Ascension (War of the Seraphs): Book One

  By Dan Bilodeau

  Copyright © 2014 Dan Bilodeau

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  Table of Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ONE

  Dalziel got out of bed and stretched his arms. For the first night in as long as he could remember, he hadn’t dreamed, which was odd since Conscription Day was almost here. The day when Ibernian boys, such as he, would be chosen to serve in the Andal military, the occupying force in Ibernia. A horrible finality descended on the locals when the names were shouted out, as if the magistrate were calling out the names of the dead. Because when a boy’s name was drawn, without so much as enough time to say goodbye to his family, he was led to the barracks by Andal soldiers to begin his service to the Empire. And no boy ever came back.

  Dal prayed to the god of the Ibernians: "Dio, if you’re listening, please don’t let me or Soren be picked. Neither of us is ready for a life of slavery to these monsters." He went to his younger brother’s bedroom and shook Soren hard until he awoke. The boy mumbled something and sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Then Dal distinctly heard his brother say where he could put his idea of a wakeup call.

  Their mother was in the kitchen peeling potatoes and humming a simple refrain, a good sign, as she was at least doing something instead of staring out the window in a hopeless daze.

  “Morning, Mom," Dal said.

  “Good morning, Dalziel,” his mother replied, and as she tossed away the skins she added, “I love you."

  While it wasn’t much, this was the most normal his mother had acted in years. Ever since his father had died in the rebellion ten years earlier, she had been a shell of her former self.

  “Love you too, Ma,” he answered as he embraced her. She didn’t say anything more and quit her tune, cooking breakfast in the silence to which he had become all too accustomed.

  Soren gave Dal an impish look as they wolfed down the food their mother set in front of them. “Fire pits?” he whispered to his brother. Dal nodded.

  Everyone knew about the fire pits that were located a couple of miles from his family's farm. How the pits had originated was another story. Some claimed a meteor had hit there millenniums earlier. Some said Dio had put them there to remind people of His fiery wrath. Some proffered that Luan and the Seraphs, mythical heroes from Ibernia’s past, had made the fire pits during their ferocious battles with the Woads, a thousand years ago. What a bunch of superstitious old fools.

  Dal believed that Hadrian, an old man with a fascination for legends and history, was at the heart of the rumors. Most adults in Quork avoided him, but Dal found Hadrian oddly endearing because he genuinely seemed to care about him and his family. Also, Hadrian was the only person Dal knew who was brave enough to discuss history openly. Studying the past was strictly forbidden by the Andals, and punishment when caught was severe. Consequently, books were rare, and owning some types of them was punishable by death, so most Ibernians did their best to preserve their country's legacy by way of the spoken word. Over time, how many facts had been distorted was anybody's guess.

  And to Dal's way of thinking, the past had been painful enough. He didn’t need a constant reminder. Life was about surviving in the present, and he didn’t want to think about what had occured a millennium ago. Still, Dal paid attention when the old man spoke, because even if it was nonsense, the tales were always entertaining.

  “Come back to earth, Dal,” Soren said, always alert to his brother’s daydreaming. “Time to go while the day’s ahead of us.” Both boys quietly exited the house, telling their mother they were going to do farm work, but walking west toward the pits.

  When they arrived, Dal reminded himself that the fire pits were poorly named. Locals said that for centuries they constantly bubbled magma and shot flames, but there wasn’t much activity lately. However, every now and again flames would shoot up through fissures leading to the heart of the pit, and anyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby would be baked to a crisp by this earthen oven. Because they didn’t understand them, going near the pits was expressly forbidden by the Andals. Playing in the pits, therefore, was an act of defiance. Dal liked this, especially since the Andals were about to ruin the lives of many an Ibernian youth.

  With the Conscription a day away, Dal wanted to spend as much private time as he could with his brother in case either or even both of their names were drawn. He found their placement in the lottery incredibly unfair. They had grown up fatherless, with only each other to rely on, and now there was a real possibility that one or both of them might have to fight for the very people who had killed their father. But today was a day to forget all of that. Soren loved the pits, so this was where Dal took him to play.

  After a half-hour inside one of their favorite pits, Soren yelled, “Look what I found, Dal!” and he presented his brother with a volcanic rock. Smooth and black, it was worthless, except to Soren.

  “Wow, nice job, partner,” Dal said, smiling widely and appreciating how great it was to have a brother like Soren, even if he wasn’t much at geology.

  Soren dropped the rock in Dal’s hand, and he pretended to examine it closely before his head shot up and he announced, “This is it, we’re rich! No more farming. We’ll present this to the city council.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, next week,” Dal said, praying they would still be together. If they were, by then Soren would have forgotten all about his discovery and be on to some other adventure. He wished he could get as excited as his brother about anything. While Soren remained blissfully unaware of the world around him, Dal was headed in the other direction. Soren had been too young to understand, but Dal was well aware that he would never see his father again. He hated the Andals for that.

  Dal gave the rock back to Soren, and as he did something caught his eye. A faint red light, likely generated by magma deep below the surface, was flickering through a tiny slit in a wall behind his brother.

  Without notice, Soren punched Dal in the arm and took off running, yelling, “You’re it, slowpoke.”

  “Not for long!”

  He let his brother get a good head start, and while it was a foregone conclusion Dal would catch Soren, the chase was the fun, for both of them. Dal watched his brother run around a boulder, laughing all the while. Dal sprinted but tripped over something when he came to a section in the pit that was dark because of a natural shelf overhead. He lost his balance and stumbled sideways, falling into a hole.

  His immediate thought was that he’d be cooked alive. But he slammed face-first into solid ground instead. His temples were throbbing, but he was happy to be alive. Slivers of sunlight were adequate enough that he could see the bits of gravel marking his descent. The “path” reminded him of the mudslides he and his brother would ride into the river every summer. This fall held no reward at the end, however. I
diot, Dal raged to himself. Why didn’t I slow down and let my eyes adjust to the dark?

  He could see well enough to search the tomblike chasm for Soren, should he have fallen in also. Not spotting him in the immediate area, Dal hollered, in case he had wandered off. All he got in the form of a reply was an echo of his own voice.

  Dal analyzed the chute he had fallen through. The hole was the throat of a musty fissure that had lain dormant for some time. He was almost certain it was part of the same crag from which the red light had appeared, but there was no sign of magma or the aftermath of the heat created by it. He stood and brushed off the dirt and dust that clung to his clothing. Having no choice but to breathe in a lot of it, he coughed and wheezed violently. He waited for his head to clear, then took a second look around.

  The rough ground belied the smooth rock walls that had required eons to shape. Dal ran his hands along the face of a ledge close to him and felt ridges etched into it. He brushed away dust and spider webs with his hands, and distinct lines began to form. He removed his shirt and used it to gently wipe the wall until all of what had been hidden was now exposed. The markings depicted a winged creature in flight. Is that a man? He suddenly felt that this was ancient, hallowed ground. The local legends about the fire pits no longer struck him as a child’s tale.

  Dal had seen enough. He shook out his shirt and put it on and yelled, “Soren, where are you?” Not hearing a reply, he was turning toward the ledge to climb atop it so he could pull himself out of the chasm when he saw a red glow out of the corner of his eye and turned toward it.

  Sitting in a small hole, as if it had been placed there, was a red stone. He silently thanked Dio, hoping his prayer was heard and acknowledged. He had listened to stories of farmers finding precious stones and living out their days in luxury, and now it seemed possible his family would be next in line. Moving from Quork to a larger city might be nice. Dunkirk, perhaps.

  When he got a better look at the stone, it was clearly not like any he had ever seen before. His initial thought was that it was a ruby, but they didn’t glow, as far as Dal knew, so that idea was discarded. And when he reached for it, the stone glowed brighter.

  Even stranger, as he touched it, he could feel a pulse, as if it were somehow alive. But that was a childish thought and he was no longer a kid. He picked it up, and even though he could easily palm it, he held it with both hands.

  Nothing happened, but he found himself not staring at the stone--but into it. And although it was red to begin with, the gem was now rapidly taking on many different hues, as if all the different shades of crimson were battling each other from within and displaying the winning results. The stone begin emitting a low thrum, which sounded like gentle chanting. The effect calmed him, and he was mesmerized by the sound until it stopped as abruptly as it had started. His trance broken, he looked up from the stone. How long had he been staring at it? Soren must be worried sick about what had happened to him.

  Just then the stone sent a pulse so strong that it doubled him over. Despite his pain, he did not let go of the stone. What had been a glow before was now blazing light. Brilliant reds filled the cavern, and he felt he was amidst some form of divine fireworks display. He had the sensation of the colors penetrating his body, which he knew was impossible, yet the feeling was real. His head was spinning, as if he had severe vertigo, and his stomach was queasy. Saying a prayer, he asked Dio to forgive his haste and greed.

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, the pulsing stopped. The stone remained red in appearance, but it no longer glowed. He stared at it for a few minutes to see if anything more would happen, and when it didn’t, he put it in his pocket. He’d ask Hadrian about it, because if anyone could tell him about what he’d found, it would be the old man.

  Dal began climbing back up the chute, and when he reached the top he was out of breath. He stopped panting and called out to Soren, who showed up almost immediately.

  “You lose. Oh, shoot! Dal, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I fell down into this hole is all. I don’t know how you didn’t end up in it too.” Dal saw a twinkle in his little brother’s eye. “Wait a minute, you’ve been here before with some of your friends, and you led me this way, knowing I’d take a ride down that chute. But did you know I’d ride down it face-first? I could’ve killed myself”

  His brother looked at him sheepishly.

  “Never mind, look at what I found.” Dal produced the stone.

  “Wow! Let me hold it,” Soren said as he grabbed it. Dal noticed that when his brother held the stone, the vibrant red turned to a dull reddish-gray.

  “Where’d you find it?” Soren asked.

  “At the bottom of that chasm, where I was busy cracking my head.”

  “Are you gonna keep it?”

  “My head?”

  “No, silly, the stone.”

  “Of course, but I don’t know what it is. I’m going to ask Hade.”

  Soren handed it back to Dal, and with his usual enthusiasm for anything, said, “It’s a special stone, I know it. And it was meant for you, whatever it brings. You’re special too.” Soren laughed and tagged his brother. “You’re it!”

  “No way,” Dal said, refusing to chase his brother and risk another one of his trick routes. He put the stone in his pocket and they headed home, Soren doing most of the talking on the way, because Dal kept feeling the stone’s pulsation, and this took his thoughts a million miles away.

  When they reached home around midday, they found a small snack on the table. “Where’d you boys run off to?” their mother asked.

  “Nowhere, Ma, we were just playing in the fields,” Soren said, adding, “Dal fell.” Dal shot his brother a dirty look.

  “What do you mean fell? Dalziel, are you hurt? Explain this.”

  “Nothin', Mother, I fell in the fields today.”

  “Try to be more careful next time.”

  “I will.”

  “Your friend, Mr. Hadrian, stopped by today.”

  “Really? What did he want?”

  “Nothing much, just to talk. He told me what was going on in town, what people have been saying. You know, gossip.” She smiled.

  At that moment, Dal didn’t really care what Hadrian had told her. Seeing her smile was the best thing he’d seen in a long, long time. She had been through so much with his father’s death and the hard times that had come with it. Not to mention the stress of seeing him entered into the Conscription every year. Now that Soren was eligible, she must be doubly worried. The Andals had taken her husband, now they threatened to take one or both of the men she had left in her life. She was a strong woman, stronger than Dal had given her credit for. So what if she’s a shadow of her former self? She keeps on going, and that’s what matters.

  They ate the rest of their meal in silence, but an agreeable calm . As the boys were washing up, Dal asked Soren if he wanted to go look for Hadrian with him. Soren was quick to comply.

  “What about Hadrian’s stories, are they real? What about the Seraphs?” Soren had clearly been listening to the old man again.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Dal replied. “I’m sure he’ll tell you all about them if you ask. As far as the deep magic is concerned, I believe that once there may have been Ibernians who could use elements.”

  “How, then?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen the old magic before.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

  “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

  “What about the Seraphs? Are they real?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t think so, buddy. I think that part got exaggerated at some point.” Dal was no historian, but he had heard people repeat stories before. With each telling, the story got grander, especially if there was ale involved. And since he’d never seen the histories, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t match up with what Hadrian or anybody else might be saying.

  “I think they’re real, and that they’ll come again,” Soren said, with his u
sual zeal.

  “I sure hope so. We could use their help.”

  Dal grabbed the stone in his pocket. It might well prove to be his family’s deliverance from Quork and the hard times that had fallen upon them. He had to see Hadrian as soon as possible.

  TWO

  Dal quickly headed out the door with Soren. He would catch up on his chores later; it was still early afternoon, after all. He was anxious to find Hadrian and learn more about the stone, and he had a pretty good idea where to look for the old man.

  Dal wasn’t far from home when he heard someone humming. He rounded a bend in the road and saw Hadrian sitting on a fence, wearing his usual tattered brown robe, his walking stick leaning against a post. Of medium height and build, and on the thin side, he wore a short goatee that still had traces of brown in it but had mostly given over to gray and white. A long scar ran down his right cheek. He had never told Dal how he had received it, but he hadn’t asked either. Hadrian was surrounded by children, all of whom seemed to be captivated by him. When Dal came up to the group, Hadrian was singing. He could make out the words:

  When the five are in the sky

  The time will be at hand

  On his wings the world may die

  Destruction’s in his band

  The sea shall be in his face,

  Though fire’s in his heart

  He shall provide the race

  Though they shall know him not

  Binding the people to himself

  They shall soon lament

  When five are one and one is five

  Then the earth shall rest.

  Dal gasped. Hadrian was singing the Scion’s Prophecy from the ancient Ibernian texts, which predicted the day the world would be saved. Whatever people thought, this was now a permanent part of Ibernian history, with everyone aware that their hero Luan had fulfilled the prophecy one thousand years ago. At least that was how the story went, and it all sounded like a fairy tale to Dal. Heroes wearing winged armor into battle, harnessing the elements of Dio, and evil Woads outnumbering the Ibernians five to one, yet the latter winning out in the end.