The Tree of Life by Vaughn Heppner

Author:Vaughn Heppner [Heppner, Vaughn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2010-06-29T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The Fiery Stone

You were on the holy mount of God; you walked among the fiery stones. You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created till wickedness was found in you. ...So I drove you in disgrace from the mount of God, and I expelled you, O guardian cherub, from among the fiery stones.

-- Ezekiel 28:14-16

The trolock marched on the sunken cyclopean stones of the gray road. Pines swayed in the chilly darkness. For the past several hours, he’d trod beside shackled slaves, arrogant bene elohim, Shining Ones and Seraphs arrayed in armor. They were apparitions, for he felt no heat from them, no life force. Awe filled him. It was not a grand awe of wonder, excitement and pleasure. It was a grim awe of fear, trepidation and unworthiness. He neared something that wasn’t part of this world. The thing came from the Celestial Realm. That terrified him and slowed his stony tread. It made him think the unthinkable.

Should he wait to slay the desecrator? Wait until Tarag went away from this place? He didn’t like the idea. He had a duty to the Master. But painful memories now intruded on him.

Once, he had been Lord Skarpaler, of the Jomsbory Heights. His keep had been fashioned out of black granite, his barred gate from brass. Twenty villages had sent him their produce, while the herders of aurochs, yaks and mammoths had sent him their finest offspring. In his keep, the Black Fortress, he’d quartered a hundred stalwarts, each skilled in the use of javelin, spear and axe. Lords Irminsul, Askr and Iving had paid him homage. The Nameless One, the feared ruler of the Far North, had sent an emissary every year.

He remembered more, however, than just his former martial glory. He’d had three wives: red-haired Goni, with the laughing eyes, proud Kari—she’d given him fine children—and small, dark-haired Sharsti. She’d been his favorite. Her small, yearning body, her eagerness and passion.... He groaned for a lost love, a lost passion and a lost wife. Her tender lips would never again press against his. Never again would he feel the pressure of her warm skin. Never again would she whisper the promises that had stirred him so. She was lost, gone, vanished, forever beyond his reach.

He rumbled, “Let me forget the past, forget what I was. Let me be the trolock once more.”

The answer came then. He must flee this otherworldly power. He must march quickly from its influence. Only then, would he be the life-bane. Only then, would the painful memories fade.

As he turned away from the Valley of Dry Bones, he made a vow. As he now suffered, so would the First Born suffer. For the first time since his quickening, he was no longer just the trolock of his Master. He felt like a damned soul, trapped in an abomination of stone. He cursed his fate. He cursed the bene elohim. He had been Lord Skarpaler, a proud warrior, a determined noble of the North.

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