Battle for Gigania: The Chronicles of Gigania, #3

Dedicated to my wife Jan

For believing in me and

To my children and grandchildren

For inspiring me

THE LIGHT THAT SPRINGS FROM PEACE and harmony had been preserved in Normatan, but was barely a flicker in Gigania under the choking darkness of the Luerod occupation.  News of The Warrior traveled from city to city through the Luerod encampments as hot and wild as a prairie fire. The fellows of Gigania were not allowed to communicate, but the stories reached them all the same, as the Luerods spoke openly and loudly. To this point the Luerods had been nothing more than loosely organized mobs, strong only because of numbers. The presence of the warrior was beginning to kindle fear and reveal their cowardice. They were beginning to show signs of organization, if not discipline and to compensate for their spinelessness, brutality escalated. But, in spite of that, there was still a spark of hope that rekindled long forgotten feelings in the hearts of the fellows of Gigania. Long years of captivity and cruelty had all but smothered the happiness that was once characteristic of Gigania. That way of life seemed long gone and yet now there was at least a glimmer of hope.

CHAPTER 1

It Begins

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FLYNN AND KISHI STARED STRAIGHT AHEAD, but their thoughts were still back in Xanadia. The magic and wonder of the place was still fresh, pumping them with confidence and courage. Their canoe slipped silently over the water and carried them into their imagination of what lay ahead. Unconscious of their oar strokes, they paddled deeper and deeper into the unknown.

Luminous and Charr had been waiting faithfully since the day before and whinnied with excitement at their approach. Flynn tied off the canoe and steadied it while Kishi stepped out. They mounted and turned to look one more time at the castle shining on the sunrise side of the lake and felt a spark of the magic again, but being so far removed from it, it was becoming less real; more like a memory or a wish merely teasing them. Reality was moving in on them from every direction making them anxious as they rode along the shore of the turquoise lake. Gentle waves lapped softly and made polished rocks glisten in the sunlight.  Loons called out, then disappeared below the glassy surface, bobbing up again several yards away.  Huge trout were leisurely cruising near the surface of the lake, dining on emerging insects.  All this went unnoticed as Flynn and Kishi rode in silence; caught in a world of swirling emotions. 

Grom’s village was a bustle of chores and activity, but as far as Flynn and Kishi were concerned, it might as well have been in another world.  They kept walking. The village disappeared from view, leaving only straight columns of smoke from cooking fires to punctuate the stillness. They followed the shoreline to a remote spot on the south side of the lake where giant cedars and massive boulders made it impossible to ride further. They dismounted and walked hand in hand through a maze of ferns and cedar seedlings until they came to a spot where the sun broke through on a grassy carpet. They sat down and leaned back against one of the cedar giants. They took each other’s hand and tilted their heads back to catch the sunlight. The sun felt like a comforter wrapping them in warmth and reassurance. The only sound was the soothing whisper of a breeze in the tree tops. The stillness made their thoughts nearly audible and allowed them to mentally relive the previous night. Kishi let her head fall to Flynn’s shoulder. He took her hand and they both closed their eyes. Suddenly they felt something that made them open their eyes again. They each had a single luminat hovering and blinking about two inches in front of their noses. They smiled; it’s hard not to when luminat light is flashing in your eyes. Then suddenly the amazing little insects lit their tails; one blue and one pink. They darted around the tree in opposite directions and kept circling; faster and faster. They were joined by dozens more; all racing around the tree so fast that their light trails were unbroken rings of color surrounding them and the tree. The luminats had brought with them Xanadia’s magic or maybe they merely activated the magic that Flynn and Kishi had carried back with them. At any rate, everything they had seen the night before was playing out again on a three hundred sixty degree screen of revolving color.

Kishi moved closer to Flynn and clung to his arm as scenes of cities engulfed in battle came into view. They saw a dark cloud of evil boiling in the south and Luerods sweeping across the land like a plague of locusts. Cries of suffering and death were like daggers to their hearts. They saw hideous creatures by the hundreds preying on city after city. Then they saw the awful stench pens that had claimed the lives of so many of their fellows filled with thickheads and they wondered what it meant. There were Luerods, too many to count, marching toward the setting sun and a city completely surrounded by fire.

Suddenly the luminats disappeared into the trees. The light faded away and with it, the scenes they had been watching. They each exhaled as if they had been holding their breath for a very long time. What seemed like hours and even days, had only taken seconds and they soon caught their breath. Flynn’s head fell back with a thud against the tree. Was that supposed to help us or just scare us to death, he said?

They stood up and just looked at each other. They didn’t have to say anything. What they were feeling didn’t require words. Luminous and Charr could feel the weight of the ponderous thoughts and emotions. They listened to the private mental debates churning in Flynn’s and Kishi’s head and could only offer respectful silence.

As they rode along the lakeshore in the direction of Normatan, Kishi began to mentally drift into the streets and homes of Hauvendal, remembering the days before the invasion.  She longed for what had been taken by the Luerods and remembered their cruelty and the pain and suffering that began even before the takeover.  She began to wonder about her brothers.  They had been married just months before the first siege, and had settled in a small village near Paradoon. There had been no word of them. There was no word or communication from anyone; the Luerods did not allow it.  She remembered the horrible stench pens and a knot in her stomach tightened at the thought that her brothers might be in one of them and then she wondered if they were even alive.  Then her heart ached at the reality that there were many of her fellows who were suffering and dying in such pens all over Gigania.  Her anguish turned to anger, then to fear and then to anguish again.  Luminous tried to console her, but there simply are no words that can remedy reality or effectively soothe uncertainty.

It was early evening when they reached the forest at the foot of the cliffs.  At first, neither Flynn nor Kishi heard the songs of the trees, but as they stepped deeper into the shadows the darkness made them aware of their surroundings.  The music was clear and soothing. With it came a spark of courage that made them ride a little taller, and when they looked at each other the smiles on their faces were real, but there was still uncertainty in them.  The moss hanging in the trees was beginning to glow, lighting the path that had darkened in the shadow of the cliff.  They each took a deep breath, feeling some relief from the weight they had been silently bearing. 

As they started their ascent toward the plateau, the security they had felt in the embrace of the song trees began to fade. Flynn began to feel a strange detachment as two worlds battled inside of him. He felt the tug of a carefree life in his world and then the desperation of Normatan and Gigania. Even with the powers he possessed, he felt the old suffocating weaknesses that had often intimidated and dominated him in his world. Kishi was wondering how they could battle against such odds. They silently carried their inner struggles up the mountain.

When they reached the plateau, Flynn stopped. Charr stood bold and firm while Flynn was caught away in thought. This was not just a mountain plateau for him. Metaphorically he had stepped onto one of the many plateaus of his life; the safe places between indifference and commitment. As long as he was on the plateau he had a choice; take the direction that was safe, where he would not hurt anyone or be hurt himself or take the other direction that meant he and many others would unavoidably suffer.  He thought of the swamp in the river bottom back home. He called it The Forbidden, the gate to hell. He was able to simply walk around that, but this was different. The battle to reclaim Gigania was not something he could skirt. It was either walk away or dive headlong into the worst nightmare of his life. Charr turned his head and looked back at Flynn. You are the Noble. Flynn looked into Charr’s black eye and saw his own reflection. I almost feel like I am with you carrying me. He gave Charr a gentle nudge and galloped across the flat to the ledge overlooking Gigania. Deep in her own thoughts, Kishi joined him, her heart pounding with love and admiration. Baurott’s question rang in her ears, Do you really know him? Flynn continued to stare glassy eyed across the valley while she studied his expressionless face. She wanted to shout it, but held it in. Yes! I do know him. He is the Noble of Normatan. 

Kishi had become so much a part of Flynn that their thoughts were one. Even though he could not have explained it, he felt something, like pure energy surging inside of him. He gripped his rod and sat tall and straight. He raised the rod high above his head and a thunderbolt flashed over Gigania. The ensuing silence was ominous. Whoa, that felt good, he said as he sent another bolt slicing through the sky.

Kishi laughed out loud, the kind of laugh that allows tears to well up. She didn’t laugh because it was funny, but because it was the best expression of the combined emotions they were sharing. The rod had given them both a bit of the courage they had been looking for and for the moment it was enough. They sat silently looking over Gigania into a worse than uncertain future. Courage had thundered from the rod, but the ensuing silence brought to bear the gravity of what lay ahead in the coming days and months. Flynn turned his head toward Kishi; his eyes searching.  The last rays of the setting sun made her face glow and lit up her hair like flames in the wind.  A single tear had immerged in the corner of her eye and sparkled like a golden diamond. It spilled over and moistened her cheek as it fell to the ground. She sat, expressionless, while Flynn looked at her tenderly.  His gaze made her head turn slowly. She looked into his eyes and another diamond coursed her cheek. A thousand thoughts of hope and fear raced through their heads, erasing the emotion from the smiles her laugh had left on their faces.  Simultaneously they reached out for each other’s hand.  As their fingers interlocked and closed together Luminous and Charr turned and walked slowly in the direction of Normatan.

Flynn struggled to hang onto the strength and courage he felt from the rod, but the thought of war began filling him with a sick feeling he couldn’t shake.  Some of the arguments that nearly sent him home began rehashing in his brain. The people of Normatan and Gigania were not his people; this was not his world.  He thought he had come to grips with that, but he felt the conflict building inside of him again.  Then a new thought came to him; is it cowardice or just plain good sense for me to go back to my own world? He couldn’t even imagine war.  The mini-battles he had fought rescuing Kishi’s parents and Gunga were no preparation for all-out war, and he knew it.  Charr whispered confidence, but Flynn was only hearing the throb of doubt that was pounding in his chest.  But, whatever doubts he had, he knew he couldn’t run away from his feelings for Kishi. This isn’t about me, he thought, it’s about Normatan and Gigania; they need me.  His mind might have said Normatan and Gigania, but his heart was thinking Kishi. He had to do what he could for her. Resolve, if not raw courage began to swell inside of him.

Luminous and Charr felt it too; their gait became a high stepping trot.  Flynn and Kishi tightened their handclasp, but still, not a word broke the air.  Each of them knew what the other was thinking.  They felt a measure of confidence returning; confidence in each other, if not in the future.

Just as they reached the marker that Flynn had covered to hold the portal to Normatan open, the sun slipped behind the West Barrier Mountains, leaving purple-gray clouds fringed in fiery pink.  The snowcapped peaks to the east were a blaze with the orange rays of sunset.  It was a glorious sight, filled with the inspiration they needed.

Wait a minute, said Flynn. His words came as a welcome relief to Kishi, and to him. They broke the silence and closed the door on the troublesome thoughts they had been dealing with.

I like this one the best.

This one? asked Kishi curiously.

Flynn was saying anything he could think of, to get his mind off the terrible things that had been playing out in his head.

The sun’s moods, he replied.  In the morning he is bright and cheery; midday he’s powerful and relentless, but in the evening, he’s brilliant and inspiring.

Kishi looked back at the sunset and then at Flynn.  She smiled at his reassuring wink. They trotted back into Normatan and Flynn removed the cover over the marker, closing the portal behind them. He took Kishi’s hand and said, It begins. She answered him with a smile that was void of happiness and filled with longing and anguish.

The lights of Normatan sparkled with their usual innocence and warmth.  The high mountain valley had been a refuge for many years and the revelation of the horrors that had overtaken Gigania made it all the more a haven and a treasure.  Flynn and Kishi rode into Normatan’s protective embrace and were soon drenched in its serenity. The air was crisp and clean; something was different. A single snow flake floated softly and touched down on the path in front of them, then another and another. Normatan had not seen snow since its enchantment over twenty years earlier. A perpetual summer was giving way to a new season as if to say that it was time to move on; all would be as it once was.

It had been twenty four years since the invasion. In the year 582 Luerods were seen traveling in small groups throughout the kingdom. Being innocent by nature and lovers of peace, the Giganians were not concerned about the visitors from Luerodan and even welcomed them. They had forgotten the reason for their grotesque appearance and why there was a kingdom called Luerodan. The Luerods simply rode freely throughout the kingdom. They began to take advantage of the Giganian hospitality, becoming more and more forceful and cruel as time went on. Then, without warning, in the year 583, in the season of plenty, Luerodan came in force. They used the information they had gathered the previous year to move swiftly from city to city, wreaking havoc. The Giganians were defenseless against the savage attacks. The Luerods rode through the cities murdering and ravaging and defiling. A dark cloud of fear settled over the kingdom by which the Luerods enslaved every city and region.

The domination of Luerodan introduced darkness and cracked open the Southern Gate, allowing an evil presence known as the Goth to enter. After twenty four years of bondage, the Kingdom of Gigania had become the dominion of the Goth. Under the control of the Luerods and the influence of the Goth, Gigania had become a staging ground for something that Gigania could not have anticipated. Like mindless pawns, the Luerods moved about by the will of the Goth and a force and power, of which they knew little, but nevertheless worshipped and willingly served. Their depravity and barbarism was sustained by the evil that boiled in the Dark Realm. Having subdued the Inner Realm of Gigania, the dark forces were beginning to look to the Northern Kingdom.

Gigania was divided into six regions; each known by the name of its principle city.  Each region was guarded and controlled by two hundred Luerod brutes, or soldiers in the loosest sense of the word.  Each one hundred, or company, was commanded by a centurion. The centurion had two commanders under him, each overseeing fifty. Captains oversaw twenty five. Torash, War Lord of the Luerod army, had made his camp on the north side of Harborann in the southern most region of Gigania. It had been a month since Torash received the command to build an army at the Southern Gate. Djavul, the lord of evil and master of the Luerods had given the order; Torash simply obeyed and ordered five thousand troops out of Luerodan to assemble. He moved his command tent, along with his servants (Giganian slaves) and guards to the north end of the new encampment.  For days a steady stream of mindless chowderheads filed into the camp. At one point there was an unbroken chain of marching bodies all the way from the West Passage to the Southern Gate.

It was a dark and rainy night when Torash finally saw the tail end of the train of new recruits, nearly a mile up the road. He barked an order to get them settled and then retired to his tent.  The sun had set and whatever daylight was left over had been entirely snuffed by dark clouds. The rain was falling in torrents. The single candle on the end of his dining table did little more than make the tent a basket of eerie shadows. FOOD he bellowed and his slaves, rain-soaked and cold, shuffled in through a back entry. They set meat, bread and cheese in front of him. The meat had been seared on an open flame, but was still mostly raw. Blood filtered through his beard and puddled on the table with every bite. The servants shivered in the corner and Torash never once acknowledged them except to command them to leave.

Alone in the tent, Torash sat on the edge of his bed with a mug in his hand and no more animation on his face than a plastered wall. The mug was filled with a concoction of fruit juice and clabbered milk, which created a smell resembling neither and could make your eyes water. He took a gulp of the mixture and raked his beard with an instrument resembling the cross between a comb and a fork. He finished off the drink and threw the mug in the direction of the table. With his arms outstretched he let out a belch that made the flame on the candle dance. With that he fell backward and was asleep before he could get both of his feet onto the bed.

He had not been asleep for more than a couple hours when he was awakened by the sound of synchronized breathing. The candle on the table had been reduced to a puddle of wax, but still flickered just enough to illuminate two heads hovering over him. Sharp teeth glistened in the pale light as they spoke in unison. In ten days’ time you will lead your centurions into the passage. The creature, or creatures, asked for no response and said nothing more. They, or it, were gone as mysteriously as they had come.

The next morning, Torash trudged out into the mud and ordered his sentry to sound the alarm, which brought his centurions running. With no explanation he roared, I need your four fastest riders.  This prompted a heated debate and even some pushing and shoving among the centurions, but within an hour four riders were at the door of Torash’s tent.  He sent two of them west to Harborann, Sanctuarr and Paradoon and two east toward Utonia, Hauvendal and Lucentia with orders for all centurions to immediately rendezvous at the Southern Camp.

By the fourth day the centurions from Harborann and Utonia arrived. The next day four more rode in and by the end of the eighth day, all the centurions that had been stationed throughout Gigania were camped in front of Torash’s tent. Torash had said nothing to the centurions and did little more than storm out of his tent occasionally and look to the north and then to the south. He was obviously agitated but no one knew what it was that had him on edge. During those eight days, Torash said nothing about his night visitor or his order to be at the Southern Gate in ten days. In fact, he had opened his mouth only three times just to command his centurions to stand ready. The centurions had no idea why they were there and were to afraid of him to ask. They also wondered why Torash had ordered Cronan, a mere captain, to join them.

Finally, on the ninth day, well after lunch time, the flaps of his tent flew open and Torash charged out into the light. Gather ‘round, he growled. Be ready. We ride at first light for the Southern Gate. He dispatched the same message to the centurions in the main encampment and returned to his tent. The centurions were left to wonder what it all meant.

THE NEXT MORNING smoldering fires had blanketed the encampment in a gray haze.  Fifty torches blazed through the mist, marking the site of each company.  Even in the strength of their masses, guards stood watch. Talk of the ‘warrior’ had created a real threat and gripped them in fear. As Torash approached with the Gigania centurions, a sentry stepped out of the shadows. 

Who goes? barked, or should I say, quivered the frightened sentry. 

Few of the recruits assembled at the foot of the black cliffs of the Southern Mountains had ever seen Torash, and even fewer wished to.  Among the wicked there is little, if any, admiration.  A leader among evil is what he is because of fear; he has simply achieved more of it than the degenerates around him.  He commands a loyalty that resembles respect, but is entirely void of it.  He surrounds himself with a rabble, all of whom are just as willing to cut his throat as any other, but they protect him nonetheless, for fear of their own throats being cut.  There is no love among them; only a mutual disregard and common devotion to their own preservation.

The sight of Torash was enough to make anyone’s blood run cold. He had become as physically grotesque as the depravity of his soul.  The right side of his face drooped in a Bell’s Palsy-like perpetual scowl.  His jaw hung, exposing his blackened teeth.  Saliva foamed and crusted in the corners of his mouth.  His right eye opened only partially and his voice resembled the snarl of a mad dog. It was natural for others to cower before him and never really look at him.

I am Torash, growled the war lord.  Inform the centurions.

The frightened sentry hurried away, as much relieved to be rid of Torash as he was anxious to carry out his order.  Torash, and his mob rode slowly through the center of the encampment.  Huge fires blazed on pedestals, high above the tallest man, each flame marking its own company; twenty five on the left and twenty five on the right.  As they passed each company, its centurion fell into formation.  At the far side of the encampment Torash turned sharply to face them.

We have been summoned by Djavul.

The name, Djavul, was seldom spoken, and when it was it sent an icy chill through almost all that heard it, and even caused a shudder among these trained fighters.  Nervously they squirmed in their saddles, looking side to side at each other until Torash barked, We go!

No one had ever ventured beyond the forest guarding the Southern Gate nor had anyone ever dreamed of going into the Dark Realm. Until then, no one wanted to.  The Southern Gate was not really a gate at all. It was a narrow passage through the mountain, darkened by a perpetual black cloud that was fed by the evil boiling in the Dark Realm. How does one describe a place that no being who consciously breathes, would ever want to go; a place where the air reeks of the anti-life; where fear and panic are almost tangible and swells from within the breast without provocation; where the taking of another breath only adds hopelessness to a sense of inevitable doom?  Such was the Dark Realm.

Defeated in the Great War by the ancient civilization known as the Torunn, Djavul and his daemons had been locked away in the Southern Kingdom. By their presence it became known as the Dark Realm. The great Song Trees, gifts of the Providers guarded the passage and kept Djavul’s evil from spilling into Gigania. The pride and iniquity that created the hardened souls of Luerodan weakened the tree-guardians. The Luerods cut down any tree that dared to sing in Gigania. The once mighty forest had gone silent.  Their leaves had long since fallen from every tree and they stood as skeletal remains of grander days, casting eerie shadows on parched soil. Dust from the lifeless ground rose like the breath of decadence behind Torash and his company of malevolence.

The mob rode through the emaciated forest with a pride as false as their courage.  Individually they had none.  They drew their strength in numbers and rode as mindless bullies, glutting and gloating in their dominance over weaker things.  They rode in stupid anticipation of coming into the presence of their mentor and master.

As they approached the mouth of the passage, the Luerod’s horses became uneasy and reluctant to enter.  Horses, known as whisperers in Gigania, are creatures of light and enlightenment.  The Goth had no power or influence over them and they served the Luerods only because they had been forced to.  The brutes of Luerodan began to kick and beat their horses to force them forward, into the dark gateway. 

The passage appeared to be lifeless.  The air was heavy with evil, musty and gray, barely fit to breathe. The rocky walls of the canyon stood cold and ominous; the horses could go no further.  They reared back and refused to advance.  The Luerods began to beat them again, mercilessly. Still, they would not move.  Suddenly the air went still, as if the canyon itself was holding its breath.  Shadowy shapes on the canyon walls began to descend the cliffs.  They leaped silently from boulder to boulder.  Within minutes there were hundreds of hellish creatures crowded on the rocks and ledges near the canyon floor.  Startled by their appearance, the Luerods released the whisperers.  This was a sight not even Torash was entirely prepared for.  The creatures were as large as the horses and had cat-like bodies; jet black, with orange underbellies. Their heads resembled that of a wolf. The hellish creatures moved in closer; their eyes flaming blood red.  The whisperers turned and ran.  Let them go, screeched the creature closest to Torash.  The whisperers ran all the way back into Gigania, right through the Luerod compound.  The captains that had been left in charge didn’t know what to make of the rider-less horses, but they were not about to enter the passage to investigate.

Do you remember me? snarled the creature, but it didn’t wait for an answer.

I am Cerberus, the creature said; obviously the leader.  He was by far the largest and his two heads set him apart from all the others.  These fiendish creatures would later be known as the dogs from hell, or hell-dogs.

We will escort you. Djavul waits.

The creatures moved in among the centurions and crouched by their sides; Cerberus by Torash.  We will carry you the rest of the way, he shrieked.  Each word echoed from the canyon walls like screams in the night.

Mount! howled Torash.

With hearts still pounding, the Luerods climbed onto the backs of their new mounts.  As the hell-dogs stood, each rider gripped the course neck hair of his beast.  Several hundred of the creatures flanked them on the right and left.  Cerberus turned one head toward Torash and snarled, By your command.

Forward, howled Torash.

The air became dense and cold as they advanced into the blackness of the passage.  On the backs of the hell-dogs they moved as swiftly and silently as an evil thought and soon the canyon opened into a vast expanse of nothingness.  Plumes of smoke from more than a hundred bonfires mushroomed into a dingy shroud over the valley, reducing the sun to a dim gray orb. At the valley floor the hell-dogs without riders sped away in all directions and disappeared. The place was almost entirely void of vegetation and the colors that adorn the living were nowhere to be found. The Luerod band moved ahead through the shadowy sameness toward the distant blazes.

The bonfires each marked the center of a village, if they could be called such.  The dwellings were nothing more than huts made of mud and debris; their doors and windows were merely cracks and openings in the walls.  There was no light in or around the dwellings; for all appearances, they were lifeless. The only signs of life in the villages were at the fires. Some of the creatures were walking upright, on their hind legs.  Their front feet were actually more like hands.  The creatures were preoccupied with their work, but they paused to stare at the Luerod centurions as they rode by.  They went back to work, snarling, sometimes viciously, at each other. 

The hell-dogs were not vicious and hideous by nature, and the Dark Realm had not always been dark.  Before the Great War it was known simply as the Southern Realm.  The creatures were known as Katnines; beautiful forest dwellers, also known as the shadow hunters. When Djavul and his legion were banished to the Southern Realm it became dark.  Every creature of light fled the realm, all but the Katnines. They retreated deeper into the shadows of their forest.  Djavul and his daemons discovered them and seduced some and simply overpowered others.  Having been denied their own physical form, Djavul and his daemons took the bodies of the Katnines, transforming them into the terrible hell-dogs of the Dark Realm.  The once solitary creatures now worked side by side as slaves to the evil spirits in them.  In such close proximity, they snarled fiercely at each other, doing the bidding of the daemons inside of them.

Some of the creatures carried wood for the fires; others operated huge bellows, keeping the core of the inferno white hot.  Liquid steel flowed from the center of the flame and into molds for spear heads and swords.  As soon as they were sufficiently cool they were removed to anvils, where the red hot shapes