Chapter: 1
Renaissance

The sun began its slow, downward trek towards the ends of the earth, bathing the land in dying, blood–red glory. Scarlet trails of its majesty adorned the sprawling plains of grass, the stars of evening visible in the purple glaze of night on the western horizon.

The small East Hill Village was an out–of–the–way place, yet not far enough removed to remain untouched by the splendor of the sunset. It was a place where everyone knew everyone else’s name, a place where no secrets could be kept. It was a place renowned primarily for its prosperity, sturdy horses, excellent wine, fertile soil, and the enormous stone walls which surrounded the hardworking community.

It was a place where, when one person celebrated, his fellows celebrated with him.

And tonight was no exception.

For the first time in many, many years, the oncoming night was not a thing the people would dread. For the first time in what seemed forever, there was no need for night watches, no need to go to bed fearful of what lurked beyond the walls, hidden in the darkness.

This night promised not to linger, but in a short time, give way to morning.

It was a night of liberation, a night to remember. Never in recent history had there been a better occasion to celebrate.

It had only been the day previous that the people of the Realms had been freed – freed from a single man: an oppressor, a black soul who had been bent on domination.

No one really knew much about this man called Galaax, referred to only as the Dark One out of fear and what some called irrationality. At any rate, the common man knew only that he was powerful, and many, many rumors abounded.

Some said that he had lived centuries. Others said that he could leap mountains.

What they did know was that this Dark One had oppressed their forefathers, and done the same to them. He had raised enormous armies in his servitude, the ranks of which were comprised not only of renegade men looking for wealth and glory, but also creatures from the underworld. And they had swept into the Realms, the land where peace and prosperity were sought after and – for the most part – achieved.

But now, none of that mattered. In fact, everyone knew that they would never hear the name of the Dark One spoken again in fear – only in bitter memory.

In lieu of the victory there was to be a spectacular feast to welcome home the surviving East Hill warriors. Although it was a peaceful community, the East Hill had not boycotted the war effort. Their sons and brothers had departed with the militia to chase the Dark One back to hell.

Now, the townsfolk would see to it that their neighbors, friends, and family would be welcomed home spectacularly.

This was a common effort across the Realms, headed in the East Hill in particular by their town Elder.

A deceptively frail–looking old man, the Elder was bent nearly double with age, possessing no know name other than his title – as had been the tradition for hundreds of years. He was kindly old man, nearing his 193rd summer, and yet he insisted upon continuing the duty of shepherding the people, a task which had been handed down through his family for generations.

Under his direction, the wives and womenfolk of the town plucked the turkeys and slaughtered the best of their cattle. They picked so many grapes from the vineyards just outside the village’s walls that there wasn’t a tree to behold that still held fruit.

In the hours leading up to the celebration, the very night seemed alive with the sounds of music and laughter and joy.

Boys ran atop the high stone wall that surrounded the village, chasing one another and waving stick–swords above their heads, each imagining that he was the champion who had thrown down the Evil Lord. Young girls wearing their best dresses hurried to do their mothers’ bidding with romantic images of knights in flashing armor playing through their minds. Minstrels and bards wandered the streets, keeping up various melodies and singing at the tops of their voices. Many stopped to listen and pay them for their time.

It was chaos, but it was organized, united for a common purpose.

It was sometime near the point of night where one day ends and the next begins when a cry sounded from the lookouts perched atop the wall.

“They’re coming!”

The cry echoed down the streets, carried by many throats and increasing levels of excitement. In previous months, such a pronouncement would have filled the people with dread, but those times were past for good.

If it was possible, the din in the village seemed to increase. The people bustled about, making sure that everything was ready and perfect before they all made their way down to the gates to meet the brave men who had helped to defeat the enemy.

Their numbers flooded the streets and alleys, and they moved as one eager unit.

At a call from someone outside the wall, several young men grasped the ropes and began pulling the massive gates apart. A hushed, almost reverent silence fell upon the crowd as the gates creaked open.

The silence was sudden and stunning.

The first man to enter through the gateway was astride a magnificent chestnut mare. He wore a grin on his handsome face and gleaming plate armor on his large frame. His eyes were alive and warm, not hardened by war as had those of so many before him.

The momentary silence that had fallen was immediately filled with shouts and cheers.

Cornelious Barada climbed down from his horse and embraced his wife and two children, who had pushed their way through the throng to greet him. Barada hoisted his two children up onto his shoulders – a small, round faced boy on one and a golden–haired girl on the other.

The man to follow Barada in through the gate was also astride a horse. Adam Farwour was smaller in build than his companion, but dressed in similar battle array and sporting a beard black as the night.

Through the crowd came another woman carrying her son. Sheba Farwour was crying with joy, relieved to see her husband alive and well. Adam reached down and – to the great amusement of the crowd – hoisted his wife up to sit behind him, then took his son in his arms and gave him the reins.

The boy snapped the reins wildly with glee, but the horse was so busy being petted and praised by the villagers pushing in on every side that it failed to notice.

Following Adam and Cornelious came the rest of the party – some on foot, but most astride horses of various breeds and colors. Each seemed distinctly embarrassed by the type of welcome they were receiving, but none could hide their smiles.

It was good to be home.

Despite the fact that so few had returned when so many had departed, the spirit of the festival was not hindered. There were some tears, and they had been expected: women and men alike turned away from the arriving company in horror, failing to find their loved ones in the small crowd. It would certainly be hard to cope, especially when their neighbors were celebrating a brother, son, or father’s safe return just nextdoor.

But life would go on, and the dead would not be forgotten.

The joy overrode the sorrow, and the crowd closed in on the travel–weary individuals, herding them back towards the town center. Squealing children took the lead eagerly, running ahead of the procession.

The people had scoured the town for the biggest, widest, longest tables that they could find. Now those tables were arranged in long rows in the market square, groaning under platefuls and platefuls of the village’s best cooking.

The peasants herded the soldiers into the town center. They poured into the clearing from every street and alley, hundreds and more, filling the night air with a never–ending chorus of cheers. And then, as the heroes were showed to their places of honor at the headmost table in the square, a unanimous cry of “Speech!! Speech!!” arose from the lips of everyone present.

In a day and age where books and paper were difficult to come by, news traveled slowly. In fact, it had been months since news of the war had last reached the community. As yet, they had heard no details of the victory – only that it had happened.

And so – to quell the loud uproar – Adam Farwour climbed up and stood on the closest table, raising his hands for silence. Almost instantaneously, the shouting died away and the night was surrendered to the breeze and the crickets.

Farwour began somewhat uncertainly, but his voice was strong and full. “My friends, neighbors, and family, we are delighted to return home to such a warm welcome.”

The other soldiers all murmured their sincere agreement. One whistled, eliciting a chuckle from the rest and vigorous clapping from the crowd. It was good to be home: a year was far too long a time to be away from home.

“All of us have gone through so much these past years,” Adam continued. His gaze swept the crowd, but did not linger on any one individual. “You’ve all had it just as hard as those of us on the front lines. We’ve all known loss – many of our friends and relatives have given up their lives for this conflict.”

He fell silent, letting the gravity of his words inspire a moment of reverential silence amongst the crowd.

“These next few days, weeks, even months… are going to be hard.” He continued to look out at the people, easily finding – by their tearful gazes – the loved ones of those who had not returned. “But we all know – and you should too – that anyone who perished fighting the Dark One died honorably. We have bought back the lands that the Dark One had taken with our blood. This village breeds no cowards!”

The crowd exploded in prideful cheers, filling the night with their jubilee. It was true: the rustic and primitive East Hill Village was a place that had ever taught one how to be strong.

“You think of us as heroes,” Adam began again, shrugging beneath his armor. “And, I suppose – for tonight only – we won’t argue.”

A smattering of laughter followed the comment, and finally Adam smiled widely, displaying a perfect set of white teeth.

“Now our children are safe, and we can celebrate,” he continued, raising a fist high in the air. “TheDark One has been cast down!”

Before he had even gotten the last words out, there went up a final cry, loud enough to rival all those previous. The screaming continued, growing and rolling through the night.

Barada, clapping with the rest, got up onto the long bench that stood at the side of the table. “Good speech, Adam – short and sweet,” he shouted over the cheering. “Mind you don’t put your foot in the gravy – I’m looking forward to eating that atop my turkey.”

“Come now – enough talking!” the Elder said loudly, raising his hands. Age had shrunken him so much that he was barely visible in the throng. “I’m hungry, and these men haven’t had a decent home meal in almost a year. So let us eat!”

“Well said, ‘Father’!” a man in the crowd shouted, and the rest of the people readily agreed.

Suddenly everyone was hurrying to find a seat at one of the numerous tables as plates and cloth napkins were distributed amongst the people.

Adam Farwour took his friend’s proffered hand and got down off the table. He saw to it that his wife and son were seated before sitting down himself, betwixt them and Cornelious. Barada had already seated his two children on his lap and was now spooning generous helpings of spiced applesauce onto their plates.

It was a feast worthy of remembrance. Three courses of tender roast – each seasoned and prepared differently – were followed by desserts previously unheard of in the East Hill Village: mountainous platters of sweet breads and pastries, and tons of sugared candies for the children.

Throughout the feast, various companies of minstrels kept up tunes – mostly popular songs requested by the villagers – and about halfway through the ordeal, the Elder brought out a barrel of ale that he had procured from his own cellar.

“My dear ‘Father’,” Cornelious laughed, his light tone accusatory. “Have you been holding out on us?”

The old man – with the help of two of his middle–aged grandchildren – set the barrel atop a large stool and removed the cork so that the men already gathered around him could fill their mugs.

“Just saving the best for last, Cornelious!” he said.

The food never stopped coming. Fresh plates piled high with edible mountains were brought out as each previous helping was consumed. Finally, even little Drew Barada, whose stomach had previously seemed to possess no bottom, was filled.

Then, as the grape cider was passed around, the minstrels struck up a lively tune. For a while, everyone merely listened as they chatted amiably and finished their meals. Then, one of the soldiers got up and began a humorous sort of jig.

Gradually the villagers began to join in, until finally everyone was on his or her feet. The dancing lasted for some time, until the villagers, panting from exertion and sweating profusely, finally had one last cup of cider and then retired for the remaining few hours of night.

“Cornelious, won’t you stay for another round?” a heavyset man called above the murmur of the dissolving crowd. Gray Bagham tended to get drunk too often, but he was a friend to everyone – especially the children, who all called him “Grary”.

He waved his mug of ale in the air, slopping the contents onto the ground. “Jus’ one more – for old times’ sake.”

“Sorry, friend,” Cornelious called back. “Got to get the young ones in bed.”

He was carrying little Esther under one arm, Drew under the other, both of whom were giggling and struggling to free themselves. His wife had her arms entwined around his chest with her head resting on his back.

“How ’bout you then, Adam?” Bagham called as Cornelious and his family made their way down the street amidst the crowd.

The bearded man merely laughed, waving over his shoulder. “Some other time, Gray,” he said. “I haven’t quite had time to… ah, socialize with my wife in quite a while.”

The risqué remark sparked uproarious laughter from Gray and his drunken companions and painted a furious blush on Sheba Farwour’s beautiful face – which she hid in Adam’s shoulder. She was carrying their sleeping son in her arms.

It took a long time for the commotion to die down and the peasants to disentangle themselves from the crowd in the market. Offering final farewells and goodnights, they slowly retired to their homes with their exhausted children in tow. Cleanup after the celebration would commence in the morning and most likely become a weeklong process.

But for now, it was time to retire.

Almost as suddenly as they had started, the noises of celebration stopped. It was silent in the old town on the hill, tranquil to suit the still night. The wind whispered gently through the treetops, a calming spirit of peace.

The East Hill was only a small picture of the celebrations echoed across the Realms. Eastern and Western Kingdoms were unparalleled in their revelries and fanfare, and the smaller villages and cities were no less silent. Now, the whole world seemed to be resting, releasing the deep breath that it had been holding for so long. It was as if the earth itself realized that the danger had passed, that good had once again been victorious, and that the people were now free.

Adam lay on his back in the bed, buried in a goatskin blanket, home.

The little hut was dark, the utter blackness of deep night having settled in over the village. In the bedroom, the only light came from the single candle burning on Sheba’s dressing table, a tiny flame that wavered in the gentle breeze wafting in the window beside the bed.

It had been almost a year since Adam had been home, and to finally be there again felt so good… and yet almost alien to him. For the past ten months he had known all types of beds, had slept in all types of weather and locations. The ache of war–weariness had not yet begun to depart from his bones, but just lying in the comfort of his own bed worked wonders.

But I’ve got to get used to it again.

Being warm and dry at night was an unattainable luxury in the army – even for an officer with a tent over his head.

Adam lay with his arms behind his down pillow, gazing at the uneven ceiling of hardened clay above him, watching the dancing shadows with mild interest. In the dim lighting, he could pick out all the familiar blemishes of the roof that he had shaped with his own hands. He could remembered acutely the work that had gone into building the hut, and despite his amateur workmanship, he found that he was still proud of the house he had built.

Adam and Sheba had been married at very young ages in Kilahaza, a city several hundred miles southeast of the East Hill Village. Using money given to them by their families, they had lived there for several years before emigrating, in search of a quieter, less crowded place to call home. Sheba especially had always felt claustrophobic with the houses built so close together, one on top of the other, with their paper–thin walls of plaster and tiny rooms.

And so they had left.

Adam had made the executive decision that they should go to East Hill Village – to be near his lifetime friend and adopted brother, Cornelious Barada. Barada had left Kilahaza years before for similar reasons, and it had always been Adam’s desire to do the same. So the East Hill was where he and Sheba had settled – almost ten years ago now.

And then, around the time of little Seigi’s fourth birthday, the Dark One had crossed the North Mountains.

Adam failed to repress a shiver, remembering the terror of the day.

Cornelious had been the one to organize the party of East Hill men to go join with the regular army of the Eastern Realms. He had persuaded a reluctant Adam to come along, and so their little band of one hundred and thirty-seven friends, neighbors, and relatives had departed for Kilahaza to join with the army forming there.

The fight had been long – too long, and of those good men the East Hill had sent out to war, only sixty-two had returned.

Adam’s gut tightened as he realized that he could recount each one of his neighbors’ deaths in his head. He felt guilty – as though he should have been the one to die while the others should have lived.

Survivor’s guilt.

Adam’s gaze swept the room again, the candlelight reflected in his haunted eyes. That was what the grizzled veterans of the army had called it – the inexplicable feeling of responsibility for fellows’ deaths. It was a conviction, they said, one would carry for life.

Foolish. He shook his head slowly, unconscious of the action. To blame yourself for something you could have done nothing to stop. And yet I am plagued by it.

Well, it was always worse for new officers. Adam, having very little military experience, had nevertheless distinguished himself as possessing certain invaluable leadership capabilities. As a result, he had been quickly promoted.

Cornelious had been one of the most prominent voices in getting Adam his promotion. Barada had been a distinguished commanding officer in Kilahaza’s army years ago, but he had been honorably discharged, therefore providing him with the opportunity to escape to the East Hill. With the new threat from the Dark One’s forces, he had immediately been given a new command in the regular army, and bare weeks later, had been promoted to the rank of General for the second time in his life.

Cornelious trusted my judgment. That’s why he put me high in his chain of command. Adam smiled faintly. Knew I’d pay attention, obey orders, and be a helpful member of the staff.

But at first, Adam hadn’t been comfortable with his promotion. Surrounded by officers who had served in the army for many years, he had felt severely inexperienced. But as the war had unfolded over the next few weeks and then months, he had come to accept his position and responsibility with honor, vowing to serve King Cyrannus’ army well and keep his men alive.

And he had done so to the best of his abilities.

But now I am home again, and the Dark One will threaten us no more, so there is no cause to reflect.

Adam let his gaze wander around the room, his sense of familiarity twisted with the persisting feeling of strangeness. It felt almost like a different place, his home. Not much had changed since he had left – Sheba hadn’t even moved any furniture around – but after such a long absence…

The floorboards creaked, and he looked up, distracted.

Sheba had entered the room, and she now stood with her back to him, blocking the candlelight as she brushed her long hair in the mirror. Her nightgown was made of a gauzy, see–through material that revealed the beauty of her naked flesh beneath. The robe fell a little past her knees.

For a moment Adam lay still, propped on one elbow, watching his wife. It was almost awkward, a tension between them spawning only from such a long period of separation with very little contact. Adam thought that perhaps he felt it more acutely, so he opened his mouth to break the ice.

“I hadn’t forgotten that you do that every night.” His voice was but a murmur – so as not to disturb Seigi, who was sleeping lightly in the next room. Since birth, the child had never slept easily. “And not until just now do I realize just how much I’ve missed it.”

He saw Sheba smile faintly in the spotted mirror, but she kept brushing in silence.

Adam smiled too, a distant look in his eyes. After a moment, he said, “Every time we went into battle… I thought that I would pray for you. I thought that I should be like the storybook heroes who cry for their mothers and wives, because they already know they are dead.”

She was still brushing, still facing the mirror, but her movements had slowed, and her gaze was distant.

Adam licked his lips. “But I didn’t. Sure, I prayed for you – you and Seigi both. But… it wasn’t for comfort for you, and it wasn’t because I knew I was going to die either.” He paused, trying to pinpoint the words he wanted. “I prayed the gods would keep you safe, and that you would know that I would always come home to you – no matter what.”

He studyied the goatskin blanket, absently picking at an uneven spot with his fingers. “But more often than not, I didn’t even pray at all – because I knew I wasn’t going to die. I don’t know how that is, or what it means… But I just went into each fight with the knowledge that you were thinking of me… and that was what gave me strength – when all my courage was gone. It gave me perfect peace.”

Sheba finally turned to face him, and there were tears in her eyes. Adam had only seen her cry once before – and that had been on their wedding day. But she was smiling too. “Seigi has prayed for you every night since you’ve been gone – as have I, Adam. He’s been such a good boy.”

Adam felt his heart clench, his throat tighten. “I’ve missed you both,” he said softly.

Sheba inhaled deeply to calm herself, then placed the brush gently atop the bureau. For a long moment, she watched him from across the room, chewing her lower lip.

Then she said, “I can’t believe you’re finally home.”

“I am,” Adam replied softly. “For good.”

She let the robe puddle at her feet, then climbed naked into the bed beside him. Adam drew the blanket up to her shoulders, pulled her close to him. She put her head on his chest and wrapped an arm around him.

The ice was gone.

“Tell me what it’s like,” she murmured, her lips grazing the naked flesh of his neck.

Adam gently stroked her freckled shoulder, considering the request. Sheba was a strong woman, and perhaps that was what had attracted him to her in the first place. He knew she wanted a genuine answer – not a censored version of what he had seen and done. Details weren’t necessary, but neither was masking the truth.

And so he summed up his experiences in one word.

“It’s horrible.” His voice cracked, and he sucked in a breath. “It’s awful loneliness – impersonality. It’s… a chaotic mess where you could easily mistake a friend for a foe. You see your friends getting killed all around you and can’t do anything about it… You’re terrified, disoriented, and you’ll do anything to stay alive. Anything. Even murder.”

And he had certainly done his share. Killing monsters was one thing, but the humans in service to the Dark One had still been… human.

Sheba was staring past the mound of his chest, listening intently.

Adam licked his lips and continued. “There’s nothing glorious about it – there’s no heroism, nothing worthy of praise or remembrance. It’s just slaughter and there’s nothing honorable about it.”

He shook his head, disgust in his tone and on his face. “That damn speech I made… all of that is just fluff – to make the people all squeal and praise, and this… festival we had tonight… None of us did anything to deserve it but stay alive.”

Sheba raised her head, reached up to stroke his beard. When Adam had left, he had been clean-shaven, and he could tell she was trying to decide whether or not she liked the facial hair.

“But you did it because you had to,” she said, studying his face. “And that in itself is admirable. You had to kill them before they killed all of us. You’re all heroes because you were willing to sacrifice yourselves to save us.”

Her hazel eyes were wide, bright with admiration. And then she smiled like a little girl, nearly choking on her own mirth.

“You’re my hero, Adam,” she teased, her breath tickling his ear.

He reached beneath the covers and grabbed her naked belly. “Stop it.”

She buried her laughter in his chest as he continued to tickle her.