The Reborn King (Book Six) (9 page)

At the sight of this, Felsafell reached out to grab the handle. But the instant his fingers made contact, there was an earsplitting crack and a flash of blinding white light. The
first born
was sent flying several yards back and landed with a thud, flat on his back. Nehrutu and Gewey were at his side at once.

“I am unhurt,” Felsafell reassured them before either could ask. He struggled back to his feet.

“What was that?” asked Gewey.

Felsafell let out a dissatisfied snort. “It would seem that only you can enter,” he grumbled.

“He should not go on alone,” Nehrutu protested. “Whatever drove the Vrykol mad might still be in there.”

“Almost certainly,” the
first born
agreed. “But I can think of no way for us to help. And he
must
go on.” He looked at Gewey. “If you find yourself with no other choice, use the
flow
to protect yourself.”

Gewey smiled and chuckled. “So I take it you’re not suggesting that I take a safer path and
not
go on?” Before Felsafell could respond, he turned the knob and opened the door.

He was half expecting the world to vanish and to find himself in some strange place. But that was not to be this time; the door simply swung open to reveal a long stone passage. Though there were no torches, the way ahead was lit by a pale light that emanated from the rock. A rush of warm air washed over him.

He glanced back and nodded reassuringly. “I won’t be a moment.”

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him, instantly setting his nerves on edge. A few yards ahead the light vanished. He longed to fill himself with the
flow,
but managed to resist the temptation.

“Not yet,” he muttered.

He could still feel the presence. But now it was beginning to take form and was becoming aware of him. It was almost as if it were waking from a deep slumber.

He walked with quiet steps until reaching the darkness. Even without the flow, his naturally keen eyesight enabled him to see several yards further ahead. The passage curved to the right, then gently sloped upward.

The presence was growing more tangible, but it felt neither good nor evil…at least not yet.

“Hello,” he called out, then immediately regretted it as a gust of hot air blew down the hallway as if in response to his cry.

A sudden anxiety struck Gewey, causing him to glance over his shoulder. The door was still there. But the wind continued to howl, and soon his anxiety was turning into inexplicable panic. He paused, considering whether or not to return to the cavern.

“Do not turn back, son of Gerath,” came a soft voice. “What you seek is now close. Don’t go. Not yet.”

“Who are you?” he shouted. But there was no reply.

His panic was now bordering on fear.
What the hell is wrong with me
, he scolded himself?
I’ve faced worse than this. Why am I so afraid
? 

With one hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword, he pressed on th
rough the gloom. After a few hundred yards the wind calmed and he arrived at a plain wooden door.

“Come in,” said the same voice. “Take your ease. There is nothing to trouble you here.”

Gewey reached for the knob, but just before he touched it the door swung wide open of its own accord. He took a step forward and peered inside. Beyond the threshold was a room roughly the size of a tavern common area. A small, square-shaped table sat in the center atop a modest brown rug. In the corners, brass lanterns hung from iron hooks, and set against the wall to his right was a simple yet comfortable looking couch.

On the table, a cup and bottle had been placed beside a wooden bowl filled with peaches and pears. Gewey looked for the source of the voice, but could see no one.

“Where are you?” he asked unsteadily, still fighting off his inexplicable fear.

“I am here,” the voice replied. “Can you not see me?”

“No.”

A hollow laugh drifted on the stale, dusty air. “Then you are not looking with your father’s eyes. Draw from the power and I shall appear.”

“I cannot,” he replied.

“Why is that? Do you fear an enemy perhaps?” There was a long pause. “Tell me. What is it you fear?”

“Nothing,” said Gewey. “I fear nothing.”

“Then why deny yourself the pleasure? Surely you want to feel the
flow
coursing through you. Is this not so?”

“That isn’t your concern,” he snapped, attempting to replace his fear with anger. “Now tell me who you are.”

This is what must have affected the Vrykol
, he warned himself.

“I can hear your thoughts,” the voice told him. “I am Tyrin. And yes, I am indeed the one who altered the foul creatures that tried to pollute this clean place. Though I admit, it was a considerable challenge. So dark and evil were they, it took some time to find my way to their inner terror.”

“What are you?” asked Gewey. “A spirit?”

“Yes,” Tyrin replied. “But a spirit cast aside.” Malevolence bled into his voice, causing the lantern lights to pulse and flicker. “A spirit betrayed. A spirit entombed by my brothers and sisters.”

“You mean the
first born
betrayed you?” Gewey blurted out, before he could stop himself.

“You know of us?”

Gewey felt as if something was probing his mind. He tried hard to resist, but was quickly overcome.

“Felsafell,” Tyrin hissed. “You have brought my kin with you. The caretaker of the spirits has at last come within my grasp.”

Gewey could now see a slight glow hovering above one of the chairs at the table. His desire to protect himself with the
flow
was growing stronger with each passing second.

“Felsafell means you no harm,” he told Tyrin.

The pulsing of the lanterns slowed. “Of course he doesn’t. He only watches in safety as he sends
you
into peril.”

“Am I in peril?” Gewey asked nervously.

There was another brief silence. “No. Your father made me promise. But then, he is not here…is he? And your fear is so very unique. Succulent and nourishing. The fear of the Vrykol was dry and dull. Yours however….yes yours....I must have it. And then I will have that of your companions as well.”

Gewey could feel the spirit’s menace surrounding him – suffocating him. It was too much. His will failed and he rapidly drew in the
flow
. In that moment, everything changed. The room faded away, and before him now were the smoldering ruins of Valshara.

“Yes, son of Gerath,” whispered the voice. “Show me. Show me the dark places you fear to share…even with
her
.”

Tyrin was using the
flow
to probe ever more deeply into his mind. Once again Gewey tried to resist. But he was unable to. Even releasing the
flow
was now becoming impossible.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue felt swollen and his throat numb. He took a step toward the broken temple gates. The burned timbers and twisted metal foreshadowed what he would find inside. The stench of mold and decay saturated the air. But this was not recent. Years had passed since this happened.

Gradually, Gewey felt his courage returning. “Do you think to break me?” he scoffed. “I have seen these visions before.”

“Have you?” asked Tyrin mockingly. “Have you really?”

“Yes,” Gewey shot back. “I have seen what could be, and what has been. You waste your time if you think these illusions will do anything but anger me.”

The
flow
swelled within him once again. But as his own power extended, so did the spirit's hold on his mind. More and more of his past was being revealed.

“Your anger means nothing here,” it countered. “Your anger is not what drives the things you are witnessing. You believe that I show you the destruction produced by war?” Tyrin laughed disdainfully. “But you are wrong. It was not your enemy who did this.”

Something compelled Gewey to walk on through the gates. The horrific visions he found upon entering made him gasp. Hundreds of pikes were buried in the ground about the courtyard, the skeletal remains of either a human or an elf grotesquely impaled upon each one. As for the main temple, it had been reduced to rubble, with countless numbers of crushed bones and skulls scattered amongst the wreckage. Whatever had created this destruction, it had sadistically chosen to bury all those inside the temple alive.

“There is only one power capable of such devastation,” said Tyrin. “And I think you know what that is.”

Recognition washed over Gewey like a vile torrent, bringing both revulsion and fear in its wake. Tyrin moaned with pleasure, feeding off his torment.

“I did this?” Gewey whispered. He could feel the spirit's satisfaction. He shook his head violently. “No! I will not be deceived.”

“Interesting,” the spirit remarked.

Gewey took a long breath. “You will not make me lose my senses. None of this is real…and I know it.”

“But it
is
real,” Tyrin corrected. “This
is
what you fear most. And rightly so. You are only seeing what is destined to be. You will lay waste to both heaven and earth. In your wrath you will slaughter all that breathes free air. You will cast down your enemy. And with your victory will come death.”

Valshara faded, and Gewey could now see a lone figure kneeling in front of two graves, sobbing uncontrollably.

He knew at once who it was. While nervously approaching, he could still feel Tyrin tugging at his mind, trying to make him forget who he was.

“Your friends could not protect them,” the spirit whispered in his ear. “They let them die. So in your rage, you decided that all others must follow. Not even Melek could match your lust for murder. You killed them all. Friends, foes, women, children, gods, beasts…everyone.”

A tear fell down Gewey's cheek while reading the names of Kaylia and Jayden carved into the twin headstones. He fell to his knees.

“You could not bear their loss,” the spirit continued, increasing its efforts to trap Gewey’s mind. “And in your madness you betrayed their memory with more death.”

Gewey traced their names with his finger. He could see it so clearly. The memory of annihilating everyone – hunting them down like vermin. And when they were all dead, he had come here to beg for forgiveness. But there was no one left to hear his pleas. Everyone was gone.

“Yes.” Tyrin’s voice was hard and grating. “You know it to be true. This is what happened. And all because you could not protect them.”

Gewey squeezed his eyes tightly shut and let out a bestial growl. Then, in a single fluid motion, he rose to his feet.

“What you have shown me is indeed my greatest fear, spirit.” His tone was suddenly dark and ominous. “And were I the same frightened child that left Sharpstone, I would certainly be lost by now.”

He spun around to see Tyrin standing before him. The spirit was almost as tall as Felsafell and bore the same physical characteristics, though his face was more rounded and his eyes were set wider apart. Golden hair fell down his back over silver robes that glistened and sparkled with spiritual light.

The moment their eyes met, Tyrin took a pace back. “What is this?” he gasped, his face suddenly stricken. “Impossible! Heaven is closed to you. You cannot draw from its true strength.”

Full of renewed confidence, Gewey laughed out loud. “I do not need the power of heaven to resist the likes of you. I am Darshan – born from the union of the Creator and Gerath. Did you think your feeble tricks could overcome me? I have stared into my own heart. I have seen the darkness that dwells within my spirit.” He stepped forward, his form seeming to expand with his every word. “I know my fears well…and I have conquered them all.”

Tyrin turned to flee, but Gewey unleashed the
flow
of the spirit and easily held him fast. Now it was Tyrin who would be laid open and have
his
life exposed.

“You were banished by your own kin,” Gewey observed. “Your contempt for the living had become intolerable, even for them. You ventured beyond the Spirit Hills with the intent of tormenting all those you encountered, but other
first born
pursued you. They trapped you here. To be imprisoned, alone for all time.”

Tyrin's struggled to free himself, though his efforts were futile. “Your father promised,” he protested. “He said that he would release me.”

Gewey tried not to feel amused by the fact that this creature who had brought so much fear and death to others, was now the one in terror.

“My father promised to end your suffering,” he said. “I can see through you – through your feeble lies and petty deceptions. You were to guard this place until I arrived. And you were also to give me a message.”

Tyrin ceased struggling and lowered his head, utterly defeated. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. I know.” His once strong voice was now a mere whimper.