Light Through Darkness

Pam L. Wallace

         One more step. And then another. Sulina focused on the ground, refusing to look up at the distant mountain crest. One step at a time.

         Malinora, whom Sulina still thought of as a baby even though she was almost three, was strapped to Chakor's muscular back. Her head lolled back and forth with each step, her eyelashes a dark half moon against smooth white skin. Her breath puffed small mists into the cold air.

         Behara, age seven, walked behind Chakor and in front of Sulina, slogging across the crusty snow in her snowshoes like a seasoned traveler.

         Sulina allowed herself a proud mother's smile. Her daughters were courageous. Neither had complained since their flight began three days ago. Sulina wondered if she would have been as brave at that age, bereft of a home and the future unknown.

         One more step. And then another.

         Behara stumbled. Sulina put a steadying hand on her back. Dark eyes, enormous in such a small, pale face, turned to hers.

         "Is it almost time to stop, Mother?"

         "Soon, Beha, soon." Sulina touched the girl's cheek, trying to pass reassurance to her. Behara plodded on, her shoulders rounded with exhaustion. The poor child; she was much too young to make such a trek. A curse on Dehacha! Sulina spat, bile rising to her throat at the thought of the warlord. If not for him and his ambitions, we'd be snug and safe within our home, not fleeing for our lives over the mountains. May his soul wither and rot in the black depths.  

         In the distance below, blue jays screeched their displeasure, but here, halfway up the steep slope, all was quiet and still. The clumps of trees had grown stunted and farther apart the higher they trudged, and in another fifty paces they would leave them behind altogether when they crossed the timberline. Then another two days or more and they'd be over the pass, where they hoped to find safe haven on the other side of the mountains.

         One step. And then another.

         They rounded the last stand of pines. Glancing to her right, Sulina caught a brief glimpse of a shape at the edge of the trees. Her first vague impression was that one of the warlord's archers had come upon them, and her heart stuttered in fear. But no, the creature standing in the clearing was four-footed. A deer.

         "Chakor!" She kept her voice low. 

         It was a large eight-point buck with velvet-brown eyes. It stood not thirty paces away, its nostrils flaring as it took in their scent. Any moment now, it would leap and disappear into the forest, she thought. But it stood steadfast.

         Chakor moved in slow motion, taking the bow from his shoulder and drawing an arrow from his quiver. Sulina's mouth watered at the thought of fresh venison.

         "No, Father. Don't shoot!" Behara said.

         The buck twitched his ears at the sound. One ear was notched near the tip, perhaps by an arrow. A wonder, then, that the animal stood unmoving and unafraid.

         Chakor nocked the arrow. "Meat for the pot," he said, glancing back at Sulina with a tight smile. He drew the arrow back.

         "No!" Behara flung herself at her father's arm.

         "Beha! Let off!" Chakor said.

         The deer's gaze flicked to hers, an unfathomable stare. A feeling of peace stole over her.

         It blinked; so did she.

         The notched ear flipped forward and its eyes widened slightly. With a bunch of its shoulder muscles, it bounded up and away, disappearing as silent as a wraith into the trees.

         "Wasn't it beautiful, Father?"

         "Beha, my sweet fawn, the deer's beauty will not fill our stomachs. And mine is rumbling."

         Behara stared at the spot where the deer had disappeared. "It was not meant to die."

         Poor child, Sulina thought. She's seen far too much death and destruction for her age—for any age.

         Chakor knelt before her and gathered her in his arms. Sulina turned away, letting father and daughter share a moment.

         Some fifty paces to her left, a stunted pine with thick, gnarled bark reared from the midst of a rocky outcrop. Exposed roots clutched a granite boulder and the trunk twisted and curled away as if it were trying to escape its earth-bound hold.

         The wind whipped a strand of dark hair from her braid and into her eyes. Clouds scudded across the sky and sunlight glared into the clearing. Something flashed on the ground in front of the tree. Most likely a chunk of ice, she thought.

         Chakor had Behara in a tight embrace, a gentle, rueful smile on his face as he murmured in her ear. Sulina looked back to the tree.

         Another flash from whatever lay on the ground. What could it be? Sunlight danced in glittering sparkles on the object.

         Curiosity overtook her. Halfway there, she hesitated and looked back. Chakor was talking to Beha, his hands on her shoulders. No doubt he was explaining the necessity of their long trek and their need for food. Their daughter shook her head and pointed into the trees where the deer had disappeared.

         Sulina would take a quick look and then be back to join them.

         A necklace?

         Her breath came in quick gasps. The intertwined silver links were thick, but delicately wrought.

         It was heavier than she would have thought. At the apex of the chain hung a knuckle-length charm, a perfect replica of a short sword. The blade was slightly curved and had a double-pointed tip. The hilt was a sliver of white bone, twisted around with a length of silver wire. A tiny red stone—surely not a ruby?—studded the center of the hilt, and more were set into the blade's pommel.

         She took the charm between finger and thumb to peer more closely at the jewels and gasped when pain bit at her thumb. A slice of blood marked where the sharp blade had cut.

         Sulina shook her head, amazed at the detailed craftsmanship. It was surely worth a small fortune—enough to settle them in a new home and keep them well fed for some time.

         "Chakor!" she called out.

         He turned to her with a puzzled expression. "What have you, woman?"

         "The answer to our dreams, my husband. No longer will you have to work in the fields from dawn 'til nightfall."

         Behara's eyes rounded with excitement. Malinora twisted her head, searching for her mother.

         "Sulina, your eye always gets sidetracked by something!" He laughed—the loud, hearty laugh that she loved so well.

         "This time it worked in our favor." She fastened the necklace around her neck. "The Spirits shine on us this day," Sulina called, her voice shrill with triumph.

         A crack as loud as thunder echoed from the ridge above. The ice beneath Sulina's feet began to vibrate. Chakor's face paled as he turned to the noise.

         A rumbling sound, deep and ominous, clamored into a roar. Behara screamed. The noise deafened Sulina as the avalanche barreled down on her family, sweeping them away in an explosion of snow and sound.

         The roaring and shuddering seemed to go on forever. Her gaze was fastened on the spot where only moments before her family had stood.

         All was still now. The quiet intense.

         Sulina couldn't move. Any moment now, Chakor would come sputtering to the surface, dragging Behara with him. 

         The silence was obscene.

         "Chakor?" Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears. But it freed her from her stupor. "Chakor! Behara!" She screamed and then ran.

         Dropping to her knees, she dug at the snow like an animal, with frantic, flying movements. She didn't feel her fingernails tear, nor her fingers begin to bleed. She would find them. She would.

         The scene played over in her mind, this time in slow motion. Chakor's face, Beha's scream. The snow barreling over them. A vague glimpse of legs and arms, flailing in the rushing snow. Of course. They would have been taken downhill by the force of the snow. She jumped to her feet and scanned the slope below.

         Something dark lay on the snow, some fifty paces away. She ran, too fast for the downhill slope, and went tumbling, rolling to land in a heap. A snowshoe lay to her right. Beha's. She clambered over to it and dug.

         The snow turned red from her bloody fingers, but she felt nothing except the pain deep in her chest. She gasped and sobbed while calling for her daughters and husband.

         No answer.

         How long could they last, buried in the snow? Surely they were in an ice pocket. Chakor was strong. He would dig his way out. She held her breath to listen.

         Nothing.

         "Chakor! Behara! Malinora!"

         The avalanche left a path pristine and white, some two hundred paces in length and perhaps fifty to a hundred paces wide. Where should she dig?

         Sulina ran down the mountain another twenty paces and dug again, screaming all the while.

         Her throat was raw and her voice nothing but a hoarse whisper; her cheeks stiff with frozen tears. The setting sun cast the sky in purple and pink shadows.

         It was her fault the avalanche had taken her family. If she hadn't called out, Chakor and the girls would be here with her now.

         She should be with them, frozen and smothered beneath the ice.

         She should never have gone to look at the necklace. Then she remembered how sharp the tiny blade was. Perhaps it would prove useful after all. She would give her blood as payment and join her family, even though taking one's life was forbidden by the gods.

         Kneeling on the cold snow, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and adjusted her clothing. Her bloody fingers left crimson streaks on her cheeks and tunic.

         She poised the tiny blade over her left wrist. She smiled as she jabbed the double-pointed blade down with all her strength.

         The tip bounced off her wrist. Her grip must have slipped on the blade. She pressed her fingers on her trousers to dry the blood.

         Scenes of the girls, giggling outside in the bright sunshine, swept through her mind. Chakor returning home to sweep them up in a fierce hug, and a wink for her that held a promise of what was to come later when the girls slept. Her cheeks remained dry while the memories played; her tears had long ago ceased.

         She tried again. The blade slid off, leaving nary a mark. She pressed it against her skin and sawed with all her strength.

         The blade would not cut. She sobbed in frustration. The snow turned gray and colorless in the growing dark.

         She dropped to the ground, despair and exhaustion allowing her to go no further. The night fell in dark crisp shadows. She shivered as the temperature plunged.

         So be it. If not by blood, then by choice. She lay on the frozen snow, waiting for the cold to take her.

         She drifted in and out of memories. When her shivering finally stilled, the moon was a glowing sliver high above. The stars blinked like gems, radiating a warmth that crept over her. A shooting star traced a trail of light across the constellation of the Hunter. A shadow leaned over her. Her awareness of her body floated away on the gentle wind soughing overhead. The stars lifted her up into their embrace. "My family," she heard herself murmur.

         And all was still.

         A convulsive shiver jerked through her limbs, but something heavy kept them from flailing. Pain lanced her joints. Her fingers felt as if they were on fire. She hadn't expected to feel such pain after death. 

         She lay alone on a stone bier, covered in fur pelts. Where were Chakor and the girls? Candles flickered above her on niches cut into a stone wall. A fire burned in the center of the floor. Seated on the other side was a dark figure. It stood and came toward her.

         "Chakor?" Her eyes were adjusting to the light, but she couldn't make out any features of the face stalking toward her. The figure was much too slim to be Chakor. And too tall to be Behara. A god from the afterlife, then. She was suddenly afraid. Would she be judged harshly? 

         A hand touched her forehead, the skin rough and warm. "How do you feel, daughter?"

         "Father?" The face was unfamiliar. Black eyes, slightly sunken in an ascetic-thin face. Skin stretched tight over angular cheekbones, smooth and unwrinkled, but riddled with age. Only faint wisps of eyebrows perched above his eyes, and no hair at all graced the slightly pointed head.

         "Ney. Not your father. But a friend." The voice was raspy but vibrant.

         "What is this place?"

         "Ah. Please excuse me. I should have introduced myself right away, but you surprised me by waking so quickly. You have a strong spirit." He took a step back and made a half bow. "Husam al Adel, your humble servant."

         "Am I not dead?"

         His smile was gentle. "Ney, daughter. You are yet among the living."

         Her fingers were bundled in bandages, but she managed to awkwardly push back the furs covering her. "You should not have brought me here. I am meant to die."

         "Ney. Not when you wear the charm of the Bashshar Adel."

         "The Bashar what?" The emptiness inside made her stomach ache.

         "The Bashshar Adel, the Sword of Justice. You have been chosen as a peace bringer, daughter."

         "I'm not your daughter. I'm the wife of Chakor, the mother of Behara and Malinora, who now lie dead and cold beneath the infernal ice. And I want to join them!" She fell back on the furs, too empty to cry anymore.

         Husam poured tea from a pot into small wooden bowls. The smell of wood mint and juniper filled the room. Her mouth watered, even though she had no desire to eat or drink. But when the bowl was placed in her hands, she drank.

         The bowl was empty before she realized. Husam refilled it. She would rest for only a moment more. Then she would take her leave and join her family.

         Her eyelids grew heavy, as if weights were tied to her lashes. She forced them open, but they felt so much better closed that she gave in. The darkness settled around her like a warm blanket.

         "The land is in disorder. Warlords fight amongst themselves, terrorizing the people, raping, pillaging. The Swords of Justice work to bring order back into the land."

         The voice droned on. Something tugged at the edge of Sulina's consciousness. She was so tired. She allowed herself to drift.

         "Only through order may you find peace, daughter. On the other side of darkness, you find the light."

         Sulina struggled to wake. Her body felt numb, her mind as if stuffed with wool. There was something she should remember.

         "The unjust must be brought to justice."

         She opened her eyes. Husam sat cross-legged on the dirt floor. A sweet-scented mist filled the air, steaming from a bowl suspended over the fire from a hook.

         "The goal of life is to live in peace, and the peace bringers shall be blessed."

         "Peace is the goal," she murmured, and then wondered where the thought had come from. She felt peaceful at the moment. The snow had been peaceful, too.

         And then it all came rushing back to her. Chakor and the girls. The snow barreling down the mountain. Grief roared back.

         "You must fight against it, daughter."

         "I cannot." She curled up into a ball.

         "You dishonor their memory by wishing for your own end. They would want you to live."

         "What am I without my family?"

         "You are who you always were. Sulina. And now you wear the talisman of the Sword of Justice. You are meant to join the fight to bring order to the land."

         Sulina took the charm in her fist and pulled the necklace over her head. "If I hadn't gone to pick this up, I'd be with my family."

         "Perhaps it saved you from a fate you were not meant for, Sulina." His tone was gentle, but the words cut deep.

         "You think my family was fated to die while I lived?"

         "I think your family suffered a terrible accident. From which you were saved for a reason."

         She shook her head. "There is no reason for me to continue living." But the charm warmed in her palm.

         "The talisman calls to you, does it not, daughter?"

         "No." Her grip tightened. Pain bit across her palm. She opened her palm to see a score of dark blood. A bitter laugh welled up. "Ah, now the edge draws blood. Where was its sharpness when most I needed it?"

         "And so you find the wisdom in the blade. Perhaps it has a different idea of when you need it."

         Still staring at her bloody palm, she realized her fingers were soft and pink, with no trace of torn skin or blood. "How did I heal so quickly?"

         He glanced at the fire and the bowl of herbs misting the air. "You slept for some time."

         "You drugged me!"

         "Your spirit needed time to heal, as did your body."

         "How long?" 

         He shrugged, unperturbed. "Two sevendays, perhaps."

         She flexed her fingers. "My hands would not have healed so soon."

         "I know of herbs and healing." He reached into the neck of his tunic and drew out a duplicate of the charm and necklace she held in her hand. "The Sword doesn't only call; it also bestows to its keeper."

         "I have no wish to keep this 'Sword', as you call it."

         "Do you not? Then let it go, child."

         She opened her fist to drop the charm. The tiny ruby in the hilt glittered in the firelight. She saw again the faces of Chakor and the girls before the snow swept them away. Her husband's broad shoulders. Behara's dark, sensitive eyes. Malinora's ready smile.

         "I must find my family." Sulina sagged back into her bed. She was so tired.

         "I have searched already. The snow is too deep. You'll have to wait until the spring thaw."

         "No..." She hung her head and sobbed.

         After several minutes, Husam asked with gentleness, "What brought your family to attempt crossing the mountains in the thick of winter?"

         Bitterness almost choked her. "Dehacha, may his spirit be poisoned by greed and never pass into the afterlife. We were warned that he and his thugs were on their way to pillage the farm and press Chakor into his service. We packed and left in the middle of the night. We thought to find safe haven in Seborra, on the other side of the pass."

         "Over there, you will find different names, but otherwise, much the same as you left. The entire land is in disorder. Do you wish other innocents to suffer a likewise fate as you and your family? Would you not wish to serve the greater good, to see justice brought to all who deserve it? Daughter, you cannot join your family in the afterlife unless the gods judge you worthy. And they will not if you take your own life. This you know, true?"

         She didn't want to admit it, but he was right. She had always done her best to follow the teachings of the prophets. Through honesty and kindness, the doors to the afterlife would open. Her daughters were innocents, granted immediate entry. Chakor was the kindest, gentlest man she knew. There was no question of where his spirit now resided. 

         But how to join them, if the way was barred to one who took her own life? Must she wait until she died of old age to see them again? She didn't think she could stand the torment of missing them for that long.

         "What better way to be judged as worthy than to bring peace to the land? And perhaps peace to yourself in the process?"

         "What do you mean?"

         "The sword you wear is a talisman, true." Husam pushed himself to his feet. He wore a long, vermilion-colored coat over a tunic belted into his trousers. He pushed back the edge of the coat and drew a sword from its scabbard. It was a full-sized replica of the charm she'd found. The curved blade was finely polished steel, the white bone and twisted silver hilt and pommel studded with rubies. "These swords are the instruments of justice. I will instruct you in its use, if you choose to join us. The way is not easy, but the rewards, though intangible, are satisfying."

         She couldn't take her eyes away from the sword. It glittered in the firelight, sharp and dangerous. "You are trained assassins?"

         "We prefer to think of ourselves as the justice bringers. Assassins are hired by the one with the most to offer. We work for no man—only the good of the people and the land. It is a discipline and a way of life that grants serenity of sorts."

         Serenity. She didn't think it possible, given her grief. "It is dangerous work, no?"

         "Many die, yes."

         "But they die an honorable death?"

         Husam sighed. "Yes, daughter."

         "Then I agree."

         Sulina centered herself and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she expanded her senses. A swish of movement as Husam's blade advanced. She raised her own to meet it.

         Twirl. Slash. His spice-like scent revealed his position. Breath-like stirrings of the air betrayed his movements. Whisper-faint sounds bespoke where his blade would strike.

         Cut. Duck. Upthrust. The movements were her all. Through Husam's teachings, she had found a way to co-exist with her sorrow. She walled the pain away, allowing it back only twice daily—once right after waking, and again before sleep each night.

         Whirl. Slice. Her blade caught a wisp of clothing. She heard Husam exhale.

         "Very good."

         She opened her eyes.

         He smiled at her. "You are a fast learner, daughter."

         She bowed. "You honor me, Master."

         He bowed back, and they replaced their swords into plain leather scabbards.

         Sulina poured herself a drink of water from the jar.

         "Gather your cloak, Sulina."

         Husam had thrown a fur-lined cloak over his clothes and held another out to her.

         "Master?"

         His eyes gazed into hers, deep pools of serenity. "Today we go to fetch your family, daughter."

         He caught her unaware. The pain roared back. She blinked at its ferocity, fighting for breath.

         Finally she composed herself. She took the cloak and followed him from the cave.

         They emerged into sparkling sunlight. Sulina had not been outside in months and had to shade her eyes from the bright light. A lip of rock framed one side of the cave entrance, hiding the narrow opening. The entire mountainside seemed to be made from one large stone, fissured and cracked in a hundred places.

         Husam led the way, zigzagging across the rough and uneven surface. They clambered down a narrow wash and up the other side.

         Dirty gray patches of snow, soft and wet, were interspersed with bare spots of dirt darkened from melting runoff. With each step, she crunched through the top layer of thin ice to flounder in knee-deep snow. Her boots were soon soaked through, but the soft moss lining insulated her toes, keeping the cold at bay.

         Across a gully, Sulina saw the twisted pine where she'd found the charm that gods-blasted day. Steeling her emotions, she let her breath out slowly, then allowed her gaze to drift to the spot where she'd last seen Chakor and the girls.

         She could see them so clearly. She swallowed a sob and fortified her walls against the pain. Only then did she lead Husam into the open area between the trees.

         She took a deep breath before turning to look down the slope.

         The breeze whispered through the trees, and clumps of snow dropped to the ground with soft plops. Snow still blanketed the area, thicker here where the avalanche had roared down.

         Halfway down the slope, a hump of snow with the toe of a sturdy boot poking up. Chakor. And there, some twenty paces farther, a spot of dark blue. Behara's skirt. And another thirty paces farther, almost at the bottom of the snowy sward, another dark patch.

         Her steps were slow and deliberate as she made her way to them. She and Husam dragged Chakor's body across the snow to an area under the trees they cleared of snow. She wouldn't allow him to carry her daughters. That was a mother's duty.

         They were mostly unmarked. A few scratches here and there, but no major injuries. Behara's head lay at an odd angle and Sulina thanked the gods the child had not suffered a slow, suffocating death. Malinora had been ripped from her father's back and taken the farthest down slope, almost to the bottom.

         Sulina kissed the perfect little face, frozen and blue-tinged from its icy entombment. Almost a tear dripped from her eye, but she refused to cry. She moved to Behara, smoothing the silky soft hair from her face before kissing her goodbye. They lay on either side of Chakor, his arms protecting them in death as they had in life.

         Sulina stared at the three of them nestled together, committing the scene to memory. She laid the first stone on Chakor's chest.

         The sunlight was slanting across the mountain by the time they finished. Sulina's hands were filthy and her back ached from the strain of lifting heavy boulders, but she was satisfied with their efforts. No animals would disturb her family under the huge pile of stones. The burial mound lay at the base of the stunted pine and looked natural enough to blend in with the other boulders.

         "It is time to leave to go join the fight," Husam said. "You will meet the rest of the Swords. Are you ready to leave your old life behind?"

         "I've already given my answer, Master."

         "But with another goal in mind than bringing justice to the land, no?"

         His gaze speared her. She felt ashamed, although she could not have said exactly why.

         "I cannot let you join us unless you promise not to seek your own death."

         She opened her mouth to say she could make no such promise, but Husam held his hand up to stop her. "Do not answer me yet. Think deeply on this. Search through the darkness of your grief for the light."

         She left Husam and walked to the spot where her family had last stood together. She brought all the details of that day to the surface, the smell of fresh pine, the frosty air stinging her nostrils. Chakor's deep voice, rumbling to Beha, and the child's small sweet one in reply. Malinora's smooth-skinned cheeks, slightly reddened from the cold.

         Wrapping herself in memories, she let the tears come.

         A sound from her right. She turned. There, in the space between the trees stood an eight-point buck with a notched ear. A movement behind him, and another buck and two fawns stepped from the trees.

         Her breath stopped. The two fawns stepped toward her, stopping within ten paces of where she stood.

         Sulina's gaze flicked to the second buck. There was something in his eyes. For a moment, she had a strange notion he might speak. Then he snorted, and the smaller of the fawns startled and trotted back to him.

         The larger fawn took a step closer, stretching her neck to sniff towards Sulina. It blinked; so did she. The world around her stilled, the quiet intense.

         Turning her gaze towards the heavens, she saw the light of the evening star glimmering against the darkening eastern sky. She had not been the first to suffer a tragedy; she would not be the last.

         Behara, for all that she had seen, had still retained a wish for beauty and justice, begging Chakor that day to not kill the buck.

         Sulina couldn't save her family. But she could try to help others from being torn from theirs. She knew what Behara would choose.

         Peace slowly crept over her. Her tears stopped. 

         She took her memories and her love for her family and formed it all into a tight ball. With a sigh that was almost a sob, she released it to the heavens.

         Sulina stretched out her hand. The fawn sniffed closer, its nostrils flaring with its breath. Almost, it touched her. "I'll hold you in my heart always," she whispered. "Now, go."

         The fawn hesitated, then turned and bounded back to the buck. They gathered together, the three of them, and stared at her.

         Sulina wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned back to where Husam waited.

         She took a step away. And then another.

 

Copyright 2008, Pam L. Wallace

Cover: "The Appeal"

A memory is a haunting refrain that time cannot erase.

Copyright 2008, Marge Simon

Marge Ballif Simon freelances as a writer-poet-illustrator for genre and mainstream publications such as Strange Horizons, Flashquake, Story House, Vestal Review, Flash Me Magazine, The Pedestal Magazine, Dreams & Nightmares, The Fortean Bureau, Flesh & Blood, Tales of the Unanticipated, The Magazine of Speculative Poetry, and the anthologies, High Fantastic and Nebula Anthology 32. She edits a column for the HWA Newsletter, "Blood & Spades: Poets of the Dark Side." She is the editor of Star*Line, Digest of the SF Poetry Association.