Brothers of The Wood 3 by Darrell Goza

WRITTEN WORDS Text Novel #5 - Brothers of the Wood #3

Part Three: The Conclusion

COVER.........................................David McClain, and Darrell Goza STORY...............................................................Mark Wayne Harris EDITS.............................Fenwick ThaddeusFord and Darrell Goza

Imagine worlds beyond imagination. Imagine worlds where science and magic hold equal importance. Imagine a world where anything can, and does happen. This is the world of written fiction. It differs from illustrated stories that limit the imagination because what a reader thinks is always larger and more wondrous than what can be drawn. This isn’t to say there aren’t some truly gifted illustrators out there, there are, but the imagination has always been more expansive than hands have been able to illustrate. It’s been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. That’s only if words fail you. A gifted wordsmith can craft an image uninhibited by the two dimensional and flat surface of a piece of paper.

The mind is the greatest canvas ever and if the words are true and vibrant, the imagination is all that’s necessary. If you’re a writer, write. Write often and write well. If you do it enough, and read enough to understand what those before Sneak Peek at TN, Issue 6 cover you have done, you’ll get the hang of it and develop a voice of your own. It’s when you’re self expressing and not just executing a series of plot devices and tricks of the trade that you’ll be a great writer. These ‘Text Novels’ are one of many starting points. My hope is that you’ll just take on the task of writing. Writing well comes with time and practice. Practice here, and let your words not just be seen and read, but felt. Imagine that, you, a writer. Every writer has a start point. College, writing classes, books like this. With the advent of the web it’s never been easier. Getting published is still hard but doing the work isn’t. It’s the love of the words that fuel the truly great writers. Sometimes it’s the need to get the words out from that ‘deep’ place where it boils like an itch that just can’t be scratched until you see it in front of you, in bold black and white. Sometimes it’s just you daydreaming about a world beyond imagination... Zine On! Fenwick ‘The Fenth’ Thaddeusford

The cutting edge of Roth Ironstone’s blade sparkled in the sunlight, razor sharp; its wielder prepared to bring it down upon the helpless Blackmar of The Wood, who clung by straining fingers to the rocks of a cliff. Yet, even in so dire a situation, Blackmar’s face was stern and he stared his massive foe unblinkingly in the eyes. He momentarily considered letting go and dropping to a grisly death on the rocks below, but that was the way of those poor in spirit, weak in heart. Code dictates that warriors die a certain way, by a hand other than their own. He spoke, and his voice was like the flow of a river. “Well, be about it. Prolonging it won’t make the victory any sweeter.” Roth Ironstone smiled, lips stretching beneath his crimson beard. He lowered the blade to Blackmar’s hand as if offering it to lift the Woodsman up. Blackmar made no move to grasp it, he merely kept his burning eyes fixed on the giant barbarian. “So, Blackmar of The Wood is all Roth heard, he is. Good man. Worthy of Ranesmen’s aid.” Blackmar’s left eyebrow cocked in curiosity. Roth backed up from the cliff-edge and dropped his sword to the ground. Blackmar climbed up carefully, avoiding loose rocks.

“He speaks the truth,” Solomon Greyman injected, causing Blackmar to remember he was present. Blackmar strode to him, keeping a watchful eye on Ironstone.

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“You’re no Ranesman,” he said, standing. “The Ranesman with red hair and whey-white skin has yet to be born.”

“I should trust the word of a man who would sit by and watch me slain?” Blackmar shot. “I knew he wasn’t going to kill you.” “How?” Greyman hesitated. “I just knew,” he said evenly. Blackmar stood in silence. He then moved to pick up the gear that Roth Ironstone had not kicked over the cliff when he came upon them. “I’m going on alone.” He turned to do so when Greyman’s tapesry fingered hand fell on his shoulder. “Before you do, may I ask you a question?” The Woodsman stood waiting. “Your hawk Io-dar was circling overhead after he warned you of Ironstone’s approach. You could have mentally summoned him from the sky to distract Ironstone, thereby giving joy a chance to defeat him. But you didn’t. Why?” Blackmar remained silent. “I’ll answer for you. Your honor demands you battle a single foe one toone, unaided. Therefore, you didn’t really want help, even from me. We must then conclude, you asked me for help and are now attempting to leave me behind to, one, see how I would aid you if I did at all, and two, because you suspect my involvement in this whole event goes deeper than three weeks of friendship. You’re a perceptive man, Blackmar, and you seek to add substance to your suspicions.” Blackmar’s expression remained non-existent, but he smiled mentally. The minstrel saw right through him. Despite his attempts not to, he was slowly gaining more and more respect for the mysterious man. He somehow knew Greyman was much more than he seemed. But trust was another matter entirely. “Who is your commanding officer?” he said to the gigantic Ironstone. “Wil Bayerson, he who is called the LightBringer.”

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“Take us to him.” Greyman picked up his bag and followed Roth, Blackmar taking up the rear. The knawing twitch of familiarity stung him as he saw Greyman’s spear wrapped in the minstrel’s slender fingers. He re-surpressed the urge to inquire and continued on. Greyman noticed his reaction, and an evil grin curled the corner of his mouth. Four hours later, Blackmar and company arrived in the Ranes, a flat grassland plain surrounded by dense jungle, surrounding it in a near-perfect oval. The skies were darkened by a near-impenetrable overcast that made night come early. Wil Bayerson’s army was camped near the northern rim of the Ranes, the commander and his guests seated in a torch lighted tent hovering over a map of Oaria.

Wil Bayerson the LightBringer was a solidly-built man in his late forties, his hair grey at the temples. But he was still a master swordsman, and his war skills were legendary. The Ranes had never come close to being conquered while under his leadership. He pointed to a mountainous section on the map, just behind Caladaan. “You should take your men through here, Blackmar. I and the rest of the crew will launch a frontal assault. Your band should be relatively unnoticed, after we make sure your brother’s captor knows we are coming. You should be able to rescue Stormer and get out. How does that sound to you?” “Almost perfect,” Blackmar said. “There’s no way we can get to the rear of Caladaan and through that surely-guarded mountain pass in what I judge to be a sufficient amount of time.” “Aye, I agree. That is far too many miles, anything can happen to an army in that time, you could lose a third of your men by Jerron knows how many different terrors, the lands about Caladaan are haunted and soaked with sorcery.” “And that, LightBringer, may be a blessing.” All eyes turned to see the wizard Dahl stride into the crowd about the table. “Sorcery will save you time, as it will save your brother’s life.” “Please elaborate,” Blackmar said, his intense interest apparent. “So I shall. All of you have heard of the DreamTunnels of Bathaar-ka Sha’ar?” All nodded. “We of sorcerous experience may sometimes manipulate the ‘Tunnel’s myriad phenomena to suit special purposes. I shall accompany the expedition to the opening of the ‘Tunnel, perform a time alteration spell, we shall ride through and emerge a full day from when we left.” All remained silent for a full minute, glancing at each other in a variety of feelings. Blackmar eventually broke the silence. “You are saying we will emerge from the ‘Tunnel...yesterday? We shall gain a full day’s time?” he said, doubting he understood fully. “Aye, Woodsman.” “Well then why can’t you push the days back half a month before this whole damned thing started?” “Two reasons. One, the energy required for me to shift the time stream that far back could disrupt the whole stream of the planet. Secondly, I expect some force would inhibit or prevent me in full, since the gods lay out our destinies quite specifically and precisely. Your destiny is intertwined in the fate of the whole world of Oaria, your brother also.” “I can say no more.” “Then let us prepare,” Wil broke in. “Are you ready, Blackmar?

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“I don’t follow you. You speak of destiny...”

“Even if I had no eyes to see and no legs to walk,” he said. Bayerson chuckled. “That’s a little extreme, my friend.” He laughed again. “I...heh...I guess that means ‘yes’.” And they went to armor them selves. “One question, Wil.” The LightBringer’s face asked the question ‘what?’ “Is Roth Ironstone a native Ranesman?” “No, but he was abandoned by his parents here in our land, so we raised him as one of us. It was under my order. Good men are supposed to do such things, aren’t they? Besides, he’s a very capable fighter with both weapons and hand to hand. One of the hardest hitters I can truthfully say I know of.” Blackmar rubbed his jaw and winced. “I, also.” And though he was serious, Wil Bayerson burst into a mirthful laugh, much to Blackmar’s irritation. Stormer’s dead body did not turn cold, for the ever-rising heat in castle Caladaan warmed it. If he were still amongst the living, he would have seen an escaped slave from the torture chambers below, lost and confused, wander into his death chamber. She began to retreat from it, but past tales Or a handsome, white-armored warrior sprang into her mind, and she then recalled the statues of the two Wood brothers that stood in her village. She touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. The girl’s heart sank. She found none. He was dead. She wept. Tears streamed her young face, and her cupped hand captured their crystal beauty. Crying still, she parted Stormer’s chapped lips and poured two drops into his mouth. She placed her hands on his chest, at first reluctant to put her hands on the livid scar tissue that the evil Black King’s spell had burned into him, stealing his life. The woman began to chant, under her breath at first letting only her lips form the words. The chant then became audible. The middle-aged woman continued to weep, letting her tears fall on the Woodsman’s chest. They puffed into steam as they touched his skin. The scar began to fade, to heal. The old woman grasped her heart, screamed, and fell beside him. Her withered lips kissed his cheek. She muttered a word. “Yrubretnac.” It was translated from Iankanian meaning ‘live’.

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And he did. His eyelids flickered. His fingers twitched. He arose in the heat, feeling no sign of injury, fatigue, or weakness. He understood none of what had transpired or why. He looked down at the old-woman-who-was-once-a

girl. His eyes then went to his chest, now unmarked and uninjured, and he understood. She was an Empath. And then it was he who wept for her. He lifted her frail body in his arms and carried her to the door, refusing to make his escape without it, without giving her a proper burial. He moved to the door. A heavy blow of battering ram force fell upon it, and it cracked. A hand reached in as Stormer backed up, knowing he was weaponless. The door came open and a loved and muchfamiliar face smiled upon him. “Stormer! Serron’s Praise, I thought you were dead!” Stormer smiled back, with his face aching from the effort, heart threatening to burst with joy. Only a single word could form on his mouth. “Blackmar!” “Aye. What has happened? Who is that woman?” “I know not, but it is my suspicion she gave her life so I might live again, for I had joined our creator, Blackmar!” Blackmar scratched his mustache. “How do you feel?” Stormer thought. “As if I possess the strength of three men, I think.” The wizard Dahl stuck his head inside the chamber. He smiled to himself. “Ah, destiny...fate...” he thought. He laughed mentally, knowing that Blackmar and Stormer were totally unaware of their manipulation by the gods. It was destined that Stormer and Blackmar die together, and he dearly wished to tell them this and a great many other things. But he could not. Such was a fate for him as well. Wil Bayerson entered the hall now, covered in blood, some of which was his own. “I see you fare well my friend!” he said heartily. “Aye, thankfully,” Stormer replied. “But what is going on? You are in battle? I hear nothing outside.” “Odd, that. Ah, well. It would seem our plan worked, Blackmar.”

There was a rumble. There was light. “Be at ease, my children,” an ominous voice said, booming throughout the room. A figure entered. Stormer’s mouth dropped in astonishment.

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“So it did.” Bayerson ordered some of his accompanying men to remove the old woman from Stormer. He then rushed to Blackmar and the two embraced

“Greyman! What’s happened to you?” Greyman, no longer Greyman, smiled upon Stormer. He now glowed with the full glory of the god he was. “Come,” he said. “There is much to do.” Blackmar, called The Brave, and Solomon Greyman stood outside the great meeting tent, watching the gathering band of soldiers prepare for the ride through the DreamTunnels of Bathaar-ka-Sha’ar. He regarded his friend. “Do you know what will happen during the battle, Greyman? How the conflict will end?” he said, hopefully. “What makes you say that? How should I know?” Blackmar sighed. “I grow weary of these games, minstrel.” Greyman looked deep into the Woodsman’s coppery eyes. “All will be revealed soon, worry not,” he said with emotion. He mounted Stormer’s steed Rimeduster, Blackmar mounted Ivanstaff, his hawk Io-dar perched on his shoulder. At the head of the masses, Wil Bayerson raised his glowing blade, LightBringer, and signaled the army to ride. “To Caladaan! We ride!” And they did. The war was begun. The army waited, quite impatiently, as the wizard Dahl shouted and waved his hands before the entrance to the Dream Tunnels for a period of six hours. While their enthusiasm to war had not diminished much, they were growing tired with boredom, Finally, his face drained of color, Dahl turned. “Let us ride,” he gasped. And they did. Bayerson led the way, his blade filling the caverns fully, for the walls, floor, and ceiling were like featureless polished glass, and was yet not slippery. Wonder filled them as they rode.

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And then it began.

The sensation was a dim vibration at first. Then it increased until their teeth rattled. All knew what was happening. They were being wrenched backward

through time. Then the images started, making no sense to any. They coated the mirror-slick walls and detached, swirling about their heads. “Notrealnotrealnotrealnotreal.” Blackmar thought as he grasped his head. “Nononononononononononononooooooooooo!!” A Ranesman screamed. Then a light-negating blackness fell, and only the spirits of the dead remained visible, illuminated with ethereal light. “mothermothermothermothermothermother!” another screamed, and fell from his horse, trampled by the others. mysonmysonmysonmysonmyson shouted Dahl, holding onto his sanity. But it was slipping. He could no longer keep the words from his mouth. “Devildevildevildevil...” “deathdeathdeathdeath…” “magicmagicmagicmagic...” “Help!” they all screamed. Wil Bayerson poured into a hole like fluid, he grew from the ground like a tree, was torn apart and eroded like soil. He concentrated, willing LightBringer to shine brighter and counter magic as was its gift. He whirled it about his head. “Let the light come!” he forced out through his constricting throat. And the light came. They emerged from the Dream Tunnels of Bathaar-ka-Sha’ar. The sun had shifted position. Wil Bayerson led the troops down the hill and rode full speed for Castle Caladaan, which loomed less than two miles away. Blackmar turned to Greyman. “You are coming with me,” he asked. Greyman nodded. It was a noble nod. It was a graceful nod. “We’ll give them an hour.” the Woodsman murmured, staring at the minstrel curiously. Something was different about him. His posture atop Stormer’s steed, a steed that would allow no one but Stormer to ride him before Greyman tried, was much improved. It was... Blackmar couldn’t put his finger on it.

“...did he do that? Who is he? Be ready, my child, the truth shall now be known to YOU…”

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“It was as if you were in the presence of someone not of this earth we stand on, not of this air we breathe,” the minstrel said, as if he read Blackmar’s thoughts. Blackmar flared with shock. He thought, “How…”

Tho demon-things of Caladaan streamed out of the castle on their bat-like animals, flying down and attacking the Ranesmen. In minutes a full-scale war was on. Wil Bayorson could not be touched. With the massive Roth Ironstone protecting his flank with a gigantic axe, Bayerson swung his glowing blade with inhuman skill and speed. At one point a Jetwing, the animals they rode in attacking the Ranesmen, descended upon him. Blackmar moved to call him, but he had no time to help. But it was unnecessary. Wil hurled LightBringer, cleaving the huge animal in two. As if snatched by a band of rubber, it sprang back into hi& hand. Blackmar was speech less, for he had never seen the sword do that before. “Behold,” Greyman whispered. “There rages a war below us, but that is good…’ “Good?” “Aye. For a war is a thing of natural order, part of the balance of good and evil. But one who doesn’t belong leads the enemy. His time upon this world has ended. He should not be here. And neither should I.” “Why?” “I am a god, just as he. I am here only because he is here. The balance requires near equality between forces. He is a former master of light and magic. He is evil. I am Anthara’a. I am good.” “The Moongod! Or at least another aspect of him. It was you who... who captured and imprisoned the Evil One when he first appeared!” “Indeed, but it shall not be me who destroys him. It shall be... Ah, but always, always I say too much. Come.” His slender hand touched Blackmar’s brow, and his guts turned inside out. His vision blurred, and when it cleared he and Anthara’a stood within the lower halls of Caladaan. “Your brother lies dead in a hall two stories from here, this tower. Go to him, and grieve not, he shall be alive when you reach him.” “You confuse me. Tell me plainly, does he live or is he slain?”

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“Beware when you arrive there, Blackmar,” the Moongod said, ignoring him. “There is a giant bull that seeks to stop any with the purpose of saving Stormer. I must go now, but I shall return within the quarter-hour, having rested and stored my strength during that time. Farewell...” And he vanished. Blackmar snapped from his shock and darted for the stairs. The giant bull roared as Blackmar reached the top. It’s shoulders were two full feet over the Woodsman’s head. Blackmar drew his sword and ordered Iodar to distract him. Io-dar did this, but the bull seemed not to notice him and thrusted its great horns at Blackmar. His reflexes sharp, Blackmar dodged and ran past it. It was something he shouldn’t have done, for now the bull blocked the only exit save the window. Blackmar flashed a thought to his bird and the hawk made its escape, leaving Blackmar to face the slavering monstrosity.

Alone. Io-dar soared down and landed atop Bayerson’s shoulder. The moment their eyes met, his mind was filled with an image of Blackmar pinned to the floor, about to be ripped open by a giant bull’s horns. He gasped, fended an attack, and rode straight for the castle. He dismounted, entered, running up the staircase. His image was true. He screamed and hurled the brilliant LightBringer. The bull howled, its head lopped off. Bayerson lifted Blackmar up. Blackmar pointed to the door. “Strike it!” he ordered. And he did. The enchanted door could not stand against the blow (though it was already open). Blackmar reached his hand inside. He opened the door and stopped. He couldn’t believe what he saw, Stormer stood there in tattered rags of his uniform, holding an aged and apparently deceased woman in his arms. “Stormer!” he shouted. “Serron’s Praise, I thought you were dead!” He then broke into a mirthful smile, Stormer smiling back. He looked speech less for a moment, then shouted. “Blackmar!” “Aye, ‘what has happened?” he said, looking about inside the room. “Who is that woman?” “I know not,” Stormer whispered, looking at her. “But it is my suspicion she gave her life so I might live again for I had joined our creator, Blackmar.” Blackmar’s hand rose to his mustache characteristically, for he pondered Anthara’a’s words and now understood them. “How do you feel?” he asked Stormer. “As if I possess the strength of three men, I think,” he said after a moment of thought. It was then that the wizard Dahl, all but forgotten by Blackmar, stuck his head inside the chamber. He smiled mentally. “Ah, destiny...fate...” he thought to himself. He laughed internally, knowing that the two Woodsmen were totally unaware of their manipulation by the gods. It was destined that Stormer and Blackmar die together, and he dearly wished to tell them this and a great many other things. But he could not. Such was a fate for him as well. Wil Bayerson entered now, covered in blood, both his and that of the Bull. “I see you fare well, my friend!” he said heartily.

Bayerson cocked an ear. “Odd, that. Ah, well. It would seem our plan worked, Blackmar.”

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“Aye, thankfully,” Stormer answered. “But what is going on? Who are in battle? I hear nothing outside,” he said, ears straining for he knew Bayerson’s men could only be fighting the Evil One’s Shades even now.

“So it did.” Bayerson ordered some of his accompanying men, that had followed mere minutes behind him, to remove the old woman from Stormer. He smiled as Stormer rushed to Blackmar and the two brothers embraced. There was a rumble. There was light. “Be at ease, my children,” an ominous voice said, booming throughout the room. A figure entered. Stormer’s mouth dropped in shock. “Greyman! What’s happened to you?” Anthara’a smiled upon Stormer. “Come, there is much to do.” They followed him up another flight of stairs and through winding halls to the Master’s throne room. he handed Stormer the hooded spear. He then gestured and the door ceased to exist, smashed in a bolt of energy. They entered, the Black King there. He turned in astonishment, recognizing the Moongod. He shouted a spell. Blackmar and Bayerson, ahead of Anthara’a, were struck and fell unconscious. Stormer, seeing his brother downed, went against the Moongod’s orders to remain outside until called. He was blasted also. The Evil One gestured again, blowing the roof of the castle completely off. The sky erupted with energy to feed him, and a sorcerous battle of impossible magnitude began Stormer roused painfully, not knowing how long he had been unconscious. His eyes hurt with the light surrounding the warring gods. Stormer began to crawl for his sword, but a telepathic call struck him and stayed his hand from it. NO! The spear! Stormer grasped his head. What should he do with it against such power? Hurl it! Hard!! “Where?” he mumbled. “Which is which?” His mind refused to clear. THROW IT!! “Weak...”

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NOW!!! Stormer forced himself to his feet. He went to the door, grasped the spear and tore the hood off. The head of it glowed like a sun. Stormer was hypnotized by it, and he somehow knew it was Blackmar’s life-force, a piece of his soul that made it so empowered. He wheeled, and threw it with the returning strength of three men. It streamed into the heart of the light, and a scream answered his throw.

The light broke. The moongod was upon the floor, scorched but alive. The Evil One was howling, his skin turning black like ash as the life force entered through the speak stuck in his chest and he could do nothing as Blackmar’s soul purried his. He tried to-screech once more but it was too late. Naught but a pile of black ash and a now-normal spear remained. “It is done,” he said, walking to the Moongod. Anthara’a rose and stood before the again-weary Stormer. “Before I leave, I would like to answer your questions, Stormer.” The woodsman thought for a moment. “Was that really Blackmar’s soul in the head of that spear?” “A piece.” “Are Blackmar and Wil alive?” “Yes.” “Then you may go. I don’t think I wish to know any more than this.” “So be it my son. I now leave. I wish I could give you and your brother something, but two gifts from me are enough. Io-dar and Froster will suffice.” Stormer smiled. Somehow he knew. Anthara’a vanished. Stormer moved to check Blackmar as the Ranesmen entered the room, shouting that all the Shades had vanished. Stormer looked up at the stars. “So. The adventure is over, and a great many things have changed.” And in his warriors heart, he was just the slightest bit sorry that it was over.

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The End

In 1976, lightning struck in the form of magazine sized ScriptGraphics #1. It contained a story about a Rhodes Scholar who was given the power of the stars called Quasar. In 1985, lightning struck again as that very first Quasar story was re-released in digest format. This time the release was different. He wasn’t alone. Four other galactic entities joined him in combating the greatest threat know to the universe.The books were an instant hit as the story was completed for the very first time. It’s been nearly twenty years since those books were done and now they’re back. Originally designed for print, they’ll be brought back in the order of their original appearances with re-designed packaging. The lettering has been re-purposed to take advantage of the new digital technologies and the art, where necessary, has been completely re-drawn by some of the greatest talent in the fan/pro arena.

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The Destiny Squad Returns

2011

Finding those who donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want to be found...

...can kill you.