The Orb of Truth (The Horn King Series) (33 page)

“This place seems familiar to me,” he looked in amazement.

“It should. It was your home, when you were a boy.”

Spilf had forgotten his childhood, remembering only life on the streets up until he met Bridazak, but God’s words seemed to unlock something hidden, and he knew it to be true.

“Where is my family?”

“They are still of the world, Ruauck-El.”

“They are alive?”

“Yes.”

“Why did they leave me?”

“I will give you eyes to see for yourself, Spilfer Teehle. Behold.”

The Ordakian watched as a scene from the past unfolded before him. He could feel the cool breeze coming off of the lake shore and hear the water lapping up against the smooth pebbles. He turned, trying to discern the origin of the smell of fresh baked bread, and spotted a simply-clothed male Ordakian with his young boy, breaking a loaf in half to share.
“That’s me,”
Spilf thought. Then a female Dak stepped out from the open door of the cottage, and kissed her husband.

Suddenly, screams erupted from the other side of the small village. The simply-clothed Ordakian man grabbed the child and ran to the lake. He placed the boy inside a small canoe and ushered for his mother to join him.

“Son, you must go to the far side and wait with your momah. I will meet you there. I promise,”

“Bapah! No! Come with us.”

“Honey, he will be okay. C’mon let’s go,” the mother said.

“But what is happening?”

“Your bapah will explain everything once he gets back.”

An arrow suddenly slammed into his mother’s shoulder as she reached for an oar. She fell out of the small boat.

“Momah!”

She bobbed back up to the surface and stood in the shallow water. Her hands reached to the canoe and she pushed it with all her strength, screaming through the pain. “I love you, son. Don’t come back. Don’t look for us. Hide!”

The vision ended and he was suddenly back with God. Tears streamed down his face and he embraced God with sadness and understanding.

“They saved me.”

“Gundi, te chiva.”

Dulgin stood, but stubbornly refused to raise his head.

“What troubles you?” the deep voice of God spoke. His hand reached out and lifted his chin.

Tears tumbled from Dulgin’s eyes. God wiped them away and continued to wipe each new tear that fell. Dulgin was now looking at the most powerful Dwarf he had ever seen; such pride and love came from him. A flowing cape of gold fluttered behind his broad frame, and a well-groomed white beard adorned his face. It was the only thing he could recognize, as the rest of his features were blurred by his overwhelming beauty.

“I am torn,” Dulgin said.

“But why?”

“I have a sense of loss that I can’t explain.”

“Perhaps a gift will change that.” The mighty Dwarf God produced a grand battle axe. Brilliant orange and red gems littered the shaft. A gleaming, perfectly shaped, axe head fanned out on top with magnificent etchings beyond all imagination.

Dulgin was overwhelmed by the beauty of the weapon and the gesture, but hesitated to take it.

“It doesn’t feel right, my Lord. I don’t know how to explain my feelings right now.”

“Why would you want that old beat up axe you lost?”

“How did you know? Well, I guess you would since you are God and all. It was given to me by my father when I was a boy and for some reason I have never wanted anything else. It’s like I have a piece of him with me.”

“I understand Dulgin, more than you can comprehend,” he smiled and continued, “You hold the inheritance of generations before you. It is something that cannot be seen, only experienced.”

A flash of light erupted from behind Dulgin. He turned and there stood his father, holding his old axe.

“This belongs to you, Son.”

Spirit images of past generations stood behind his dad, beginning with his grandfather and extending out five generations beyond. Dulgin stood in humbled astonishment.

“Take it with my blessing. My pride for you has moved the fathers who came before me to stand with you.”

Dulgin reached out and grasped the battered battle axe. He felt restored, and tears tumbled out once again.

“I love you, Dah.”

“I have never questioned your love, son. Let us embrace and cherish this moment together.”

Dulgin held his father like never before. They separated. “Dah, you left us. Why?”

“Chiva, I can only say that I am sorry for not being there when you both needed me most. After the loss of your mother, I fell into despair and lost sight of you both.”

“Where is Mah?” Dulgin looked at his father and then back to God in excitement.

The dwarven deity responded, “She is waiting, let us go and see her.”

“Russo, di cende.”

Bridazak recognized the voice; the Orb of Truth. His head lifted, excited to finally see the face which matched the sound he had come to love more than anything. He found an Ordakian, and he marvelled at the perfection of the glorious being. A soft glow encapsulated him. Bridazak noticed his robes flowing endlessly behind him. The material rolled like forming waves and revealed two colors on either side: gold and a deep red; the same colors of the Orb had borne. Bridazak’s elation dwindled and he slowly looked down, away from his deity, reminded of his failure.

“What is it?” God asked.

“Why did you choose me?”

“Why not choose you?”

“Because I failed, and I am a nobody.”

“You did not fail. I orchestrated every step so that every promise and prophecy made would be fulfilled. I created the Orb and only I could destroy it. You, Bridazak, faithfully carried me through my plan, so again I say, well done. Well done. I knew you before you were born, before the world was ever created. You are special and you matter so much that I would sacrifice everything to have you with me.”

“But you are God, and I am just a thief.”

God laughed, “And a good thief you are.”

“I don’t understand.”

God placed both of his hands on Bridazak’s shoulders, “You are a good thief because you stole my heart.”

Bridazak’s face began to brighten with a smile. “I wouldn’t have thought of it that way. So, you are not mad at me?”

“Of course not! I’m proud of you. I knew that I chose the right Ordakian for the task. You fought through the darkest hour, and risked everything for me and your friends.”

“I know you sent Abawken to help, but did you set all those things in motion for us? Bringing me to the Seeker bow and arrows, and meeting Billwick… and learning my Bapah’s name?”

“Your steps were ordered and never without my hand’s guiding,” he paused, “Matter of fact, I have another gift for you.”

Bridazak protested, “You have already given me more than I could possibly imagine. What else could I want?”

God smiled and extended a closed fist, turned it upright, and then opened his hand to reveal two clear gems in the form of teardrops.

“What are they?”

“Your gift.”

Bridazak held out his hand and God dropped them into his open palm. The gems splashed onto his skin like water. He looked at God with a puzzled face, not understanding.

“Those are prayers offered up to me that I have reserved, and will now honor.”

“We didn’t abandon you, Son,” a female voice echoed forth from behind him. Bridazak turned around, and there she was. Her long brown hair had beautiful flowers laced within the ornate braid-work. She wore a white dress that elegantly draped to the ground. He recognized her, though he had never seen her before, he knew it was his momah. Then his bapah, Hills Baiulus, stepped out from behind her, greeting him with a warming smile of admiration. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“We are so proud of you. To have you here is the greatest gift for us.”

“Momah? Bapah? Is it really you?”

“Yes, Son.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“We were always meant to be together, and finally, it is time.” There it was, like the dawn of a new day breaking free from the bondage of night— the connection, the final link, from the beginning when he first received the Orb of Truth inside the box, now came full circle.
“It is time.”
It was his parents who had delivered the box, the message, and the mission.

“The One that was, that is, and will always be, allowed this.”

They embraced and cried together. Bridazak glanced up and looked into the eyes of Truth and silently mouthed, “Thoss vule.” God smiled, his face like that of a proud father.

.

22

Darkness and Light

T
he celebration feast was in full swing. All the heroes sat together with their families at the massive table set before them with God at the head. Vibrant, colorful food covered the dining table-top from end to end. Jovial conversations abounded, erupting into laughter at different intervals. They ate to their hearts’ content; the tastes of each morsel elicited moans of enjoyment. Golden goblets filled with wine clinked and sloshed over at each toast.

Their God laughed and enjoyed each of them at his festival. Each of the heroes looked at their King of all Kings and saw him in the form that represented their kind. Sitting before them was love in a tangible form; no longer just a word or feeling, but instead something they could physically touch, see with their own eyes, and hear with their ears.

Bridazak was seated with his family and surrounded by his friends. He took notice of Xandahar, with his wife next to him and his son on his lap, the pure joy of their reunion displayed across their faces. Dulgin caught his attention next, when his Mah slapped the back of his head, scolding him about something. She, like her son, had red hair bursting like a volcano from her scalp. Bridazak smiled as he realized where Dulgin had inherited his attitude. Next to them sat Jack and his father, Ghent, pointing to the magnificent array of cookies and pastries, deciding which to try first. Then his eyes caught a familiar Ordakian; directly across from him, Billwick Softfoot raised his drink, and smiled as if he had known all along that it would end like this; maybe he had. There was no place Bridazak would rather be. He pulled more grapes off the table—beautiful, deep red, plump beauties draped over a silver stand near the center. As he pulled a portion of the vine laden with fruit away, he saw his reflection in the polished silver. As if caught in a trance, the clank of utensils and chalices around the table jolted him back to memories of the former realm he had come from, and resounded like a distant clash of battle.

God was suddenly standing behind him. “What is it my child? What do you see?”

Others at the table hushed to hear what was going on.

“It’s nothing,” Bridazak responded, not able to explain his feeling.

“Then let me make this announcement. I will be making a new realm. One that will never be corrupted. One where there will be no pain or suffering, only joy and love.”

Goblets rose up into the air in gleeful acceptance—all except for one.

“Bridazak, is there something wrong?”

“What will happen to the old realm?”

“It will cease to exist.”

“But what about the people that are still there?”

“My judgement will fall on those who have turned from me.”

“But what about El’Korr and his army?”

Others at the table mirrored his question with mumbles of concern.

“They will be invited guests, of course. They have fought valiantly for me and will be rewarded.”

Everyone loved his answer, and returned back to drinking and eating. Bridazak asked another question.

“What about other people—who don’t know you?” A hush returned.

God countered, his peaceful demeanor never wavering, “What about them, Bridazak?”

“Don’t they get a chance to know you? You created them.”

“Yes, I did, and do you think that I have not given them a chance? Do you think that I have not spoken to them in their dreams? Do you think that I have abandoned them or that I do not feel the loss of every soul that chose to ignore my calling?”

“But what if there were one?”

The question lingered in the room. Everyone waited in anticipation of the answer.

“Who will reach that one? Who is willing to speak to them in a world filled with evil and darkness?” God asked.