Ekleipsis

Land of Erde

§ Ekleipsis §

Pordlaw LaRue

This book is to be considered a work of
fiction.

The characters (their names and
origins), places, and events are the creation of the author’s
imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblances to
actual persons, places, or events are to be understood as
completely coincidental.

Any Scriptural quotes, whether in part
or in whole, are from the

King James Bible.

Copyright 2011

No part of this book may be copied,
duplicated, changed, or redistributed without written permission
from the author, whether in written or electronic
format.

Contents

Ekleipsis

Ekleipsis (Greek,
eclipse)
: Judarius claimed
that darkness would one day overcome and destroy
all light. The name of that day, he called
thus
.

To Begin At a
Moment

It was a cold, stormy night
in the midst of a small village, nestled quietly among the
mountains and valleys. Howling winds blew wildly through the large
trees that surrounded the village, protecting it like a great wall
around a castle. The streets are empty of souls, where only debris
flew effortlessly on the breath of the night. Hoping for a brighter
tomorrow, families snuggle in bed resisting the fear that creeps
among the shadows waiting to gain entrance into the mind that dares
to embrace it.

These storms seemed to come
forth from the mountains, most unaware to the people below.
Sometimes ceasing as quickly as they had come, other times
lingering well for hours without losing strength. Attacking with
the force of a mighty army, the bitter winds sliced through the
thickest clothing, chapping faces, and reddening exposed flesh. The
heavens sent forth hardened crystals upon all caught beneath the
clouds, often simply melting away into the sodden paths.

Through the gloom, a small
home near the edge of the village remained alive, entertaining the
dancing of lantern lights and the patter of footsteps.

Why tonight? Why must it
be during a time of such disarray?

A small, elderly lady, with
silver- laced hair flowing to her waist, paced the floor. She ran
to and fro, ministering to a young girl slightly above her
teens.

Dear God, I pray that you
show compassion. Hear the frail attempt of your child, to call upon
such a mighty God to request such a selfish thing as this. Lend
your ear to my pleading and see what is right in your own eyes.
Thou hast given Sorie life and have been gracious to spring forth
life from within her womb. Shall she carry such a love only to
perish at its coming? Do as thou see fit, but remember compassion.
In thee will I trust to do that which is right.

Sorie was due any minute
with delivery, yet boiling with fever she felt her life slipping
ever so slowly away. Her brown hair, tangled and glued to her face
with beads of sweat, hid well the beauty she possessed. Hardly able
to hold her eyes open, fading in and out of consciousness, there
was but one thought which griped the entire essence of her
being:
How is my baby?

For the last nine months
Sorie could think of nothing else than the soul who had grown
within her. She caressed her stomach often and longed to see the
face of her child. As those who she knew would speak of their own,
her lightly tanned face would glow as her brown eyes sparkled with
eagerness of what was to come. Sorie delighted in the stories of
others, and hoped to the uttermost that she would be a good mother
to such a lovely gift.

A History of
Sorts

From the beginning, Sorie
had a fondness for a young tan lad by the name of Tindal. Tindal,
though rather small in stature, was fearless. Somewhat defined,
though not overly muscular, he was the son of his athletic father
MaZak. Hairless from birth, Tindal would often be mocked by the
other boys, who soon learned to keep their comments to themselves
or in secret.

Tindal was very smart and
loved history. He would often spend hours in the makeshift library
reading books on all types of topics. He enjoyed comparing the
different perspectives of various authors’ writings of the same
time and subjects. Tindal could never read enough, as he would
audibly agree and disagree with various writers. He was full of
passion when it came to the law and history of Erde, whether it
would be of King Salvare and the Sealed, or the
Darkness.

Tindal’s father, MaZak, had
brought books from his days at Kirche, the school of the Sealed.
Others, who sometimes visited the markets in Trachten, would also
purchase a variety of books to share in the communal library in
Nesal. Although MaZak did not agree with the content of all the
books, they were there none the least. Men would read that which
they wished, and he could not be every man’s conscience.

Tindal’s father was a
well-defined swordsman. He was known throughout the lands as The
Bladesman. He was considered to be, if not the best, one of the
best sword makers and carriers around. MaZak had chosen to move to
Nesal for the purpose of removing his family – and himself,
admittedly – from the mainstream of things. Although he had served
the Sealed well for many years, he desired to keep his family far
from the deceits of the Darkness due south. Even the mere gossip
within the limits of Signum at Kirche burdened his heart, and
wished not to lend his family’s ears to it.

Nesal was a small valley
hidden by the Cadas Mountains and Lake Szikla to its north and
east, with large oaks and sycamores of the Ascuns Forest to its
south and west. It was a quiet and peaceful place, out of sight and
mind of most in the Land of Erde. Most preferred the large, busy
spaces of Erde, while some still held to the peaceful calmness from
the crowds.

MaZak felt that he could
enjoy his wife and raise his family away from all the problems of
Erde by hiding away. He had seen too much he wished to keep from
his family. He cared not that he would have to leave the luxuries
of the modern, large village of Signum, which lie northwest of
Nesal. It was in the quiet of Nesal MaZak felt his family could
better hear the voice of God, and ponder the words of the Book of
Wisdom from King Salvare.

Twice a year MaZak traveled
to the Land of the Seekers, who set up markets to have those from
around the Land of Erde bring new and interesting creations to buy,
sell, and trade. Men of dignity and power sometimes sent their
servants from far kingdoms to have The Bladesman handcraft each
minute detail into the finest metals, to become weapons of war and
protection. And on occasion, some dignitaries paid a personal
visit, just to view and offer a price to his prized possession –
Reflection.

MaZak named his most famous
piece of work Reflection for two reasons; or so he said. The first
was due to the nature of his work: his swords were created to hold
the smoothest, shiniest reflection even after a day’s worth of
battle. As for the second, which he most often enjoyed to tell: if
it were true that man indeed saw his life flash before his eyes at
the very moment of death, then very well it was the Reflection
which brought him face to face with it.

MaZak was a gracious man
and full of wisdom. Strong as an ox and built like red cedar, none
dare cross him. Though he held the image of an immovable force,
underneath he was a man of compassion with a soft touch for his
wife and child. He taught them the way of the Sealed and spoke
often of the Shimmering kingdom. Numbered among the Sealed himself,
he long served the true King, Salvare, valiantly along the
frontlines and as a craftsman for the better part of his life. He
had recently removed himself from the frontlines, moving to Nesal
to spend his time defining works of art, namely swords. He claimed
the frontlines were for the young to fight fervent and fierce,
while it was the old one’s duty to lend support through teaching
and training.

“One cannot fight forever,
for no man’s light is eternally lit in this life, but our knowledge
and swords may be passed down from generation unto generation; for
the battles against the Shadow Lands and the kingdom of Darkness
shall continue to rage on long after we are gone. Fight while you
are able, so the feeble may be protected. Hold on to faith in times
of doubt, to give encouragement to the weak. Live life by the law,
so the unrighteous may know what is right. Give honor and show
compassion, that others may want to follow.

Remember your testimony
before the kingdom as you serve in all obedience,
Salvare
,
the true
King, that all of Erde may know that he is righteous, pure at
heart, is yet alive, and has a love for people. Let not King
Salvare return to see us standing idle in the streets, as those
around us are slain in the name of the Wicked One. Become one with
your sword and wear the King’s armor proudly. Fight for Truth! Long
live the King!” From his farewell address given to the youth who
much enjoyed his stories, he said goodbye to a life of battle, but
not of service.

Tindal’s mother, Eslar, was
much in love with her soldier, MaZak. He had rescued her from the
Shadow Lands and told her of King Salvare. Although he would never
take credit for saving her; for he told her it was the King’s
Whisper that indeed had led him to her, and awakened her from the
Shadows.

§ § § §

The Shadow Lands were where
many a soul drifted away, never to be seen or heard from again. It
was a veil whereby the wickedness may pass between the light of
Erde and the Darkness of Oscuridad. There were those who had lost
themselves among the thick fog of the Shadows in search of the
Darkness, but most had been taken captive by the Darkness itself.
Being brought there, hearts soon became burdened beyond measure,
minds confounded by the wickedness which dwelt therein, bodies worn
by the unhealthy conditions of the climate, and soon all hope was
lost as the Darkness overcame them.

Though difficult, some
souls were graciously saved, being pulled from the bonds of the
Darkness back into the glorious light of the sun, nourished by
those who fought against the Darkness and served the true King. Of
such a one was Eslar.

§ § § §

Day after day, as MaZak
spoke of the King and the Shimmering kingdom, Eslar longed the more
to see it and to meet this great King of who he spoke. He told her
that one day soon King Salvare would indeed return with his
kingdom, and that she would then be able to behold him face to
face. Until then, one’s faith must rest in the words of the King,
“Fear not my children, I shall return to you my people.” So she
did.

Even from her youth, this
lady looked small and frail, but was very much a hard worker and
quite feisty when the situation called for it. Ever striving to
please MaZak, never had Eslar felt such love from any other man.
She had neither known her father nor mother but was an orphan, who
most seemed to over look. She would often claim, “When one has been
pulled from the Shadows, what are the trials of life but a small
thing.”

If there were days Eslar
would consider the greatest of all in her life, she would say it
was the day she was saved from the Shadows, the meeting of her
love, and the birth of her only son Tindal.

Tindal was a most
disciplined young man. He would anxiously await the arrival of his
father and beg him to tell him the stories again and again - though
he had heard them many times before - of how King Salvare had come,
was betrayed by a friend, and slain by kindred and those who served
the Darkness. Yet, did he rise again by the power of his father
Allmachtig, and promised to return to gather his people unto his
Shimmering kingdom, called Scimerian.