Chapter 2 Faron #2
This was radiance, the power controlled solely by Faron and his siblings. Somehow, a human, a preacher , was manipulating radiance for his own use.
“That’s right,” Russell said, drawing the knife from his belt. “It will all be over soon. Feel nothing. Await the dark.”
Iris leaped over the fire, her teeth latching on to the preacher’s wrist. Blood flowed across her tongue.
Russell cursed and tried to kick her, but Faron had seen enough of the man’s ill nature.
He batted the jar and staff aside, and as it fell, he positioned himself so his leg absorbed the kick meant for Iris.
Faron’s hand closed around Russell’s throat and he lifted him off the ground. Russell thrashed wildly, his face turning red. The knife fell from his bleeding hand. Only then did Iris release her grip.
“It is a foul man who would murder visitors to his campfire,” Faron said, slamming the man to the ground and pinning him to the earth. Silver radiance flared in the starlight of his eyes as vines erupted from the dirt to trap Russell’s wrists and ankles.
“But do not worry, Preacher. I shall still have my answers.”
Faron let go of the man’s neck to grab the hastily discarded staff. The bugs within swarmed angrily, as if incensed by their new master. Russell’s eyes followed him, wide and terrified. He said nothing, silent in his fear.
“Listen to me, and listen well,” Faron said, halting in front of his captive. He lowered the jar so it hovered directly above the preacher’s head. “You will not lie. Your tongue will not form the words. My ears will not believe them. The truth, as you view it. Do you understand, Preacher Russell?”
“My soul is steeled against the coming dawn,” Russell said, shutting his eyes. “My heart is made pure from the past that enslaves.”
A single pull, and Faron tore the jar free from the wires connecting it to the staff.
He settled to his knees and held the jar closer, its glass bottom almost touching the tip of Russell’s nose.
The flies and beetles squirmed, clicking and biting to be free.
Above them, in the center of the jar, the first bit of light began to glow.
“It is strange, to use such a thing as a focus,” Faron said. “Why the insects? Need you their life, as a human, to concentrate the radiance?”
“Forgive my sins of the past, for they are many,” Russell continued, ignoring him. “Guide my feet, Father, so I may not add to them as I walk.”
Iris lay beside the fire, watching the pair.
She bared her teeth every time Faron moved the jar.
Though he was not privy to her thoughts, he could almost feel them drifting off her.
She did not understand why he spoke with this man, nor let him live after his betrayal.
The business with the jar, in particular, upset her greatly.
Faron used his free hand to pull the preacher’s eyelids open. He disliked the jar, too, but he would grant Russell the mesmerization of that stolen radiance, and all its power. It was only fair.
The man’s prayer sputtered silent as the gold shone upon him.
“You will not lie,” Faron repeated, and this time the words sank into the preacher. Faron watched his eyes glaze over. “Your tongue will not form the words. My ears will not believe them. The truth, as you view it. Do you understand, Preacher Russell?”
“I do.”
Faron let go of his eyelids and shifted the jar from one hand to the other. Nearby, Iris whimpered unhappily.
“Why did you wish harm upon me?” Faron asked.
“Because I was ordered to do so.”
Orders? Faron’s eyes narrowed.
“Explain these orders.”
Tears ran down the sides of Russell’s face.
All the bugs gathered at the bottom of the jar, carefully circling to leave a little gap in the center so the golden light, so yellow it almost resembled pus, still shone through.
Wings and carapaces fluttered. A lone praying mantis flicked its front legs along the glass in a steady rhythm.
“I was to travel the farms alongside this forest and watch for a man, pale of skin, dark of hair, and with eyes like… eyes like…”
“Like what?” Faron asked, leaning closer.
“Eyes like starlight.”
Faron shook the jar, stirring the insects. The gold light within flared brighter.
“Hold nothing back, Preacher. Speak your truth.”
Russell pulled against the vines holding him, but the attempt was weak and half-hearted. His eyes never left the jar.
“He would have many names, but Faron would be his favorite. He would be confused about the passage of days. Most of all, he would be dangerous. You, you would be dangerous.”
The spell was already starting to break. Faron could manipulate truth and memory, but it was infinitely easier to do so upon a willing soul. Russell, however, quaked with religious zeal.
Faron hesitated. He didn’t have to ask the overwhelming question in his mind. He could continue in ignorance. This might be a misunderstanding. Much could have changed these past seventy years.
“Who gave you these orders?” he asked, refuting that cowardice. He would not walk these lands afraid of the truth. That way would never be his.
“I was told they came directly from the Luminary.”
Another name that meant nothing to Faron.
“Who is the Luminary?” he asked, again shaking the jar. Iris stood and growled. The insects within writhed like mad. The light pulsed, turning from gold to silver as Faron’s own radiance poured into it, overwhelming the wretched stolen gold.
“He speaks for our Father, guiding us through the wilderness,” Russell said.
He bit his tongue, hard, but that did not stop the words.
He continued, blood dribbling down his lips.
“He is Mitra Gracegiver, the one who united the eastern kingdoms, founded the Church of Stars, and granted us our holy light.”
The name “Mitra” meant nothing. Names could be changed. Holy light? The human’s name for radiance. That they possessed the ability to control the magic filled Faron’s stomach with fire. Just how many wielded a gift never meant to be tainted by their hands and lips?
“What does the Luminary look like?” he asked. When Russell did not answer, Faron leaned closer, his voice hardening. He grabbed the preacher’s throat with his free hand. “What does Mitra look like?”
“Beautiful and wise, his hair, it’s… He looks like…” The glazed look in Russell’s eyes faded. He shook, his fear returning tenfold.
“You,” he said. “He looks like you.”
Faron cast the jar to the dirt and waved his hands. The vines receded. Though he was free, the preacher lay still, afraid to move.
“Begone,” Faron said. “And remember that, though your life was forfeit, you were shown mercy.”
The spell over, the preacher broke completely. He grabbed his staff and jar, scrambled to his feet, and fled into the forest.
Good riddance , thought Faron.
He sat by the fire, his chest constricting and his throat tight. When he looked down, he saw his hands were shaking. It seemed Iris noticed, too, for she trotted over and licked his fingers. She whined, and he sensed the question within.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her, and gave the coyote his best smile.
In return, she snarled, but not at him. Faron spun, his hand reaching for his sword, but he never drew it from its sheath.
His brother Sariel sat on the log by the fire.
He looked sharp in a coat matching Faron’s, only black instead of brown.
His dark hair was long and loose, hanging halfway down his back.
Across his shoulders rested his enormous sword, Redemption, untouched by time.
It was crafted entirely from a piece of a dragon’s jawbone.
With the aid of radiance, unbreakable dragon bone had been sanded and smoothed so its hilt was soft to the touch, whereas the blade, its length half his height, was sharpened into a deadly weapon.
“Welcome back,” Sariel said. He gave a smile that had seduced many a man and woman, for they did not see the truth behind it, nor the unbearable guilt and sadness that lurked in the stars of his eyes.
“We need to talk about Eder.”