The Spirit of Revenge (34 page)

Soldiers roamed the carnage, dragging corpses from the rubble and picking through the destruction, throwing the dead over ever-growing mounds of corpses before setting them aflame.

Malecai rushed forward from the group and nearly threw himself over the wall in his haste. He stared out over the destruction, lips quivering. He opened them to find words, but none came. He let out a despairing cry and cradled his head in his hands.

“It’s all too familiar…” Aaron muttered as the group stared on with horror.

“What…what happened here?” Malecai asked through clenched teeth.

“We were attacked a few days ago…” Creedoc began in a hushed whisper. “It seems that Abaddon decided to kill us off in style. We were told the enemy had withdrawn from our lands and returned to Andred. They did, but not without a parting gift. They attacked at night. They destroyed the wall almost instantly and swept through the city, burning and killing everything in their path.

They slaughtered thousands before we could gather a large enough force for a counter attack, but by then it was too late to save our city…it became every man for himself.”

The King paused and gripped his paralyzed arm in thought. “We fought bitterly through the night, fighting for our very lives. We eventually fended off the Andreds’ ruthless assault, but we had lost much of our city and many more of our people.

For days, we struggled to stave off the fires that threatened to engulf the last of our city, and we managed to stop the inferno before it reached the palace and the surviving half of the city. We burned the bodies of the Andreds and dug graves for our people, but alas, we have run out of space for the fallen.”

“Will you then send your armies to aid Morven?” Cain asked him.

Creedoc nodded slowly, his eyes glazed over in pensive concentration. “I had a feeling that was why my brother sent you. He has long feared an attack on Morven. I will join the Alliance…to avenge the deaths of my people and for the sorrows we have endured. I was foolish to think I could fight this war alone.

I gathered my armies at Izadon to protect my people, hoping I could do something, anything, to salve this endless cycle of death. But I was wrong. I was not prepared. The enemy came like the thunder of Angeled and destroyed us…I will send fifty thousand of my finest men to aid in the siege of Morven and join this final resistance against the shadow of Andred. Abaddon’s forces have pulled out of Atuan and the rest of Tarsha; they are surely amassing for the assault on Morven. The final battle is at hand, the final chapter is upon us.”

Cain stood alone on the causeway, leaning heavily against the palace wall.

Night had proscribed the skies for several hours, its blackness enveloping the heavens above and the infinitesimal world below.

The moon hung low in the sky, its waxing face dominating the abyss over which it held such sway. The small lights of midnight stars flickered above and thin wisps of clouds sailed the night’s cool breeze.

Cain stared out over the Andred’s ruthless scourge of the city. Smoke continued to billow from the remains of the desecrated. The moonlight shimmered against the skin of the dead, glowing ghouls in the night.

Cain gazed for hours upon the ruination before him, unable to turn his gaze and forget what he had seen. It brought back a flood of memories, memories he long sought to forget.

He saw his wife and child in the faces of every dead and his parents in every lifeless eye. He saw death everywhere; to push it aside was folly. It hurt him that his friends ignored this simple truth. They inflicted their hearts with blindness, refusing to be hurt again; after all they had been through.

He turned and looked at the three men whom he had known his entire life, sleeping contentedly beside the fire. It saddened him to see them turn their backs on the world when it screamed its pain so fiercely. The world was slowly falling to Abaddon’s genocide. Every soul screamed now for salvation from the fires that sought to engulf them.

Cain looked over his friends, sadness weighing heavy on his heart. What are they fighting for? The revenge they vowed to attain. The suffering they sought upon their enemies. All they once cherished as a purpose to fight, a reason to live, none of it mattered now. Everything they had fought for, everything they had, all that kept them going, all of it was fruitless.

He finally realized that revenge was nothing but a hollow conviction. Vengeance shall never be appeased. Hate can never fill the void within him. His wife and child were dead, and nothing he could do would change that. Sorrow perched in the recesses of his heart, constantly and indefinitely striking at his conscience with this fact.

He had fought to suppress this pain beneath a false sense of justice, but the vengeance he strived to attain was not of his true self. He was not the man of bloodlust and vengeance as his friends and the world had begun to see him.

He was once a child whose youth was wrongfully stolen. With his parents murdered before his eyes, he vowed his young soul to vengeance. However, as the years buried his horrific past beneath the dusts of time, his rage had sated. He fought as a soldier of Kaanos not for revenge, but to protect his wife and all those he loved.

Yet again, as his love was butchered before his eyes, he vowed to find justice. He had fought since for selfish ideals of retribution in an attempt to mask his pain.

The monster he had become was not the true Cain Taran. The spirit of revenge that burned inside him yearned to surrender and return his heart to its rightful path.

Despite its longing for release, Cain could not relinquish the revenge that had given him such drive. It was a part of him now. He longed to let his revenge go, but only emptiness would fill its place. He felt nothing but fire in his heart.

Suddenly, the echoes of footsteps shook him from his thoughts. Someone approached him from the darkness.

“The darkness befits you tonight, my friend,” a voice whispered from the night. Cain glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping friends. Five of them slept soundly beside the fire. He knew immediately who stood behind him.

“You should be asleep,” he replied. He had grown used to Malecai’s absence at night, his constant restlessness as the sun fell.

“Sleep?” Malecai murmured. “Sleep is a waste of one’s time; of one’s very life…I refuse its perversion.”

Cain turned to see Malecai’s face glowing in the firelight, shadows etched across his stern facade, flickering with light and dark.

“You never sleep?” Cain asked with a raised brow.

His friend nodded slowly, the shadows shifting across his face with every movement. “It is my self-denial, my punishment, my penitence. It has been ten long years since it began, and it shall remain my castigation until death. After all, I still have hell to look forward to.

We are one in the same, my friend. You and I, we feel the pain and hurt of war…we see life for the whore she is, that side which many choose to ignore and all tremble at.” He glanced at the Warriors as he said this.

You have asked me many questions about my past. My heart was pained with the constant reminder of the memories I long to forget, yet refuse to live without.

My past is naught but pain and grief. Regret and sorrow forever plague my steps. Come with me and I will tell you…” He stepped back into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him as his footsteps faded away.

Cain stood for a moment, absorbing his words. He glanced over his shoulder at the ruins and shook his head, desperate to rid himself of the image of death now carved in his mind.

He sighed lightly before running after his friend. He crossed the causeway and descended the stairs, soon coming out onto the court.

Small torches lined the courtyard, their ruddy flames flickering in the night. The strange tree spread its fronds through the glowing torchlight, casting waves of trembling shadow over the pool. The heavens reflected brilliantly on the water’s flawless surface, thousands of stars shimmering in the crystalline water.

Malecai sat beside the pool, his eyes transfixed upon it. “All of my naivety ended here, and where all my sorrows began.” He clenched his fist, his eyes never leaving the water’s depths.

“My story began many years ago at the death of my father, killed by the cruel hand of fate. He was a soldier by duty to the king of our country, Inveira. He was a great general of men, and he left behind a legacy that was sure to die along with him.

Alanis, leader of the Knights of Iscara, assassinated him. After his death, I vowed myself to vengeance against his murderer. However, I knew my revenge would go unfulfilled if I did not set my hatred on the true cause of my suffering, Abaddon.

I vowed to find the lost sword of Abaddon, the ancient artifact to which his soul is eternal bound. I thought that if I could find it, then I could destroy it…alas, a foolish thought. Nevertheless, I sought to find it.

I set out across Tarsha and for many weeks I rode until I came upon Izadon, weary with travel.

I knew not where to begin my search so I began at the library, searching for anything in relation to the lost sword. For a year, I combed the shelves. I scanned every inch of the city’s texts for any possible location. Nothing. Disappointment surmounted me and I left bitterly frustrated and uncertain as to where to continue my search.

Then one day, I met a woman. I did not know at the time, but it was a life altering moment. I was at the stables, contesting with myself: should I saddle my horse and return home in disgrace, or stay in Izadon until an opportunity presented itself. That morning I found that opportunity.

A woman rode up beside me. Her hair was as black as this night, her eyes wild as the eastern seas, her skin pale as the moon’s frail glow. She was beautiful, and I was infatuated.

It was somehow an instant connection; I have never felt anything as sweet as I felt at that moment. Love is too weak a word.

Her name was Raven. She was the daughter-in-law of Creedoc. Her status did not surprise me for her poise and composure screamed of nobility.

I felt a thought rise in the back of my mind. What if I could use her to get to the palace library, they were sure to have the information I sought. I quickly suppressed those thoughts, for I refused to use her. Fate however, played a far larger role that day than ever I intended.

Raven took me to the palace where I met Creedoc, a brilliant and honorable man, more than worthy of his title. As the days passed, I became greatly acquainted with the King and the royal family.

Creedoc had heard of my father and the legacy he had left behind. I informed him of my reasons for being in Atuan and my desire to find the lost sword that had eluded humanity for so long. He immediately offered to show me the palace library with Raven at my side.

Together, the three of us scoured the thousands of tombs scattered among its endless shelves. We searched for over a fortnight, finding almost nothing pertaining to the lost sword. It was as if all records of it had been destroyed, erased from history. I left the library in somber disappointment, my frustration now shared with others.

I then decided to focus my efforts on a more mundane manner, searching the deserts for any entrance to the elusive tombs. I saddled my horse and set across Atuan with Raven at my side.

We roamed the desert for many months, side by side across the eastern stretches of Tarsha, from the Alar to the Menaheim, from the southern borders of Andred to the Wilds of Angeled. For many days, we traveled, and for many nights, we lay gazing up at the stars. Those days that I spent with her were the last days of my happiness…

Eventually we saw what we both knew to be the truth, that the tombs would forever escape man’s reach. We decided to give up my…our, quest. We returned to Izadon in defeat.” Malecai paused for a moment as if struggling to continue.

“However, upon my return, I felt an uneasy sentiment stirring in my heart. I endured the shame set upon me by every eye. Everyone I passed knew my failure, my defeat, but shared not my sorrows. The shame was painful, impertinent, and I loathed it.

I could no longer stay in Izadon, no matter how much I told myself otherwise. I followed the shadows that veiled my better judgment, saddled my horse, and left behind the city of Izadon.

Suddenly, I saw a cloud of dust rise behind me. I found myself looking into Raven’s eyes. The veil lifted from my eyes as I stared into the light of hers. Her gaze pierced my ignorance; she seemed to read my very soul.

She asked how I could ever leave her. I remember the pain in her voice, the clenching agony growing with every breath she took. Her voice rose not in anger, but in frustration, her head bowed and eyes closed as if to fend off the reality of what was happening.

I looked at her in a way I had never felt before, with a strange shroud of spite, and I hated it. I no longer felt love for her; I no longer felt the warmth and friendship we shared. I felt only shame and disgrace festering within me. I wanted more than anything to leave her. I saw then the suffering I caused her, but I did nothing to stop her tears. She knew I no longer wanted her.

I turned from her without a backwards glance…and she let me go.