Panting as they ran, “You’re slow for
a boy,” laughed Kayla.

Struggling to catch his breath, Vandor
smiled, “Hold your tongue woman!”

Giggling, they continued
neck and neck down the way. Coming to a stop, which was most likely
a tie, neither would claim the other the victor. Bent over, with
their hands holding their sides, they paused to catch their breath;
each looking at the other, with their redden cheeks, grinning
between exhales.

MaZak was currently helping someone,
so Vandor reached for two old swords his grandfather had, sitting
among others in the trash bin of unused, broken, and damaged
metals. This was their arsenal, full of antique relics that had
once been in the hands of various persons across all of Erde. Their
imaginations easily turned these remnants of forgotten possessions
into the finest designed weaponry of the King.

Ting! Ting! Back and forth
they would go dueling to the death, or at least lunch time.
Laughing, they enjoyed each other’s company. Best friends to the
fullest, they were nearly never seen apart. If they were, be sure
the other was but minutes away and would be along shortly. Vandor
saw Kayla as such an interesting one; for she could be the most
delicate girl whom sat among the flowers singing, yet fight him
using the sword as well as any boy.

From behind Vandor came a
small figure from the shadows. Moving precisely, it quickly dashed
toward him. Kayla’s eyes widen as she froze for a split second.
Vandor, unaware as to why Kayla paused, seized the opportunity, and
went in for the strike.

“Vandor – behind you,” Kayla cried, as
she took a step back.

Too late! Vandor slightly
turned, only to be met with arms gripping around his waist and the
weight of another pushing him forward onto the ground. He was
struck in the back with the brute force of adrenalin.
“Huh!”

Vandor’s sword propelled
from his hand as he reached to break the fall into the dirt.
Vandor’s forearms slowed his fall, before his face rested upon the
ground. He collapsed with the impact of the unknown attacker upon
his back and a puff of dust settling on his face, with his eyes
shut and mouth puckered as though he were sucking on
lemons.

Heart pounding, Kayla ran
forward with her sword tightly gripped in her hand. “Ye shall die
ye wicked servant,” she declared, pointing her sword toward the
attacker’s back. “Release him or taste death by the sword of the
King,” she claimed. “Beg for mercy, if by chance I choose to grant
thee pardon of life for such a traitorous act. Release him or
become as one that goest down into the pit, never to rise
again.”

“Hahaha - You are too much
the part Kayla,” claimed the attacker. “And you were easily taken
Vandor – Hahaha.”

“Ah, get off me Rayhold,
you crazy goof,” puffed Vandor, through the dirt in his mouth. He
was not at all amused by the grit he now had amidst his teeth, so
soon before lunch. He would indeed return the favor at the most
opportune time.

§ § § §

Friends for quite some time, Vandor
and Rayhold seldom ceased from getting the best of one another.
Slightly taller, Vandor would most often claim the advantage, so
Rayhold relied on his stealth to avenge himself. Easily would one
take hold of the other for fun, but let not a stranger come betwixt
the two; ah, or the three of such young people.

Rayhold was of a darker shade than
Vandor and olive Kayla. His eyes were pitch black, which varied
from Vandor’s hazy brown and Kayla’s emerald green. His head was as
slick and shiny as Vandor’s father Tindal, whereas Vandor’s was
simple, short and brown, with Kayla’s long and auburn. These three
were a true variety of subjects, yet saw nothing but friendship in
one another.

Rayhold’s father, Labo,
handcrafted all types of leather and his mother, Sycress, was a
maker of fine linen. They had once lived in the Land of the Seekers
in Telbaton, but claimed to have moved due to the high traffic of
people who passed through there because of the markets. They were
quiet people, seldom seen or heard, who performed most of their
trading outside of Nesal.

§ § § §

It was lunch time and these
three were hungry. They thoroughly enjoyed eating with MaZak, as he
always seemed to have a new and exciting story to tell. Sometimes
he would actually tell the same story with a different perspective,
which made it seem fresh and thrilling. Living among the
inhabitants of Signum and numbered among the Sealed for so long, he
had plenty of tales for the children to hear. There were also the
accounts passed down from his father, along with his incorporation
of many of the writings of the Book of Wisdom into most all of his
tellings.

Vandor looked at the old
twisted sword Kayla still held in her hand. It was once the one her
father, Tebad, had brought in to be repaired. Pointing toward
Kayla, Vandor asked, “Grandfather, why could you not fix that
sword?”

Attentive, all sat to eat.

MaZak began with a chuckle,
“Are you saying my talents are lacking?”

Smiling, Vandor replied, “No
grandfather. I just thought you could fix any sword.”

“Sure, I could fix the
sword if you mean to make its appearance grand, but that would not
make its use any greater,” explained MaZak.

“Take a book claiming to be fact, for
instance. Each book has an author and publisher. If the author be
unknown, how then can one trust the book? The cover may be nice to
behold and the material may look of the highest quality, but can
one truly know the honesty of the author or the validity of the
publisher until it is read and handled? By then it could be too
late; for what if one is taught a lie, most assuredly shall it be
passed down and told until it possesses the same authority as
truth.