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The Wrath of Zar Book I of The Demons of Destiny Adan was raised in the small
The Wrath of Zar
Gnith walked upon broken grass as he crept toward the mouth of the cave, the entrance turned slightly from the rising sun, causing an illusion that defended its location from those who pursued its secrets. Cautiously, the demon glanced from east to west, studying the steep mountain range known as the Angled Spine. Behind him was the Azura Groves, grass and sand as far as his slanted eyes could see. Wheezing through a stuffed nose of dirt and slime, Gnith tried to catch a scent from his youth. From where the sands of grove met the stone of mountain, came a smell from history, a scent of violence, pain and blood. Though hidden, Gnith knew the entrance was certainly there. Mirror bats flew along the edge of the mountain. They dove down into the meadow and flew in a single row barely above the ground. Their golden-tipped wings flickered through the tall grass like a river of fire. Gnith scratched his balding head with ragged fingernails as he watched them. The ground vibrated beneath his wrinkled and bare toes. Gnith gasped and hissed through his sharp and grimy teeth. They were coming. The sun crept over the eastern horizon and warmed the open meadow at the base of the mountain. The outline of the cave flared with a powerful light that forced Gnith to shield his sensitive eyes. He stepped forward protecting his face from the bright light. The glow around the entrance softened. Afraid to lose his opportunity, he rushed forward and ran as fast as he could. The mirror bats shrieked and exploded into the sky. Gnith screamed and covered his head. He forced his eyes open and peered between his arms as he pushed through the cloud of bats. A sigh of relief escaped his sore throat. He loathed bats. He snapped his fingers and summoned a flame in his palm. A torch hung from a sconce on the cavern wall and he lit the bundled twigs. His shadow sprang onto the craggy wall, revealing his twisted demon form. Long legs held his slouched back and emaciated arms, hair like straw bristling from his scalp and thighs. Gnith turned to stare out beyond the entrance, where seven riders sped across the swaying grass, their mounts pointed straight toward him and the forbidden cave. He smiled, licked his rotten lips and charged deeper into the cave. The walls closed together as he descended. Water leaked from the ceiling. Cobwebs stretched across his path. The smell of bitter air wrinkled his nose as the cavern tunnel twisted and turned, descending into the unknown. Water seeped from the walls and turned into a flowing stream. Memories of the curse cast upon him ignited and reminded him of the torture he endured—water burned his feet like acid and fire. He moved quickly and attempted to ignore the pain. The voices of those who hunted him echoed down the tunnel. He listened intently as he focused on the path behind him. His pursuers were in the corridor now. One of them shouted orders to the others. They were going to kill him. His feet burned as he ran harder over gravel and water; pain shot into his thighs and chest. He groaned as his muscles tightened in response. The torch slipped from his fingers and fell into the water, the flame snuffed out. Water surged below, but the darkness kept its location a secret, almost caused him to lose concentration. Whatever the circumstances, Gnith knew failure would never be forgiven. In pitch darkness, he cautiously continued his descent. Suddenly, the ground beneath him collapsed. Gnith screamed and plunged into a torrent of water. The current dragged him under. His skin erupted in boils; the water burned him like dragon’s fire. The current swept him downstream. His fingernails broke as he tried to grab the bank, but the current pulled him back under. His feet touched mud and gravel on the bottom, and he reacted by catapulting himself back to the surface. He shot out of the water and flung his arms onto the bank. For several moments he gasped and groaned from the horrible pain, then pulled himself onto dry land where he rested and waited for the torment to subside. His body convulsed as he crawled to his feet. A root hung from the cavern wall. He broke it off and snapped his fingers, lit the makeshift torch and held it above his head. Skin peeled off his charred body like cloth. Blood wept down his legs and slowly dripped to the floor. He staggered forward, exhausted. When he rounded the next bend he sighed with relief; he found the entrance. The entrance to the Pales of Nothingness waited on a small island deep in the cavern, surrounded by a circle of raging water. Statues of great proportion circled the perimeter of the island to form an aisle of temperament and courage. There were twelve of them, each an exact replica of the other. They towered over him in height, displayed frowns and eyes of deception. Long wavy hair fanned their backs. They wore helmets on their heads and armor on their bodies. Weapons of strength held firmly within their grips. Gnith stumbled forward almost frightened by the glower on their faces. Beyond the statues was the door he sought, receding into a rock wall surrounded by a maze of intertwined weeds. The hunters closed in. He heard their voices followed by splashes into the raging water that encircled the island. Gnith lurched to the door, his pain became nothing more than the price demanded for success. He tore at the tangle of roots and revealed a picture that showed the sun centered between two moons. One was silver, the other red, and beneath them was a warning encryption. Gnith knew the warning by memory—he had recited it for years. He smiled with pleasure and stepped back. Shouts of anger caught up with Gnith. He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes searching the darkness beyond. Flashes of blue light revealed his enemies’ positions. They were on the island now, charging at him with ferocious speed. He snuffed his flame and turned back to the door. His mind searched for the hunger that fueled him, the power bestowed upon him by his master. Years of preparing soothed his nerves, calmed his anger long enough for him to achieve his goal. The future flashed through his mind. A smile formed on his hideous face. The Gods showed him the way. He snapped his fingers and a long staff appeared in his hands. The power of the weapon pulsated, sending flashes of warmth through his body. He reeled back and slammed the end of the staff into the sun. It sank deep into the door; the moons exploded in bright light. Pain shot up into his arms. He had to hold on, or failure would follow. The moons on the door orbited the sun in opposite directions. The door creaked and groaned as if it had a soul, shaking from the power of his staff. The cavern rumbled. Debris dropped from the ceiling above. Again he looked over his shoulder. The seven Warriors of Ches were nearly upon him. Their fearless leader stormed down the centre aisle. Weapons of death flashed through the dark. Screams of revenge threatened him. Gnith turned back to the door. The moons’ orbit ceased when they were both directly over the sun causing an eclipse of the greatest power. White light burst outward from the sun. A mighty wind erupted from within and hurled Gnith back through the air. The statues roared to life. Rock crumbled off their faces and hair. They brandished their weapons of stone and cried out with life. They replicated the image of the ancient god Faral, the one who cleansed their world of evil so many centuries ago. The Warriors of Ches yelled to one another and positioned their backs together. Gnith watched with eager anticipation for the outcome that would prove his victory. The ground shook as the twelve statues stepped off their pedestals. Flails and swords made of iron and stone rose high into the air. Pebbles rolled off their faces as their resounding war cry announced the battle. And in that next moment, the twelve statues attacked the Warriors of Ches. Gnith smiled and spun around to face the entrance. It stood wide open now, waiting for him to claim his prize. Holding his staff firm, he hurried into a dank room carved from sheer rock. It carried just enough light from an unknown source for him to see. The walls were blank and devoid of decor. For an instant Gnith worried that he made a mistake and shivered at the thought of torture and death. An ominous shadow formed. It grew larger and larger, twisting and turning as it rolled from one side of the room to the other, hissing as it shifted. Gnith genuflected holding the staff out in front of him. It was the moment he had dreamed for years beyond years. He forced his pain aside as his heart pounded and savored this moment of glorious victory. The shadow settled in the middle of the room and transformed. It grew legs and arms on a skeletal frame. Rotten skin clung to its bones. Its eyes were swirls of red mist. Silver hair grew long and stringy from its cracked skull. “Welcome back, Master,” Gnith murmured. His throat was raw; it hurt to speak. The creature accepted the staff with his skeletal hands. “Has the alignment begun?” “Yes, Master, the alignment begins. It is why I have come.” “Then the Gods are awake?” “Yes!” Gnith could no longer hold his excitement. “I bring a message, Master.” “What is it?” “Seeds of evil must be planted in Wyndhaven and Corrona. We must recover the Dryden, and Granaz must be unleashed. The Set-thra has discovered his soul and soon he will be ready.” “Well done.” “The Warriors of Ches are fools, Master! They are here!” The creature stepped forward and placed his skeletal hand on Gnith’s head. Warmth infiltrated his skull, trickled down his spine and wormed into the rest of his body. Gnith watched in amazement as the skin on his body healed. The constant burning stopped. Gnith sucked in a breath of air and said, “Thank you, Master.” They left the pungent room that was known as the entrance to the Pales of Nothingness. The battle drew out in front of them. The Warriors of Ches clung to success, their lives hanging on the balance of victory. “Master,” Gnith began. “Silence!” the creature hissed. “Do not speak my name. The Gods have resurrected me as a mere ghost; I’m no longer the warrior I once was. A time will come when I shall unveil my true identity, but until then, you will address me as Vayle.” Gnith bowed. “Yes, Master Vayle.” Demon Vayle extended a bony hand and pointed outward. “Kill the Warriors of Ches and destroy the guardians that held me for centuries past.” A flame appeared in Gnith’s palm. A grin crept upon his lips. “Yes, Master. Yes indeed.”
Twenty-Three Years Later the Andar slid into his chair and stared coldly at the blank parchment in front of him. The candle on his desk gave little warmth, barely enough to warm the fading thread of hope from his dying soul. After all of these years it had come to this. He tugged his long beard. There were moments in his life that hinted of this terrible day, but the glimmer of hope always fueled his resolve. He realized now that there was no hope. His hands shook as he withdrew the pen from its cylinder. With slow, wheezing breaths and the movement of his pen, the words formed: It is today that I bid my farewell. I am defeated by my greatest enemy, and I understand now not to counter. My ambition dies with my body; I can no longer bear this pain. The Demons of Destiny will soon awaken. There is nothing more I can do. I pray that another will fight for Yannina’s survival, but the ignorance throughout Yannina disgusts me. Once again I fight alone. Even my faithful apprentice, after many years of training, discourages me. His own desires are frightening, his motives are kept secret. I can no longer weep of failure, I can no longer mourn the loss of my daughter, and no longer do I try to save the people who abandoned me or those who betrayed me. The Demons of Destiny will rise to power, and who in this world can stop that now? It is the end of the world; I shall go first. Forgive me, Faral, I have failed you. The Andar shivered from the cold draft that blew in through the window. Visions of that dreadful day flashed in his mind; he shut the memory off, no longer interested in recalling the nightmare. He withdrew a silver knife from a wooden box. Tears trickled down the crags of his face as he held the blade in his withered fingers. He pointed the tip to his weeping heart. The Andar sucked in a deep breath and clamped his eyes shut. The tip of the blade punctured his skin. “Destiny awakens. . . .” The Andar gasped. The words reverberated through his mind. He saw an image of a young man standing alone in a forest of elk trees. He put the knife down and turned in his chair to look around…to make certain no one was nearby. He bolted out of his chair and rushed to the door. He was overflowing with excitement and energy—there was hope after all. Somewhere within the world of Yannina, a young man was about to face his destiny. The Andar knew that Faral showed him the way. The depression that nearly swallowed his soul disappeared, replaced with a hope he’d only dreamed of. Images of a village in chaos penetrated the Andar’s brain. The old man almost collapsed, uncertain if what he saw was the past…or the future. Obviously this young man was in very grave danger. He snatched up his cloak knowing his apprentice had to find the young man immediately. He glanced at the knife. What seemed hopeless before was now changed. Destiny had awakened.
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