In a World without God

Before long, the night receded, and the sun rose in the eastern sky, lighting up the square.

The sound of marching footsteps overshadowed the beating of drums. The longing cries for falsehood to retreat transformed into the clarion call of awakening, echoing through Baidor.

Ishkur had ignited a fire in the hearts of the people. He stood before a crowd with burning hearts and cried out for the truth.

The people were divided. There were those who marched forward with Ishkur, those who ran, and hid, and those who remained on the side of falsehood.

“Father! Where are you going?”

“Zina, what does it look like?”

A steady stream of tears rolled down Kurzina’s white face like condensation on a frozen window. Her hair, the color of the night sky, was disheveled.

Ed was dead. Those who bore the same blood as Kurzina had killed him. The false ones had killed the truest. In the eastern part of the Le Fay manor grounds, in front of the Manor of the Sky, Hathor and dozens of armed men were forced to stop in their tracks as Kurzina stood in their way. She glared at her father, Hathor, with eyes like shattered blades.

“Where are you going with the guards? Why are they carrying weapons?”

“Get out of our way, Kurzina! There’s no time to waste!”

“Why are you carrying weapons? Who do you intend to use them against?”

“Lord Kindatu himself sent the order. A riot has broken out in the square. He wants me to put it down. You need to do what you’re told.”

Kurzina pointed her staff at Hathor. The watery orb at the end of the long ebony staff glistened in the sunlight.

“What are you doing, Zina!”

Hathor’s heart sank at the sight. Kurzina had never once disobeyed her father. She was a good, obedient child. Hathor loved her dearly. He never expected her to bare her teeth to him.

Kurzina stared deeply into Hathor’s eyes.

“What are you doing, Father? Have you not smelled the scent of the Delorean flowers? That is not a riot. That is a march to restore the truth!”

“Zina, you have been deluded by the visions the witch has shown you.”

“It is not an illusion. It is the truth!”

“It is an illusion! You have lived all this time under the name of the hero Bosha, wearing fine clothes and eating fine food. They want to take it all away and see you to sleep on cold floors and eat weeds. As your father, I cannot tolerate that.”

Kurzina shook her head.

“You have fallen, Father. Have you forgotten my mother’s wishes?”

“I remember. Esna told me repeatedly to take good care of you, Zina. I intend to honor her wishes.”

“No. You have forgotten my mother’s will.”

Kurzina remembered her mother. Her skin pallid from her illness, but her eyes had been tender as she looked at Kurzina.

“When you clasp your hands toward Lutea, remember that I am the light that floats beside you. To be close to Lutea is to be close to me.”

“My mother told me to get close to the light. The brightest, truest light in the world!”

The orb on Kurzina’s staff began to emit its own bright light. Chains of lightning shot from the orb, entangling around Hathor and the guards’.

Hathor reluctantly raised his staff. The lightning chains snapped and fizzled away to nothing, just as Kurzina had anticipated. She was only buying time. While Hathor was distracted by the lightning, Kurzina enchanted her staff with Magick.

The Magick wrapped around the staff and then rumbled through the atmosphere like a thunderclap. It stretched a great blade toward the sky and great sword was formed, three times the length of Kurzina’s body.

“If you’re going forward, you’ll have to kill me.”

Hathor sighed.

“You foolish child.”

***

The children with silver hair ran through the fields. The scent of wild flowers wafted through the air as the children reflected one what they had just learned.

“Edulis was Lord Bosha! A hero has come for us!”

“Don’t stop running, Shumi. Lord Bosha wanted us to survive!”

Tears streamed down Methena’s face. Ed was dead. Enri was gone. Survival was no longer a choice but a duty to honor their fallen friends.

The children made their way to the wooden building they had been staying in, thinking it was a relatively safe to hide out while they worked out their next steps. The only other noble house nearby was the House of Yug.

But when they reached the wooden building they quickly realized it was no longer safe. The building had collapsed and in the middle of the rubble a small clearing had formed.

“It’s a trap!” Harsh shouted, the hair on the back of his neck and arms on alert, warning him that danger was close by. No sooner had he spoken then a Velox leaped out from behind the rubble. The men atop and following behind the Velox were armored and carrying long spears. They regrouped and charged, forward, suddenly surrounding the children.

“For what reason do you want to harm us? We need to participate in the Festival of Saints. Are you trying to ruin the sacred rite?”

Marie shouted at the men, her voice filled with anger and fear. A man with the Le Fay family crest on his armored chest stepped forward. It was the Captain of the cavalry.

“There is no need. The situation has changed. Everyone in the square must die; that means all of you. My Lord commands that all descendants of witches be killed.”

“How can you—you who claim to be the descendants of the hero Bosha—say such things!”

“Yes. We are the descendants of Bosha. That is why you must all die.”

Tears welled up in Marie’s eyes. Ed had risked his life to give the Le Fay no reason to kill them. Yet here they were, about to be destroyed like a child’s sandcastle trampled by military boots.

“Let’s run. Run in all directions. Even if only one of us survives, we must spread the truth of Ed’s words. That’s our mission,” Methena whispered to the children around her. She gripped her curved sword. The other children did the same. Their eyes like a pack of hungry, cornered wolves.

“On my signal,” Methena whispered in a low growl. “We run in diferent directions.”

The children around her tensed, waiting for her command.

“Now! Go!”

Just as the children were about to scatter and try to charge past the armed men, the Velox let out a gruesome bellow, screaming and flapping its palm-sized wings frantically. As it reared and bucked, it threw the soldiers mounted on its back in different directions. They all fell to the ground with a hard thud and didn’t get up again.

A wall of fire whipped around the circle, creating a barrier between the children and the men.

“This way! Run this way, come on!”

A taller boy hollered at them and pointed a long sword, showing them which way to go. The sword glowed with flaming Magick.

“Sir Raghad?”

“Come on! Run! Follow me!”

The children hesitated for a moment. They weren’t sure if they could trust Raghad. They all looked at each and then to Methena, who gave a firm nod and was the first to take off running. Marie, Harsh, and Shumi followed suit. As the children moved behind him, Raghad shouted to the soldiers.

“I am Raghad, first nephew of Lord Kindatu! Do any of you dare to harm me?”

“Raghad, sir, what do you think you’re doing? They are a grave threat to our family!”

“If four children can destroy our family, isn’t it only fitting that it should be destroyed?”

“Sir!”

Raghad turned his head to look at Methena. Memories of what had happened at the Festival of Saints flashed through his mind.

“Kill me.”

When Raghad lowered his head, Methena had looked at him sadly.

“I don’t want to. I don'’t want to do that.”

Raghad lifted his head and looked into Methena’s eyes. They were as clear as a frozen lake.

“You’re right. It would be a shame to dirty your hands with my blood.”

Raghad held the sword in reverse, pointing its tip towards his throat. Closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the sword, a scent of jasmine brushed past his nose. Someone grabbed his hand.

Despite her delicate appearance, Methena’s grip was strong and difficult to shake.

“Let go.”

“I don’t want to see your blood, your flesh wounded. I don’t wish for anyone to die in front of me. I hope no one dies before me.”

Methena did not let go.

“My mother told me that just as joy does not last forever, neither does sorrow or despair. The heart will always return one day, neither sad nor happy. Why not wait for that?”

“I am exhausted.”

“Just as we were inspired by Ed, there must be someone who can inspire you, Raghad.”

Even after the tournament was over, Raghad couldn’t forget Methena’s words, the sound of her voice, the way she’d held his hand, and her scent.

Raghad turned back to the soldiers and pointed his blade towards them.

“Do not follow them!”

“Damn it! Lord Kindatu’s orders come first! Everyone go after them!”

Raghad swung his sword once more, summoning a barrier of flames. He pointed the blade toward the Captain.

“Raghad, sir, please move out of the way!”

Raghad grinned. Despite everything that had happened, he hadn’t been able to stop smiling since yesterday. Just thinking about Methena made him smile.

“You shall not pass without killing me first.”

***

Kindatu looked down on the square from his office window. The people below turned to look at him and shouted. It was hard to determine what they were saying, but he recognized words like Lutea, truth, and Bosha.

The people in the square seemed to have taken over the armory. Everyone had a weapon in their hands. Kindatu ran a hand through his hair and frowned.

“I have done my best to protect this family. I have served without fail as the head of the family. Why is this trial upon me?”

Kindatu’s frustration was almost overwhelming—Ashur, the swordsman, Dersh, the librarian, and Dumuzi, the archmage were all mortally wounded. Dersh’s adopted son, Ishkur, had trapped and immobilized them with shadow Magick.

“Lazy Ishkur. You’ve been hiding your claws all this time.”

Kindatu sighed. Ishkur and the armed populace had just about overpowered the Le Fay’s private army. It had been hours since he sent a message to the elite mage and mounted forces, but they haven’t shown up yet. His youngest nephew, Yug, was standing side by side with Ishkur, hammering away at the barricades.

“The crowd is foolish. Do you think crying out for the truth will make the world right? Stability requires sacrifice!”

It was inevitable. Kindatu kicked the bottom of the bookshelf that covered most of one wall in his office. The panel he kicked was actually a secret lever. The bookcase swung open revealing a hidden passage, something only the Head of the Le Fay families knew about and could access.

Kindatu entered and removed a small box, adorned with silver and mother-of-pearl. It contained something significant for the Le Fay family—or rather, the cursed veins of the dark-haired and dark-eyed lineage.

In the box were dark-colored beads and a dagger about the length of a hand. Kindatu took out the dagger, closed his eyes tightly, and cut his wrist. Pain like severed nerves ran down his spine. The pain of vengeful spirits was anything but gentle.

Blood dripped from Kindatu’s wrist and fell onto the beads. Kindatu watched and slowly recited:

“Our master, Granadilla, I, a humble and frail servant, seek power from the authority of darkness.”