PROLOGUE II
“This insanity has got to stop!” King Grandor shouted from the dark chamber. An apparition appeared from across the sanctuary amid the temple’s pillars and ornations wearing a flowing dress dripping blood. The woman was surrounded by ten servants, dressed in leather with billhooks and long knives, pointing toward the gallant soldiers. There was a strong smell of burning meat throughout the sanctum as it had been defiled. “Heilba, please!” Under Heilba, were lying the bodies of priests, who had kept the sacred place, and several of her servants as well.
Her smirk spread across her face as she lifted a blade with zigzags. “Grandor, can’t you see? The gods are not what they seem. They are just like you and me. Despite that, we play their game. They are to blame for the fact that we had to leave Tera. To what end? There is nothing but horror in this war-torn world.” Her gaze shifted back to the shadows behind her that preceded the inner sanctum. “I have been reading the teachings and I understand them now. Even now I see the word so illuminated. My ears are filled with the cries of those seeking freedom. Locking them in darkness was their punishment. That’s how they’ll treat us as well!”
Grandor gasped in pain as she heard such poisonous words flowing from his beloved’s mouth. With no thought at all, she damned herself. “Please!” he cried raising an arm toward her. “We can talk. There is no need for you to go. No, not in the dark.”
Upon seeing Grandor’s olive branch, Heilba cackled loudly. “Come along my sweet husband. I’ll show you the true gods, the primal forces. Together, I will show you the path. We can be freed. They will help us.”
The blasphemies spewed by his wife grieved Grandor deeply. With tears streaming down his face, his eyes watered in the candlelight. “Please, Heilba you are not well.”
A creek emerged out of nowhere. Grandor’s gaze centered on the steps leading down to the sanctuary. He recognized his son as the shadowy adolescent figure walking down the stairs. When he neared the bottom, it was possible to see his blond hair and light blue eyes through the candlelight. “Tybolt! Stop, don’t get any closer.” he cried.
Heilba immediately turned to face her son and softly crooned, “Tybolt, come.”
As Tybolt walked down the red-carpeted staircase, he asked, “Are you two fighting again? You woke me up.”
Despite the strong urge to jump to his son, Heilba’s servants wouldn’t let him cross the room. “Heilba no!” he said. Heilba continued walking to meet Tybolt at the bottom of the stairs before flashing Grandor a soft creeping smile. “Stay away from your mother, Tybolt.”
“Father, what’s the matter with you?” asks the young boy as his mother reveals the knife she had hidden under her shirt sleeve. In a fit of rage, Grandor inched his sword toward Tybolt while one guard pointed his billhook at his neck. Upon hearing the second soldier roar in response to the charge, the other soldier joined Grandor in pressing Hielba’s guards. The blade slashed through the air as she grabbed her groggy son and placed it on his neck.
“That’s enough,” she shouted.
Tybolt’s massive eyes grew wide as he felt the cold steel against his throat, making him mutter desperate words, “Mother!” Grandor stopped his charge as Heilba’s servants closed in on him, forcing their weapons against his own.
A loud scream rang out from Grandor. “Tybolt!” he cried.
In a shrill sob, Tybolt cried, “Father!”.
The young prince’s head was lifted into the air as Heilba tucked the knife beneath his chin. As she led him deeper into the dark inner sanctuary, he began to feel scared. As Tybolt was taken from the light, he looked back at Grandor wide-eyed and his eyes were full of tears. As Grandor’s fist crashed into the servant in front of him, he let out a roar. An unexpected battle erupted between the blades. While clashing with Heilba’s servants, Grandor yelled, “Tybolt!”
When Heilba removed the knife from Tybolt’s throat, she said, “My beautiful Tybolt. It will be okay,” she said. Outside the dark, inner sanctuary room, the sound of clashing men was unavoidably pervasive. While he was trying to gain entry, Grandor could be heard roaring like the wild beast he was. In spite of this, Tybolt seemed to lose interest in everything. Terror gripped him as the one he called mother threatened his life. Watching his mother grasp the knife with a sleek hand, he wondered what was going on. How could she do such a thing? The silver edge seemed to beckon to him, it wanted to cut him. The inner sanctum was filled with flickering lights as Heilba lit the candles at the altar.
It seemed that the shadows moved with life in an unnatural way. Seeing their umbral forms dancing around them in circles, Tybolt thought he saw the faces of monsters staring right at him. His wet gaze lingered over toward his mother once again. There he saw a most startling sight, his mother stood next to an even greater cast of darkness than the others. It was unconquerable, even by the light.
Standing menacingly proud like a noble dragon, the devil stood before him. Its boney hand wrapped around his mother as he lay cloaked in the blackness. Then Tybolt opened his mouth wide when he realized what it was. “Don’t you see my son? You will rule. You will rise above everyone.” Tybolt quaked in fear. “Don’t be afraid my son. I have been told of great things. You must look around yourself to see it. Once you feel its grace, you will surely understand. Go on. Take his hand.”
“You are talking crazy.” Tybolt retorted.
He watched as his mother slowly approached him and knelt down in front of him. As soon as she placed the blade in Tybolt’s small hand, she wrapped his finger around the blade’s hilt. “You are being rude. You are before Elagate, my son. Pay your respects.” She told him. Seeing his mother with both his hands on his shoulders, he looked her in the eye. Her lips curved into a kiss as she said, “Kill your father, kill Grandor.” She then leaned in and hugged Tybolt.
During the plunge into the stomach of his adversary, Grandor heard his wife screaming from inside the sanctuary. Kicking the body off his blade as fast as he could, Grandor made his way. This nightmare began when the traitors who were responsible for this horror began slashing away at the priests. Heavy with fatigue, he hollered “Heilba!” while climbing the stairs. The thoughts that occupied his mind were dark. Could she have come to her senses? Could it have been too late? Was her son slain by her? As Grandor approached the archway, he was bombarded with questions.
When he entered the dark room, he found his son lying on his knees with his mother lying across his lap. “What happened?” He asked as his other soldiers entered the room. He slowly approached his son whose back was toward him. He was startled when he noticed the puddle and Tybolt’s eyes were filled with tears. In front of him was his wife, whose eyes were nearly out of her head as he stared down at her. A furious Grandor yelled, “What have you done?”
Tybolt pushed Heilba off of his body as he slowly turned his head. In spite of his quivering lip and soggy cheeks, he remained silent. Grandor was in awe of what he was seeing. Tybolt’s hand fell from the knife and the knife rolled on the floor, leaving a bloody trail. As he saw Heilba’s death and her manner of dying, Grandor’s jaw dropped. The butcher marked his line as her inside spilled out.
A brief while later, Grandor looked down at his son as he raised his sword above his head. In the seconds before he was about to chop, he felt a hand grab his arm. In an outburst, Benadis exclaimed, “He’s your son.” His gaze fell on Grandor, whose sword had fallen out of his hand. As he collapsed onto his wife, wailing like a child he held her tightly.
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