The Gates of Golorath Read online

  The Gates

  of

  Golorath

  Chaos of Souls series: Book 1

  R.M. Garino

  Copyright © 2017 by R.M. Garino

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  R.M. Garino

  Tuxedo Park, New York

  www.rmgarino.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Copy Edit Mary McCauley Proofreading

  Maps by Renflowergraphx

  Cover Design by Mirella Santana www.mirellasantana.com.br (stock material used under right from: Depositphotos & Shutterstock)

  Photography by Marissa Golub www.marissaphotography.com

  Chaos of Souls Book 1: The Gates of Golorath. R.M. Garino -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-5218942-9-3

  Books by R.M. Garino

  The Gates of Golorath:

  Chaos of Souls series; Book 1

  Angels of Perdition:

  Chaos of Souls series; Book II

  Requiem's Reach:

  Chaos of Souls series novella; Volume I

  (coming 2019)

  The Gathering of the Blades:

  Chaos of Souls series: Book III

  (coming 2019)

  To my Clarusluna, Richie-Poop, Li-Li Beans, and Boog. You guys rock!

  Thank you all for making my life as wonderful as it is. I wouldn’t be here without you, and you make every day a pleasure.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Arrival

  The Prisoner

  The Ledge

  Disappointment

  Whomping

  The Bridge

  Something to Write Home About

  Making a Statement

  Why It Worked

  Anchor

  Discussion of Strategy

  Childish Pride

  Challenge Issued

  Porcupined

  Familial Obligations

  Pyramid Passes

  Ten Steps

  Racing the Sun

  Mushroom Hunt

  Come to Call

  Barred to You

  Quick Silver

  All Life is Precious to Us

  Message Received

  What I Do

  Impact

  The Caul

  Discovery

  The Silver Knot

  Satyagraha

  The Masters’ Prerogative

  Blossoms on the Wind

  To Tea

  What They Aspire To

  So Ask

  Eager to See

  The Shrulk

  The Grand View

  Third Squad

  Twelfth Squad

  Walk with Me

  Tales of Reven Marthal

  Long Version or Short

  The Apostate’s War

  Closing Invocation

  Royals

  Dance of the Magi

  Conclave

  Unexpected Introductions

  Cannot Proceed

  Awakened

  A Gift

  Fel

  The Return

  To Wander Again

  A Clasped Hand

  Boots in the Blood

  A Matter for Mala’kar

  Pride

  The Gauntlet

  Simple Process

  Your Very Own Magi

  Earn Your Keep

  Immortals

  Fifteenth

  Small Potatoes

  The A’gist

  Herself, Alone

  Lo’el

  View from the Balcony

  Work to Do

  What Is

  A Thousand Cuts

  Three Days’ Time

  The First Clue

  Touch on the Neck

  Running in Circles

  Make Them Remember Your Name

  Tasked by the Council

  Vale of Sorrows

  The Menace

  Friendly Wager

  Change of Tactics

  So Long to Realize

  Always Time for Humor

  Aesari

  Tremendous Shadow

  Glossary

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  The forest of Aklediem: Present day:

  1 month until the Feast of Night.

  “My people are the Lethen’al, the Elder Race. Once, we walked the Halls of Heaven, basking in the glory of the Creator and doing His bidding. We were the Aesari, the angels. Some of us, when we beheld what was wrought, wanted to do more than watch it from afar; we wished to actively protect it, shape it, and guide it in accordance to the grand design. To this end, we defied the Edict of Heaven, and we tore the veil that held creation, the Quain, separate and aside.

  “Those who sought to stop us were the Lo’ademn. When their words failed to deter us, they resorted to violence. There are consequences for all actions, and as we spurned the will of Heaven in favor of our own, we were destroyed, split into millions of insignificant fragments the moment we stepped through the breach.

  “Our spirits mixed with the corporeal matter and we were reborn. No longer Aesari. We are the Lethen’al, the fallen.

  “The demons, what we call the Lo’ademn, however, did not pass through the veil, and so were never scattered. They remained as they were. They fought us, but their aggression was also against the will of Heaven, and for that they were cast out. They did not merge with matter. Rather, they were banished to the void, the space between spaces.”

  The Elder paused, his attention locked on the fire that burned in the small ring of stones. It was concealed from the night, hiding them from the hunters who pursued them.

  The shadows danced low to the ground, holding the humans around him in a half light. They waited, eager for him to resume. The fire crackled, sputtering a rare spray of sparks into the night, and illuminating the puckered scars that peeked out from beneath the edges of his cowl.

  “Heaven’s vengeance did not end there,” he said. “In our pride we bound ourselves to matter, yes. But the way back was sealed to us. The breach was removed from the world, and thus the Sur, the Otherworld, was formed.”

  “Where is the Sur?” said a child.

  An adult, sensing the opportunity, added his own question.

  “Is it between Heaven and earth?”

  The Elder considered their questions, seeking his answer in the flames

  “The Sur is removed from this world,” he said at length. “It is neither above us, nor below, but rather exists off to the side of creation. An Aesari of great power was placed there to guard against our return, and took the name Tarek, the exiled. In time, however, he grew weary of his role, and that corrupted his purpose. He became instead the Apostate, for his wish now was to destroy the Lethen’al. He called out to the Lo’ademn, attracting them to the Sur. From here they could wage war, breaching creation and sending their beasts against us. But, they could not enter the Quain, lest they be fragmented as we were.”

  “Do Tarek and the Lo’ademn be the only ones who live there?”

  The Elder nodded. “They, and the evil things they created from their hatred.”

  “Why’d he summon the Lo’ademn if’n they’d be trapped there?”

  “They were exiled to the void, separated from one another” the Elder said. “The Apostate brought them together
for a common cause, with the promise of revenge, and escape from their prison.”

  Those gathered about the fire murmured in understanding.

  “Ages passed,” the Elder said. “The world changed. You, the humans were born, with us acting as midwives through the endless generations. But in his separation Tarek and the Lo’ademn seethed in their rancor. They longed to renew their aggression, you see, for they blamed us for their imprisonment. Toward this end, the Lo’ademn learned how to hide within the folds of matter and to fortify it with their will.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means the Lo’ademn, what your people call demons, learned how to possess humans and take over their flesh. They were able to escape the Sur, their prison for so long, and set foot upon creation without being rent asunder.”

  “Yeh dinna tell a very good story,” a child said into the stillness.

  The hint of a smile played around the corners of the Elder’s mouth, causing the skin of his face to pull tight against the scars that decorated his visage. The adults hushed and admonished the child, trying not to cause too much of a stir. He held up a finger to forestall their attempts to silence her.

  “Why is that, little one?”

  He sat cross-legged with his hands upon his knees, his head tilted to one side.

  “Because the story yeh were tellin’ has nothin’ to do with yeh,” she said, unaffected by the adult insistence around her. She had to crane her neck to see his face.

  “Not directly,” the Lethen’al said, “but it has to do with all of us, even you. It’s the history of all things.”

  She shook her small head, making the reddish-brown braid that hung down her back sway.

  “Yeh tellin’ the wrong part of it then,” she said, her eyelids fluttering with an affectation of arrogance borne from the surety of her convictions.

  “Am I, now?”

  “Yes,” the child said, her tone and movements a perfect parody of propriety. “Master Collins asked why yeh were in the human lands, instead o’ beyond the Gates. That’s the story yeh were supposed to tell.”

  The nascent smile died upon the Elder’s face, and his full lips drew down to form a straight, compacted line. His gray-blue eyes drifted back to the fire, and silence descended upon him.

  Faolin and Bradan, the girl’s parents snapped, “Larria,” and “Hush yerself” on top of one another.

  “Me apologies, Elder,” one of the older men said. He crossed his wrists over his heart and bowed as he sat. “She is young, and she dinna mean no disrespect.”

  The Elder took note of the speaker’s sincerity, and indeed the anxiety that underlay the words. Like the rest of the humans present, he was fair skinned and freckled. This particular family tended toward red and auburn hair. Other families gathered about listening to the story tended toward brown and blonde shades. There was not a dark head among the group, which he found strange. The Elder laid his hand upon the speaker’s shoulder.

  “Be at peace, Josef,” he said. “I’m not offended by a child’s honesty, or curiosity. I admire it, and find it refreshing. And, she is right. I was telling the wrong story.”

  “Will yeh be tellin’ the right story now?” the child said, her green eyes expectant and glistening with excitement.

  “Larria,” he said, resting his elbow on his knee. His long, white hair slid out from beneath his cowl. “The story you ask for is very long, as I am very old, and it happened a very long time ago. I could continue it every night and we would still not be done when we arrive at Red River.”

  Larria frowned and crossed her arms in front of her.

  “Master Price is the oldest in the village,” she said, the disbelief evident in her voice. “And his stories dinna ever take so long.”

  “Hush now,” the girl’s grandmother said, trying to pull the girl closer. “The Elder is much older than Master Price, yeh silly girl. And he dinna have time for yeh cheeky little self to be showing yeh lack of manners.” Eleanor smacked the girl on the back of her head. Larria spared a glance at her grandmother, and dropped her gaze a moment later as she beheld the glare in the woman’s expression. “Me apologies, Elder. She seems to have forgotten what sense she was born with.”

  Larria drew away from her grandmother, not wanting to drop the issue. The Elder held up his hand to ward off the woman’s protest.

  “There really is no harm done, Eleanor,” he said.

  “Yeh pardon, Elder,” Larria said, her voice stumbling just over a whisper. “Why did ye leave yeh own lands?”

  “Pardon granted!” he said, bowing his head to her.

  He pursed his lips, and moved his attention to the star strewn sky. The two moons, Clarusluna and Little Bear had made their appearance, with the smaller just beginning to peak over the horizon. He was silent a moment, rocking his head back and forth.

  “It’s not a love story,” he said at last. “Although it does, to some degree involve a most tremendous, most spectacular love. Does that disappoint you, little Larria?”

  She shook her head without hesitation.

  “In truth, it’s a sad story,” he said. “One full of hatred, loss, and betrayal, the likes of which a human mind can hardly fathom. It’s a story of warriors, Magi, lovers, and friends. But above all else, it’s the story of. . .”

  He shrugged his shoulders, spreading his arms to his sides as if he could not find the words to define his truth. The sparkle faded from the child’s aura as the realization dawned on her that he had stopped.

  The Elder glanced around the glade at the faces gathered before him. Eighty-one souls in total, spread between nine different concealed fires. Seven families, spread through the clearing for a semblance of privacy, but still hunkered close enough together. If he pitched his voice right, his story would carry to the fires at the edges. They all shared the child’s excitement, following him with eager, expectant expressions.

  Seven families.

  They comprised the entire population of Ehrlich, a small farming village at the edge of the Great Forest of Aklediem. They were refugees one and all, and all under his self-imposed protection. He had convinced them to abandon their homes before the coming dark of the Feast of Night; convinced them to follow him to the relative safety of Red River and its towering walls of stone; convinced them to run ahead of the hordes of the Sur that surged through the forests. They were beset by a terror bordering on absolute panic as the very fabric of their ordered lives was torn asunder, and the legends told before the hearth fire came to life. But nevertheless, the mere promise of a story from him set them at ease and offered them the chance to lay aside their troubles for a while. The dread would return to them, waiting in the folds of their blankets and in the depths of the darkness. But for a brief, fleeting moment, they were free from its embrace. In comparison, his own hesitation was selfish.

  If he had wanted to stay aloof, he told himself, he should have just kept walking.

  Truth be told, he did not want to tell this particular story. For far too long, he had avoided it, pushing thoughts of that time away. But the long night was coming, and the signs and portents he followed through the forest gave him pause. The shrulks were out in greater numbers than he had seen in the three centuries of his banishment. It should not be so, for he had sealed the bore leading to the Sur long ago. And yet, the miasma of death hung heavy on the wind.

  Beneath all other considerations was the truth that he was still a Blade of the Areth’kon, regardless of his denunciation of them, or their excommunication of him. This was a fight he could not turn away from, nor did he want to. He knew, in his heart, he was equal to the arrogant Elc’atar, and even to the Mala’kar, though he had never been formally tested. But he was alone now, and the foe moving from the depths of the forest was vast.

  He was born of House Kal’Parev, so he would hold the field, boots in the blood.

  He would fight.

  But, he could see no way to survive the coming dark. Was it so bad then, that others knew
his story? She might even hear it one day, should she ever pass through the Gates again. The idea, he had to admit, held a certain appeal.

  He stared into the flames, allowing the movement to lull his worries. He nodded, his decision made. He closed his eyes and sought the power which lay just beyond the periphery of his awareness. He felt it rush into him, making his life force swell with energy. Using the power from the Temple, he could see all the elements of his tale, even those hidden in the past. He motioned the humans closer.

  “When humans marry,” he said, “you exchange identical rings to symbolize your union. A glance at an individual’s left hand will show whether or not you are bound to another, as we can all see with Eleanor and Josef here.”

  He indicated the couple seated before him with a wave. They, in their turn, showed their rings. Both radiated pride, and they intertwined their hands before lowering them.

  “We Lethen’al do not have such a custom,” he said, avoiding the sight of the elderly couple. “We have no need of the symbolism. Once wedded, a unity is formed between our sin’dels, our life force. Consider it a merging of the two souls so that they overlap without any distinct division. Even when separated over great distances, this remains intact. To us, it’s seen as an ethereal, golden cord connecting the two, although some have been known to be silver or white. For some of us, however, there is no need of a marriage for such to form. It’s a rare thing, ancient and uncommon even in the span of generations.”

  “Do ye have one?” Larria asked, squinting in examination. She had moved into her grandmother’s lap.

  “No,” he said with a quick shake of his head, returning his attention to the flames. “I once did, but . . . it was a mistake, and it is no longer so.”

  The little girl was watching him, as was her family. At the surrounding fires, the other six families looked on. Concern tinged the auras of some, sympathy and worry decorated others. He averted his gaze once more.

  “You wanted to know why I left the Patresilen,” he said. “It was a betrayal bade me leave. It started in the autumn of the year, more than three centuries ago.”

  “I had begun my apprenticeship at the Gates nine days before, and I would have been of an age of one of your older teenagers were I human. She arrived with her squad as the sun was slipping behind the mountains.”