The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (32 page)

“Sigil, send my followers to rise up and crush the insignificant beings above.”

“As you command.”

A low hum throughout the halls increased in volume until it was recognizable—monotone horns sounded the order. Out of the pitch-dark came the stirrings of the evil within Kerrith Ravine—a hidden dimension, nestled inside the realms; a shadowy harbor reserved for the eternally hideous. Those dwelling within its confines began to awaken with fury. There were sounds of claws scratching at stone, and growls oozing out of grinding teeth. Indescribably contorted faces weaved in and out of the rock wall as they climbed to the surface where the dwarven army stood. They thirsted for their souls to be devoured, and longed to pull them into their world of torment. The twilight sky above grew closer as the thousands of shadow creatures raced to the top.

“El’Korr, why are the wind funnels not approaching?” Geetock asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s like they are waiting.”

“Waiting for what? We are at the edge of the ravine. We have no place left to go.”

“We also don’t know what happened to Zeffeera and the others. They have not been seen.”

“Maybe they made it?”

Just then, several of his men shouted alarms of distress. “They’re coming!”

“This is it, boys! Prepare your spells of light and fight like there is no tomorrow.”

The warriors could now hear the sounds of the reegs. They backed away from the ledge to give some distance. A deathly chill ran through them all. El’Korr began to bash his shield with his weapon. The others followed suit until the cacophony of clanging sounds was deafening. They would combat fear with courage.

“Look!” Someone yelled.

They watched the black whirling wind tunnels slowly dissipate. The blackness fell like water and it was quickly understood that the very essence of the tornadoes were the shadow creatures themselves. They were surrounded and there was no escape.

“There! Do you see it?” Bridazak pointed.

“Yes, you were right,”
Zeffeera was surprised.

“What is it, though?” Xan asked.

“It is an opening. A tear in the curtain that is Kerrith Ravine,”
Zeffeera announced into everyone’s mind, amazed to see it for what it truly was after all this time.

Approaching fast, the bronze dragon soared toward the brilliant rays shooting out of the blackness. They each raised their hands to shield themselves from the blinding light. Zeffeera closed her eyes and ducked her head, preparing to ram whatever may be on the other side, and shot through. The sounds of their world, the cold whipping wind, became muffled, and were replaced with a soft, melodic, warm breeze that soothed them all with an overwhelming sense of peace. All their fears, anxiety, and troubles faded within the surreal environment. They knew those feelings existed, but they could no longer be found in this place. There was light everywhere, and soon a glorious city emerged into view.

“It’s the Holy City!” Xan announced in unbelief.

White marble, crystal cathedrals, and streets and pathways that glistened like gold; it sparkled and took their breath away.

“What is this place?” Dulgin asked, now awake.

“You’re alive!” Bridazak embraced his friend.

“Yeah, I’m alive, now get off me. What’s going on?”

“This is the Lost City! It was never destroyed after all; it was hidden! We made it, Dulgin!”

Zeffeera landed at the foot of the steps leading up to the Great Temple— the grandest and most beautiful place in the entire city. No legend ever spoken of it had done justice to what they saw as they looked up in awe. It was situated on the highest spot while the rest of the glorious structures cascaded down all around it. There stood two beings at the top of the marble stairs; they had wings and held swords that gleamed so brightly, they appeared to be fashioned from light itself. Their faces weren’t quite visible, as they were bathed in a brilliant glow. Each of them started the trek up the stairs, and the huge double door entrance was pulled open by the winged creatures. The golden portal revealed the purest white luminescence they had ever seen, and small sparkling spheres danced about inside of it.

“Our clothes?” Bridazak noticed, alerting the others.

“They are white and clean. How can that be?” Spilf questioned.

“Your hair!” Bridazak pointed.

Spilf reached up and felt his hair, and even looked down to see new growth of brown fur on top of his pads. He was healed of all the damage he had taken from the hand of the evil king. The Ordakian smiled brightly.

The heroes now wore white clothing of a material they had never felt before—so soft and soothing to the touch. Their weapons and gear had vanished, but they did not long for them, as there was no feeling of fear. Bridazak stepped through first, followed by Dulgin and Spilf, then Abawken and Xan, with Jack between them.

Brilliant colors of the entire spectrum and new colors they had never seen before fanned out like kaleidoscopes from the throne of white light before them. Wild smells of wonderful fragrances beyond their scope of understanding filled every breath. The high walls faded away from their sight, endless and indescribable. The sound of rushing water came to their ears in the form of a powerful voice.

“Well done, good and faithful.”

The sense of love was so overpowering that they fell to their knees in a place that had no floor or ceiling. Tears flowed down their cheeks as their heads bowed. There was no question in anyone’s mind; they were with God.

“Rise, my child.”

Abawken obeyed, and stood to find himself alone before God. Abawken peered into God’s eyes, bluer than oceans, vibrant, and full of vitality. His skin glowed in perfection and his brown, silky hair cascaded to rest upon his broad shoulders. The human God was drenched in majestic robes that flowed off of him like water that never ended.

He spoke, “I’m so proud of who you have become, Abawken. Your faith is beyond measure.”

“I am at a loss for words my God, my King,” Abawken tried to respond.

“Come and share your heart with me. Let us speak for as long as you like. I will fill you with great and wonderful knowledge.”

“What about my friends?”

“You never cease to amaze me. Always caring for others, but this time it is all for you, Abawken Shellahk. Your friends are with me even as we speak.”

“I have so many questions,” Abawken said, unsure of where to begin.

“And I have all the answers you need, but first, let me share a story.”

God began to stroll with Abawken by his side, and not too long after, two marble thrones rose from the iridescent floor. They were slightly angled toward each other; God motioned for him to sit. Abawken nodded and took his seat. He was pleasantly surprised to find the stone to be comfortable, like a pillow of air.

His deity began to weave his tale, “There once was a desert. Sagebrush and honey thimbles splayed across rolling orange dunes as far as the eye could see.”

“Sounds like home,” Abawken whispered.

“In this arid desert, people wandered aimlessly in search of…”

“Water,” Abawken answered.

“Yes, water, but none could be found. Though water was scarce and precious, a community nevertheless was formed. Water had to be brought into this desert gathering, and the value of it overcame gold. The wealthy flourished while many mothers and children barely survived; always longing for the prized water.” God ended his tale and waited for Abawken’s response.

The human paused and then slowly shook his head, “I don’t understand the meaning of your story. This is the way of the desert.”

“You are using your mind. I ask for you to search your heart, Abawken.”

The human suddenly blurted out, “In a desert, water is life.”

“Exactly,” he nodded as Abawken was starting to understand his leading. “You asked me many nights why I brought you there when you were a child. Do you remember?”

“But I was just a boy, and thought selfishly.”

“No, you thought with your heart.”

“I questioned my life many days and nights. I thought I was cursed, to have been brought into such a desolate land.”

“Yes, you were
brought
to that desert, my son.”

A sudden flash of realization hit the fighter, “I’m the water,” he whispered.

“And a stream comes from a source which can sustain life forever. No one is where they are by accident. Each has his purpose. I have set destiny in the hearts of everyone, but knowledge, though it has its place, can prevent the heart from seeing the truth.”

“Why did you call me away from this land, then?”

God lightly laughed, “How does a fighter become a master swordsman?”

“Training and practice,” he answered.

“Abawken, you were always destined for greater things, but you needed to be prepared in the desert first.”

The warrior was perplexed, “But why use anyone at all; why allow the evil to continue in the world? You are God, Creator of All, why not put an end to the suffering?”

“What kind of God could I be to a people if I broke my promises to them? I gave you free will to make your decisions, to make your mistakes, to live according to your own methods. One act stripped the good of the world and so it was, one act, to restore righteousness.”

“You speak of the Orb of Truth, but it was destroyed.”

“My voice can never be silenced. I have placed eternity in the hearts of all, and many hear their calling while others resist. I will not, I cannot, force anyone to love, but the choice is there for all to make. As their Father, I await to hold them in my arms and restore their full inheritance as my sons and daughters. A time is coming and for some has already come when the scales covering their eyes will fall away, and they will behold the Truth.”

Abawken leaned in, “I want to hear more.”

“Russo, di cende.”

Spilf slowly lifted his gaze to see a beautiful Ordakian wearing flowing topaz robes. It was God, smiling so full of joy at the sight of him.

“Where are we?” Spilf looked around, but saw only endless light.

“Where would you like to be, Spilfer? Perhaps on top of a calm lake?” God spoke, and they were there, standing on glassy water surrounded by an assortment of colorful trees in the distance. Spilf recalled the sensation he’d felt when he travelled through the portal out of the Oculus chamber, but this was different. It wasn’t magic; they hadn’t really even travelled. They were simply there. He felt no fear, only wonder. He grabbed hold of his God’s hand, and they walked together. Each step the King of Kings took produced a bed of lilies; colors sparkling off of their uniquely shaped petals. Spilf watched in awe as clusters of vines raced up from the depths of the crystal clear water to meet his next step.