The Light of A Thousand Suns Chapter 1: Exodus

Chapter 1: Exodus

The tower which sat on a foundation of black stone climbed heights beyond sight, engulfed in dense clouds that blanketed the dull sky. Not a single shade of blue could be seen. Only the dim glimmer of a single star stood against the bleakness. Solid coats of dust covered the iron handles of the colossal doorway, adorned with reliefs of mighty fiends and magnificent beasts. These doors seemed as though they might not have been opened in over a hundred years – the beast had not eaten, the griffin had not taken flight.

Whilst wondering why there had been a star during the day, Warlock Sparx staggered in the snow. The raging blizzard was like a blow to his face. His cheeks were solid, his nose numb and his fingers barely movable. Even beneath the countless layers of clothing, he could feel his blood almost solidifying.

‘Hurry up then,’ the woman nearby demanded, clapping her hip. Despite being a head shorter, Warlock’s mother retained complete control over him. He grasped the great, frigid handles and pushed, a task which required more might than he had possessed.

‘I can’t,’ he grunted, ‘They’re too heavy.’

‘Well you don’t think I can open the doors then do you?’ she snapped, removing her crimson shades to reveal her aged, hazel eyes.

‘Move away,’ he suggested, adding a ‘please,’ to his request.

She complied, and at once he directed his barely-movable fingers towards the monolithic doorway. The mammoth, iron prisms were driven back as though by a strong east wind. The doorway was divided and the couple made their exodus, departing from the world of mortals as the monumental entry closed behind them, flooding the tower in darkness and the echoing of thunder.

‘CLAP!’

Light spilled into the endless tower like a river from above, illuminating the auburn curls of his mother’s hair, as well as the oak curls of his own. ‘Let there be light,’ Warlock mocked under his breath.

‘Whose there?’ An obscure, almost child like voice echoed repeatedly against the four, stony walls. On the farthest wall were two silver doors that resembled something of an elevator.

‘My son and I. We need to go the Highlands,’ Warlock’s mother answered.

‘You mean-’ the voice replied.

‘Yes. Sorry. My mistake. I haven’t been there in-’ She interjected, ‘a while.’

A short, elderly man materialised in the centre of the room, standing directly over the centre on the floor. Long, pointed ears poked through his shoulder length, silver hair. ‘What I mean, is that, you haven’t just come from there?’ He took a moment to survey them, observing their attire. His brow raised, he said, ‘Well obviously not.’

‘No. We left the People’s Nation some time ago.’

‘Then, if you don’t mind my asking, why is it you wish to return? I see many people leave this tower, but I have never seen anyone return.’

‘If you must know,’ she answered, ‘I am returning to bury the ashes of my husband. He passed away recently, and it was his wish to be buried in his homeland.’

‘I’m ever so sorry,’ the elf began, ‘but you don’t seem at all upset about this?’

‘Oh. It was, less than recent. I’ve had time to grieve.’

‘Have you?’ The elf turned to Warlock, who stood behind his mother with his hands in his pockets, observing his surroundings.

‘Oh,’ he answered, startled, ‘I’ve grieved loads. Loads and loads.’

‘Very well.’ The elf disappeared in silence, much to Warlock and his mother’s surprise.

‘Where did he go?’ Warlock asked.

‘I suspect to determine the price.’

‘Of?’

‘We can’t enter the Highlands for free. There must be payment for passage.’

‘As in money?’ Warlock knew so little about the world he would soon call home.

‘Not money, but payment.’

He thought for a moment, of what she had meant. If she wasn’t to pay the elf with money, then what? The two remained alone in the tower for several moments, any steps echoing repeatedly as they bounced against the walls and climbed to the tops of the tower. He wondered whether there were people at the top who would hear them.

Again, the elf materialised in the centre of the tower, holding a small, ornate, glass jar. On it were carvings Warlock was unable to recognise, obscure symbols that were almost letters.

‘For passage into the People’s Nation, I shall require from you as payment… a spell.’

‘What sort?’ she asked.

‘Firstly I should like to know your name however, so that I never forget who had cast it.’

‘Well I’m Juniper and this is my son-’

‘I don’t need his name. Only yours.’ He stared blankly at her, his head tilted back slightly, despite even her lack of height.

‘My name is Juniper,’ she remembered the false surname she had prepared, ‘Druid.’

‘Well then, Juniper Druid, I shall like a sleeping spell.’

‘Wise decision,’ Juniper answered, ‘I imagine with the lack of people coming through the tower, you would have plenty of time to sleep.’

‘Oh,’ the elf appeared for a moment, as though he had been thinking of something otherwise, ‘yes.’ He smiled vacantly, and handed the jar to Juniper, unscrewing its wooden lid.

Juniper took it gracefully, almost whimsically, as though it was weightless. It seemed however, that it was. She released it in order to reach into her pockets, and it floated as though resting on a cloud.

‘It’s enchanted to do that,’ she explained to Warlock. She drew forth a tiny, silver, silk bag, from which she conjured a feather. She waved it over the top of the jar and miniscule, glowing particles seem to descend from it, until they became so numerous it was like a rain. As she did so, she began to speak a foreign, rather incomprehensible language, unlike anything Warlock had heard in the mortal world. She spoke a string of what could hardly even be called words, and repeated them numerous times like a mantra, until the jar had been filled almost to the brim with the glowing dust, which had taken on a blue colour and moved within the jar as if carried by a slow cyclone.

‘There you are.’ The jar floated towards the elf who took it carefully, examining its contents with crossed eyes as Juniper placed the feather back in the silver bag and into her pocket.

‘Thankyou,’ he mumbled, before violently throwing it out before him.

The wispy particles within the jar poured forth like a sudden storm, and took on a serpentine form, twisting and contorting in mid air. It lunged forwards and reared its fangs in terror. The elf backed away rapidly but did not disappear was Warlock would have expected.

Fear gripped the poor young wizard like a rabid wolf sinking its teeth into his ankles. Juniper pushed him out of the way of the spell before plunging onto the floor in order to avoid it.

‘TO THE ELF!’ she screamed whilst down, pointing at it with her outstretched finger.

‘You can’t command it! It’s my spell now! You gave it to me!’ The elf called out in fright.

He was wrong. The spell writhed around rapidly and rushed directly towards the elf, but he too had dived out of the way. It turned and headed for him once more, but again, he displaced himself.

‘Warlock!’ Juniper exclaimed, ‘Stop him!’

Warlock, still on the ground in the grip of fear, reached out and faced his palm towards the elf, who came to a sudden halt before falling to the ground.

‘Hold him!’ Juniper called out once more.

The elf attempted to regain his stance, but was forced to the ground again by Warlock’s magic. The spell, which had flashed through the air so rapidly its serpentine form had disappeared, it instead appearing as a simple, electric blue streak, charged towards the elf and descended hastily until it entered his short stature. Within less than a second, he was in so deep a sleep nothing could wake him.

‘Fool,’ Juniper said whilst Warlock helped her to stand, ‘It didn’t give it you. I payed you with it.’

‘But how come you could still command it?’ Warlock asked.

‘Because it was not yet his. As I said, I payed him with it, and the subject of the payment, passage into the Highlands, had not yet been exchanged.’

Warlock nodded in understanding, before asking, ‘Do you think he’ll alert anyone?’

‘He’ll be asleep for several days. It was a powerful spell.’

‘How did he know it was us?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t.’

‘Well, in any case, how are we supposed to get there now?’

Juniper approached the two doors that resembled an elevator at the other end of the tower. ‘We must open this.’

‘Back away,’ Warlock said, before outstretching his hands. The silver doors slid open, disappearing in either side of the wall with a loud screeching. Behind them was a an empty, rusted, metallic room. Juniper entered it and turned in observance, before returning. ‘It is an elevator,’ she said, ‘We must it make rise.’

‘I could-’

Before he could finish, Juniper had rushed over and began to examine the body of the sleeping elf, turning him to his side and reaching into his pockets. ‘Here,’ she beamed, pulling out a large, corroded key.

‘What is it? A key,’ Warlock inquired, but she hadn’t answered.

She simply entered the elevator again. Glaring at Warlock irritably, she yelled, ‘Aren’t you coming?’

He obeyed at once and rushed into the elevator. On the wall beside Juniper was an enormous keyhole, surrounded by strange, unfamiliar markings, similar to those he had seen on the jar. Juniper placed the key in the hole and turned, resulting in a loud clicking noise.

‘I’d forgotten how horrible elves are,’ she said as the stone tower was swallowed by the closing of the two doors before them. It seemed an eternity should pass before they would open again.