What is darkness, that ethereal substance that forms in the absence of light? To creatures it is another environment. While some shun the darkness—rather seeking solace in the limbo of slumber—others thrive in its clutches perhaps grateful for the dark that keeps their actions from being known to the light. In short, all creatures know that terror, tooth, and claw haunt the dark.
For man the dark is much more ominous. For it is not the dark itself that man fears, but the unknown contained within. The hidden knives, stalking creatures, and whispering demons that prey on the heart, mind, soul, and body.
Why do so many seek light? They want knowledge. They want the security that comes with knowing what is and isn't.
Why do so many shun the night? They ignore their ignorance. Turn away from the secret doings that take place far from the light of day. Instead, they surround themselves in a bubble—a futile attempt to ward off rhetoric and facts that threaten the very fabric of their existence. A pathetic shield against the horrors hidden out of sight.
But it is not the dark and all its twisted mechanizations that man fears most.
No, what man fears most is death.
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As the two riders sped down the dirt path, Thayde slowly refocused on the world around him. They had just crested a small rise, revealing a valley which preceded a hill. They came to a stop. A quick glance to the sky revealed the sun directly overhead.
"Dreyden, we will walk our horses up to the crest of that hill."
"Yes, my Lord." Having ridden for several hours already with no sign of any refugees, the horses were quite strained and needed a rest.
"How far do you think we are from them?" Thayde said.
Furrowing his brows, Dreyden contemplated the question for a bit.
"Honestly, my Lord, we should have already met with them according to the reports."
"So then something must have happened." Such an obvious statement carried a lot of weight. Although it had been many years since the last time Thayde shivered as he felt ethereal blades gather, poised to strike.
As the duo led their horses through the valley, the blades followed. Their presence worried Thayde. In his experience tragedy always followed their arrival. The weighty haze swallowed any words he would have otherwise spoken. Dreyden, having noticed the tension in his Lord's shoulders, could only guess at the cause.
And so silence covered the span of the valley, broken only by the hissing of the grass and the clipping of grasshoppers fleeing from the shadows of the two. For a while, a group of four kept just ahead only to be attacked by a solitary bird. Only one survived. The powerful limbs that normally allowed it to fly free were missing.
Thayde couldn't help but wonder why such gifts existed when their only destiny was to be stolen.
"My Lord, I see them." Dreyden said, breaking Thayde free from his contemplation.
They had made it to the top of the next hill. Below them the slope led down into yet another valley. Struggling up the slope was a caravan, the already steep trek made more difficult by the lack of beasts of burden and wounds.
One of the sharp blades fell, drawing a sigh from the lips of the prince.
"Looks like they have run into some trouble. Raise the banner, Dreyden, we need to find out what has happened."
"Yes, my Lord." Dreyden raised the banner bearing the crest of Tyl: a gold torch silhouetted by the white sun, and Thayde's own crest: A black raven silhouetted by a crimson moon on a field of white snow before approaching the caravan at a trot.
The refugees had noticed the riders as they conversed on the hill. Relief and an emotion they had not felt in a long time arose: hope. One of the men, who also seemed to be the least hurt of the lot, stepped forward. Although he did seem relieved, warriness was also present in the figure's eyes along with a flash of something else.
"Make sure that the wounded get first aid applied to them before we move on. We don't want any of them dying on the way and it already looks like several will need amputations already."
"Yes, My Lord." Making his way over to the leader, Thayde gave Dreyden orders. Not that they were needed. Upon seeing the plight of the caravan he had begun to assess the wounded to determine which would need care. It was good to keep up appearances though. Besides, the blades were still there, hovering just out of sight. They seemed to be gathering and growing with each step.
When Thayde finally reached the leader and dismounted, the blades fell. Each blow stripped away at the unnecessary worries in his mind, the apprehension, and anxiety to leave a hollow. His hand twitched as if it were the home of bugs. The sword on his hip seemed to hum in search of the honey contained within the fleshy pods all around.
"My Lord?" Two words filled the void to the brim, and it shattered. Thayde found himself staring at the leader, his hand on the hilt of his sword. A shiver ran through it again, this time drawing a flash of surprise that woke him further. That itchy sensation in his hand, the tingle in the back of his head, the humming of the sword, they were calling for death.
The pools of fear that were the eyes of the leader in front of him still contained a hint of something else. It sang to Thayde, asking for the end.
"Hail," Standing upright, in resistance to the intoxication, he cleared his throat. "I am Thayde Sycht, Prince of Tyl. I have come as a representative of my father, The Radiant King, Abyl Sycht. My aide and I noticed that many of you are injured. Come. Let us tend to them. We can talk in the meantime."
"Hail Prince Thayde," The leader said, a deep bow momentarily hiding the drowning eyes, "I am Jonathyn Peregryn." Straightening once again brought the eyes back into view now lacking the fear of a person; instead they were filled with fear of things to come. "If I may be so bold, your highness, we can endure these sores. We are much more worried for our wives and children! Bandits attacked us not even an hour ago and stole them away!"
Some of the least wounded that stood nearby, affirmed with a nod and petitions to save their lost loved ones. However one of the refugees who sported the most vicious wounds caught Thayde's eye. Once he realized it, the man who was missing a tongue glared at Jonathyn.
A wail passed through the camp, breaking the man's line of sight as he looked around furiously, followed by many more. The wind had picked up and with it came a numbing chill. For some reason the wailing of the wind entranced Thayde. Encircling him and lifting him free of the shackles of socializing and etiquette. He could feel the oppressive sound swelling as it swirled around.
With the speed of a shadow chasing light the wind dropped and the world fell. Or so it seemed to Thayde as he collapsed to his knees. He could feel his bones bending and joints creaking as the unfathomable did its best to inter its prey into dark depths. Something, or someone was in their midst and it was there to stay.
"My- Lord-." Dreyden gasped, a testament to his loyalty and training as he resisted whatever had befallen them.
Thayde was not the only one affected by the heavy ambience. All around was chaos. Men throughout the camp were on their knees, others prone. A select few, including Dreyden and Jonathyn, were able to resist the pressure to remain standing. Nearly all the men seemed to be on the edge of a cliff and were about to leap off out of sheer desperation. Their eyes betrayed the fear and confusion they felt containing something Thayde had only ever seen once before in his life: hopelessness.
The pressure doubled as his mind attached itself to this thought. Soon his eyes lost their sight and his ears started to ring. Blood flowed from his nose and he could no longer feel the ground underneath his palms. Isolation he was not a stranger to; most of his life he functioned alone with only his family and a couple more individuals to break the monotonous prison of self. This was, however, on a whole other level.
He was truly alone. As if the world had rejected him there were no sounds or sights, no scent or sensation. In this state of isolation Thayde couldn't help but wonder for a moment if he truly existed. Lances of fear pricked as this thought permeated his brain. Or at least he hoped it was his brain.
Alone. What could he do alone? Does one even exist in such a state as this? The fear kept flowing, slowly heating up into desperation. Was their hope in this situation? There was none.
"Calm down, Son! I come!" Like a ray of light cutting through darkness, the voice of the Radiant King echoed through Thayde's mind. Although he wasn't sure why he was able to hear his father, he knew for a surety that what he had heard was real. His father was coming.
However this light was but a spark and the presence fought twice as hard to extinguish it. 'I just need to hold on until Father arrives!' This desperate thought rang hollow even to Thayde as he was once again swallowed by obscurity. He was not going to last; death was on its way. How, he did not know, but near him he could feel another presence, this one razor sharp, poised above him.
This thought gave rise to several feelings. Fear and anxiety were chief among them, and the obscure presence grew stronger. However, he also felt at peace. Although his life had been short, he would not have lived it any other way.
Furthermore, even if he expired the refugees will be taken care of by his parents. His only regret was the pain that his parents would feel at his passing. However, he knew that they were strong and would not let his death be in vain and he couldn't help but wonder if his parents would be able to understand his mentality, and what drove him, afterwards. If there was one thing he wished, it was to awaken his parents to the reality of the world and its dire need of a remedy.
If it was caused by his death, so be it.
"Oh?" a soft whisper tinged with amusement tickled Thayde's ears. "Are you not afraid?" The voice, he could now identify it as feminine, continued. Was this Death? Still lacking control over his body he couldn't respond verbally. Thankfully Death, if it really was her, seemed to be able to understand his silence.
"My aren't you an interesting one. Normally only the old or feeble greet death as you did. It'd be a pity if you died with such potential at such a young age" Thayde couldn't help but feel disgruntled. Here he was about to die and something or someone had just dubbed him a child. He just wished they would hurry up. After all, they would most likely have a long time to converse after he had fully transitioned.
"Hey!" The voice suddenly lost its ethereal quality. Thayde couldn't help but wonder why Death sounded like someone his age. "I will not accept this! You'll be more useful alive now that you're a disciple."
Now what the lights above did that mean?
"Go! Sow the seeds of progress! Reap the fetid rot that clings to life and brings misery to all else!" The voice rose in volume, as if trying to shatter the obscure cloud that surrounded Thayde. Indeed it seemed to be working as sensation started flowing throughout his body again. But what had the voice said? To kill someone? No matter who he thought of, Thayde did not get the feeling that it was right. It wasn't yet their time.
"The bandits that dare prey on the misery of others!" The voice interrupted, inserting her—its?—advice. "Bring their souls the one hope they have left: a quick death."
That was right. The bandits were the ones who had attacked the caravan. They walked over the downtrodden and terrorized the weak and fearful. It wasn't enough that most of the world had fallen, they had to go and prey upon their fellow man. These creatures of violence and despair only had one path of hope left.
As his mind asserted the truthfulness of what the voice demanded, he could feel the blades forming once again in the air. This time they numbered in the hundreds, and despite the large quantity he could clearly feel the destined targets of each and every blade.
"I will reap what has been sown." With this conviction, Thayde shattered the obscurity that had surrounded him. All his senses rushed back to him. To his side stood Dreyden and Jonathyn that for the most part seemed fine. Farther out he could see men all around almost driven mad with fear. The horses reared and neighed as the wind whistled and wailed in his ears. He could smell a putrid stench that was the amalgamation of the musk of the animals that combined with the cloying sting of body odor. It reeked of despair.
"In the name of the Radiant King, and the kingdom of hope, I command you to cease! Terror and fear has no place in this land!" Standing up, Thayde released his sword from its scabbard to raise it overhead to stand among the others he felt in the air. He rebuked the presence that had settled over the camp. Only the wind whistled louder, drowning out his words.
"Valiant try, disciple, but what can Hope do in this situation?" Whispered Death. "Only Death, progress, will be able to cause a change. Call to Death and it will answer" It was as if something clicked in Thayde. She was right. Hadn't he learned this lesson already? Had he not said to his parents countless times that just having hope will not change anything. Something more was required. An act that contained finality, an end, that in its resolution brought progress. Trying once more, Thayde raised his sword.
"Lady Death, bringer of progress and rest, end this era of terror and fear. Harvest those whose time has come. And you, bringer of despair and horror, your reign has ended! I, Thayde Sycht, command you as a disciple of death. Depart!" As if it never existed in the first place, the chaos ceased. All movement froze as all eyes were drawn to the prince who held his sword aloft. The horses and oxen calmed. Not a sound was uttered or made by any being. Even the movement of the air ceased.
"Wow! Good job!" Death,—was it really Death?—exclaimed in Thayde's ear. "You chased off Despair. I was right to choose you." Assured of the departure of the malevolent presence, he lowered and stowed his sword.
The ring of metal on leather breaks the silence. Birds start chirping as the wind returns to its gentle sway over the rolling plains hissing as it slides through the tall grass. The refugees, not daring to interrupt the almost reverent atmosphere, whisper among themselves as they glance furtively at the prince. Jonathyn's eyes were once again full with fear.
"My? Lord?" Dreyden finally voiced his concern.
As if exorcizing a spirit, those words woke Thayde from his almost trancelike state only for him to fall into contemplation. What were those powers? Why had he heard his father's voice? Who had saved him, was it really Death? What had she called him, disciple? With so many questions, but no one to answer them, he could do nothing but wait.
More importantly, he could still feel the tens of blades in the air that pulled him towards the south.
"My Lord!?" Dreyden repeated, growing even more concerned at the prince's continued silence.
"I am fine," Thayde finally answered as he turned to meet Dreyden's concerned eyes. "No, really. Jonathyn, the bandits are to the south? Would you say there are about thirty?"
"Y-yes, my Lord" Jonathyn's eyes widened as he could not recall giving that information. Thayde ignored the baffled looks of both Jonathyn and Dreyden as he thought about their next course of action. In all reality, they should wait here until his Father arrives with the knights. He still could not figure out why or how, but he was certain his father was on his way.
The blades in the air vibrated sending a wave of heat that coursed through his blood. He burned with the need to head south. He had been given a command, and he could not put it aside.
"Come, Dreyden, we will go scout out the camp before deciding what shall be done. Leave the banner with the caravan as proof of meeting us." Dreyden solution in response bringing his right fist over his heart, glad to have an order on which he could act. As he went to hand over the banner and then mount his horse, Thayde mounted his own before turning to Jonathyn.
"Jonathyn, keep going. We will bring your loved ones back." Not waiting for a response he kicked his horse into a gallop heading south with Dreyden close behind.
As they rode Thayde vowed to bring death to those who were stagnant for their own progress. Although it made sense in his head, and with his experiences, his heart hurt when he thought about how his father would never have given up hope. He would always trust that anyone can change. But even those who take hope from others? Did they deserve hope or mercy?
Even his heart had to concede to these points.
'I will give them progress: I will take their lives. I will give them hope: the hope of a quick death. I will give them death, where even they will have the hope for progress.'
Deep in thought, Thayde never saw the grin at home beneath two cold eyes that were focused on his fading figure.
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Author's Note: Here is a long chapter after the long absence. I will start to publish a chapter every other week for now. I hope to increase it as I go but for now I am trying to be consistent at least.
For the release dates check Facebook.com/Sorrowthorn/