Page 20 of Light Locked #1

“Remnants of the last warlords’ armies joined the Warlord of Shambelin or escaped to the Wraithlands far beyond our continent.

When it became clear to the rest of the world that the Warlord of Shambelin had won, humankind united under three Veilin heroes.

The first, Oliver Padren, was the hero of Virday. Vanida was the hero of Ruedom.”

“Helina Hart, the hero of Loda, then took forces south to fight the warlord,” Clea concluded, watching Althala’s flurry through the tent, pleased she could offer some evidence that she wasn’t completely ignorant of the tale.

“It was the first full-scale battle in which humanity’s forces collided directly with the warlord’s.

To this day, the battle is called The Battle of the Lords,” Althala stated, gesturing to more images that by then Clea could no longer follow.

A stack of opened books threatened to topple over on Althala’s desk.

“Loda’s history states that Helina’s forces killed the warlord and the third great Veilin, Vanida Rigalia, led forces that drove his generals off toward the coast, near Ruedom.

Ever since then, the Veilin have been fighting their war against the scattered remains of that army. ”

“And that’s the end?” Clea prodded skeptically .

Althala’s eager expression told her otherwise.

“Not according to the Kalex.” She had an almost mischievous expression on her face as she settled at last back into her chair.

“According to these Kalex, the cities had four heroes, not three, and the warlord’s army laid siege to the humans who had to build up their city’s walls.

The fourth city, home of the fourth hero, fell long ago.

The humans and beasts fought both day and night. The siege never ended.”

Clea had heard of the fourth city. Many considered it a myth, now calling it the lost city as no real evidence of it had been found, only suggestions of its early existence. The long pause that ensued assured Clea that Althala’s final sentence was in fact the end of the tale.

“What?” Clea blurted out. “That’s it? If it never ended, we would all be dead.”

“The humans had children and died inside the walls,” Althala replied.

“The beasts wasted away outside, but from the carpet of their bones grew the forest. They say that you can see the bones of the warlord’s army in the ancient roots of a fallen tree.

It’s why the forest grows dead and seeks to draw us out by the light of the sun.

The forest and the beasts that dwell within it are what remains of the army. ”

“And the warlord?”

“The Warlord of Shambelin.” Althala paused thoughtfully as if she’d given the idea much thought.

“They talk about him less in terms of him being a single being and more a force that haunts us all. He is in many ways a religious figure. He represents their blackest feelings and they pray to him in times of great suffering. ”

“They pray to him?” Clea responded in amazement.

“He sees them in their darkness because he dwells there. Life locks us in the lights of illusion. The Warlord of Shambelin seems in many ways to represent the torments of being alive, as does the forest. We are, as they would say, light locked. He promises release from this cage.”

“You mean death,” Clea whispered solemnly.

Althala looked at her withered hands as she nodded.

“For the longest time, I didn’t understand that there could be more to it than fantastical legend.

Our history in Loda is all reasoned out, but in the strangest way, we’ve reasoned all the truth out of it.

Many don’t realize that these stories are symbolic and not to be dismissed for not being factual. ”

“My mother believed the truth was in the forest,” Clea whispered, “she ventured out sometimes without cause, just to search for...something. Sometimes she didn’t even seem to know what.”

“Your mother sounds like a woman with my own heart,” Althala replied.

“Illusive in her own ways,” Clea chuckled.

Althala paused thoughtfully before she removed a sheet from a large folder on her desk and handed it to Clea. It was a map of Shambelin. Althala had drawn gray arrows all over it, but there was one red one as well, and most were concentrated in one area near the ocean.

“I don’t have much in the ways of truth,” Althala said, “but I have this to offer. I’ve tentatively recorded sightings of the warlord’s army from historical records and other Kalex legends.

Those are the gray arrows. I have found only one sighting of the warlord, and it’s captured in poetry.

That is the red arrow and nowhere near any of the established cities.

They describe him as a creature, ‘With eyes crowned by the moon, pushing and pulling the tides with but a glance.’ It’s almost…

well, mythical, which would have led to doubts of his very existence, if the generals hadn’t been so conclusively documented in their skirmishes with other warlords and our own people. ”

She gestured back to the map, returning to her former topic of conversation.

“The warlord is a ghost who haunts the forest, and his soldiers are among us, maybe not the trees, but their beasts. Does this not more accurately describe our situation than us living in the wake of the Veilin’s seeming victory?

We’ve been teetering on a stalemate for centuries.

For all we know, the Warlord of Shambelin may very well be The Decline itself under another name. ”

“Do these legends suggest any ways of stopping it or suggest what’s caused it?” Clea gripped the bowl in her hand, shaken by the magnitude of Althala’s conviction and research in presenting such radical ideas.

“Many are searching to end The Decline, but not all of them are heroes,” Althala rushed on, “other Kalex legends tell of items so disruptive, they may be capable of changing the world all over again.”

“The Deadlock,” Clea said thoughtfully. Her hand drifted up to her chest to confirm the medallion was still hidden under her shirt. She resisted the urge to look around, the eerie timeliness of the tale making her feel like someone had orchestrated it.

“The Deadlock Medallion,” Althala nodded. “You’re familiar with it.”

“And you think many are looking for it?” Clea asked.

Althala nodded seemingly with little understanding of how her answer impacted Clea.

“Absolutely, yes. The worst of those in the woods would pursue even the whisper of such an object, and as The Decline continues, rumors of such things will abound. The Veilin have destroyed most of the recorded objects though, and in all my reading, I haven’t encountered any evidence it isn’t just another symbol too. ”

“Just another symbol,” Clea said wistfully, staring at the ground with the added weight of Althala’s revelations, “wouldn’t that be nice.”