Radiance After Dusk

In the winds of the far shores, howls are heard once more.

Silent as death and gold as life, they sever the thread between you and I.

~

The sun rose punishingly early, yet this time of year was always her favourite. These mornings felt soft in their haze, gentle as the breeze that made the trees sing and warm as the light that seeped into the earth itself. Father was already up, no doubt preparing to leave again. The crackling of an early morning fire and his quiet footsteps carried through the little cabin. Soon, he’d come to wake her, bidding farewell before leaving her to imaginative solitude. By the time the season turned, however, he’d finally let her come along to his hunts, at least. She’d be his little shadow, watching him as she always did with endless curiosity.

She sat up on her cot, feet dangling over the edge, and stretched her arms far above her head with a leisurely sigh. Clear dreams last night—today was bound to be fine.

The window caught her eye as it always did, still frost-kissed with the cold of another early rise. She loved this view. Their cabin, situated at the treeline of the great Arkatzan forest, overlooked a sweeping landscape below. Green, rolling hills dotted with trees and adorned by wildflowers stretched far into the horizon. Where the forest stood intimidating and entirely uninviting, the view from this window was more than a dream. She often spent her time running through its fields chasing rabbits, lounging lazily under an emerald-leaved tree with one of Father’s whistled tunes on her lips and a well-worn book on her lap, or swimming in one of the many meandering creeks until the chill pricked her skin. Anything that made the sun shift westward, so that Father would come back home.

It was entrancing, and in the distance she could see thin columns of white smoke curling up through the air—the small town of Utzara, about a half day’s ride away. Father never let her come along when he visited, and he never let her ask about it either. She had her suspicions, but Father got quiet when her questions strayed. He would withdraw; present, yet absent—like a statue without a face. Her thoughts continued their drift, coasting through the currents of imagination. They always seemed to wander toward the distant town with a longing rooted deep in her chest. What would it be like to hear different voices, unfamiliar footsteps, smell another’s perfume, meet unknown eyes? She read so much about others in her books. Stories of heroes and villains, of monsters and marvels. The fables and storytellings of ‘true’ events, the advent of gods, the ways of living that couldn’t truly be alien, yet felt undeniably so. They were her one true company, carrying her through the hours that piled up day after day.

A jolt coursed through her as footsteps approached the door. She whirled around, eyes closing as she pulled the blanket around her and plopped down on the bed.

“Eidy?” A voice already rough with exhaustion called out, accompanied by a knock on the door.

With a turn of the handle, Father entered the room. Eider turned over on the bed, feigning sleepy indignation with a huff.

“Come on, love, don’t start doing this to me every time,” he murmured as he approached her side, a hand combing through her curls with a tenderness that nearly made her rescind her attitude. Instead, she curled up further, hiding her face in the folds of her blanket.

“It’s a short one,” he murmured. “A few days, at most. There’s rabbit stew on the fire, fresh firewood and kindling out back, and the dryn’s almost in bloom.” He brushed a curl behind her ear, coaxing her into facing him, though her eyes stayed stubbornly shut. “If you went with me, you’d miss their bloom.”

“If you didn’t go, you’d be here with me, and we’d watch them bloom together,” Eider replied, meeting his eyes. “You’re never here anymore.” Her voice shrank as her throat tightened around the words. “It’s so quiet when you’re away.”

She watched the frown on Father’s austere face deepen, the steel in his eyes clouding them further. In the silence that followed, she twisted away from him, hands locked tightly around her knees, face tucked against them.

Father sighed softly against her shoulder, and the feeling sharpened within her. His hand stalled on her cheek, then fell away entirely. Eider could feel his gaze on her, a heavy thing—difficult to break away from. Yet she remained as she was. Then, at last, he rose, the sound of his retreat almost cracking her resolve to keep her anger.

“Remember, stay close to the cabin,” Father said quietly, exhaustion a touch more severe in his tone. “There’s a new book on the table waiting for you—I thought it was time for something more mature. I’ll discuss it with you when I get back.” After a hesitant pause, he murmured, “Be smart, Eidy.” The words were soft as they were edged with caution.

She could feel the wave of frustration roll over her, pinning her in place, body close to trembling with the severity of the emotion. She kept her stormy silence as the noise of her father’s movements and the echo of his voice melted into birdsong and the crickets’ call.

The minutes passed in abundance, and eventually Eider’s tears dried, replaced by the familiar pinch of a late morning. She didn’t bother dressing as her bare feet padded across the smooth, well-worn boards; past Father’s locked door, across from her own. After all, there was no one left to tell her to—one of the few gifts of solitude. Days without Father passed without structure, and Eider floated between them on a river of boredom and excessive freedom. Father had, of course, left her lessons to continue with. ‘The studies every lady should hope to have,’ he’d say. The boring, stifling lessons left her feeling somehow more abandoned than before, as if such boredom left her exposed to a loneliness that was quick to grow and cling. She would suffer them—she wouldn’t disappoint him now, not so close to being granted more world—and she would hate them.

The cabin was a small thing. Beyond the threshold of her doorway lay the central room, outfitted with a hearth, scarce but quality furnishings, and shelves stocked with books, dried meats, jams, trinkets, and relics from a past that silenced Father. Herbs hung from the ceiling. An aromatic scent of spices, mixed florals, and woodsmoke lingered in the air. The sun sifted through softly shifting curtains, and a breeze that held onto its morning chill kissed Eider’s skin as she made her way to the rabbit stew, pouring herself a hearty bowl that steamed against her face.

As she sat to break fast for the day, she reached over the table and picked up the promised book, appraising the cover with an attentive eye. It was a large thing—something to be picked up with both hands. The cover was half white, half black, vertically split down the middle by a flaming golden sword. It was pretty, with intricate embossed patterns that spilled across its surface like scattered gold. With an odd reverence, she turned the cover, revealing the title: ’Valkareon Empire: Tales and Histories (11th Edition).’

At that, a bloom of excitement electrified her mood. It did not appear to be a children’s fairytale, nor an encumbering scientific text. History—stories born of truth and consequence. It was as if a door Father kept under lock and key had cracked open.

Stew abandoned, she grasped the book, hands clammy in anticipation, and settled herself onto her beloved chair—an old, ramshackle thing that, despite its state, could never be discarded. It had been her mother’s chair, and Father would never let her sit there, saying it wasn’t right. She didn’t forget the look on his face when his gaze strayed to her hair as he’d say that. Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she flipped through to the first page of the great book, revealing a sizable, detailed map. Large golden letters at the top of the page read “Valkareon Empire”.

Familiar names were finally in context, sitting above their golden marks, and she drank it in with wide eyes. She searched for Utzara, the only town she could definitely place. Her finger trailed along rivers and mountain ridges, up and up to nearly the northernmost point of the map, until it landed on the small letters that spelled out her closest connection to civilization. According to this map, they lived far North, in the Eastern Territory of the Empire. Eider’s eyes continued to roam the map, starving curiosity at last beginning to be sated, losing herself to a world finally revealed to her.

Eventually, with another turn of the page, she reached the introduction, which read:

“The Valkareon (Valkan) Empire. From the blood-soaked soil of The Cradle to the frozen shores of southern Kovira, the empire looms over all, controlling over a quarter of Irunkar’s lands and dominating politics and war alike. Founded in the 11th century by the Soul of Dawn, Izariel Arkivel, it has survived for over a millennium, enduring through the Age of Chaos (0AA-1250AA) and establishing the new world under its influence. Through blood, iron, fire, and opulence, the Valkan Empire outlives us all, ruling over darkness with radiance at its heel.”

She shifted in her chair, restless with excitement, as she learned about her world—a part of her history, in a way. Aside from the empire’s name and a few of the names on the map, the rest was almost entirely unfamiliar. She’d heard mentions of the Age of Chaos in her storybooks and hefty tomes, yet had never found what it actually entailed in the books Father so carefully selected. Her interest in it had only grown, fostered by the lack of answers. Sinking further into the aged cushions, Eider continued her dive.

The introductory chapter went on at quite some length about the greatness of the empire, the divinity of the Arkivel royal family, and the unity, security, and prosperity the empire brought to the lands it took over. Eider practically skimmed over it and onto the next chapter, uninterested in ego and inflated truths, letting her attention snag on the actually interesting. Magic that fed the world, myths within the foundations that supported the present, the Arkivel royal family and their shimmering golden hair, battles between gods of darkness and light, omen and blessing—all haunted by an age of madness and darkness. She read on, until she forgot the chirping of the birds outside and the heat that had begun to slick her skin.

The cramping in her wrists and a hunger that hollowed her stomach made her begrudgingly aware of the passage of time. The sun was high. Morning light that so prettily filtered through the cabin’s windows had long slipped away, leaving behind a room that felt a touch colder, a touch lonelier—even as afternoon heat made the linen of her nightgown cling uncomfortably. Groaning, Eider raised herself from her chair, unsteady legs prickling and numb, ready to tend to reality again.

The book was all she thought of as she fed the fire, warmed some stew, and ate with a distant gaze and furrowed brow. The thought returned with every spoonful: truth didn’t wander far from fairytales. She’d read through the very beginnings of the empire’s conception, in the mythical Age of Chaos where shadow-wreathed monsters were madness incarnate and blood and fire were life itself; to the turbulent years of its middle-age, where nobility and religion clashed as the Order fell and noble houses tore at each other for power. Much to her displeasure, the book had little on the Age of Chaos—the author himself dismissed any evidence, and spoke of it as mere myth and exaggeration.

There was, however, much about the teachings of the Ascendants of Serathiel. That was the part that troubled her the most.

She stared at her reflection on the silver spoon, at the hair that framed her face and curled loosely as it rested on tense shoulders. She’d never heard of Ascendancy. According to the book, Ascendancy was the empire’s primary religion—a fact that had made Eider’s brow immediately furrow. Religion had never seemed that important to her. She’d assumed it was so for most, aside from the occasional devotee. She’d never seen Father pray, never given much thought to sanctity or condemnation nor blessings from Gods. It was hard to imagine religion controlling society as the book suggested it did.

From what she discerned, Ascendancy claimed purity through light—worshipping light as radiance and condemning darkness as aberration. Serathiel’s blessing was said to flow through the veins of the pure; those with the strongest link to Serathiel’s embrace and His five ‘Expressions’ were those born with a ‘crown of radiance’ upon their heads, exalted divine in the eyes of the Ascendants. A ‘crown of darkness’ was considered a curse, a blight upon a family, a burden on everyone else. The darker the ‘crown’ was, the weaker the link to His embrace, their innate corruption visible to all from birth.

Eider had looked at her reflection then, eyes narrowed as they’d passed over the fall of her hair, something Father had seemed fixated on occasionally. As her attention returned to the pages, realisation had slowly sunk through her ribs. If the book was right, was she accursed?

Now, she mulled over that truth. She turned the spoon over, then again, twisting it between restive fingers as her reflection spun into black and silver. This wouldn’t do.

The spoon landed forcefully as Eider rose from the table, quickly reaching for her pair of worn boots with the book tucked underarm. Her nightgown danced around her knees as she slipped them on, tying the laces with a frustrating lack of dexterity. In quick succession, she found herself outside, jogging through fields of tall, lashing grass and vibrant wildflowers, searching for adequate cover against the sun. The stray curls that occasionally bounced into her vision now confronted her, a crown of dark ink even as light shone through its strands.

A nearby tree seemed to offer enough protection from the glaring sun, and her course was set. As she ducked under its canopy, she dropped to the grass, splaying the book out on the ground, hands a flurry as they sifted through the pages. When she found what she was looking for, she sat back on earth-stained knees, her gaze a challenge to the offending text. The soil was dry under her palms as she closed her eyes the way the text instructed—the closer one was to nature, the easier it supposedly was to access His embrace. Then, a breath, deep and long; on the exhale, narrow focus to the space just above the shoulder blades, the center of the tether that links the blessed to His embrace. She waited, focused, brows furrowed in concentration.

The icy rush described in the text failed to course through her veins. Refusing the failure, she held her line as the murmur of grass revelling in the breeze faded and her breath came louder in her lungs. Still, her chest felt no colder, her mind no sharper, and her will eventually whittled away in the absence of proof. If Serathiel was real, He must not have blessed her. Frustration bled anew as she rubbed the dirt out of her hands.

Eider finally conceded her defeat, and flopped onto the ground with a discontented sigh, indifferent to the slanting rays that leaked through the leaves and patterned her face. Eyes closed, she let herself drift along her troubled thoughts once more.

Father knew she would read these pages, learn their claims. He knew the book would sow fear within her, that it would work to keep her away from those the book had claimed would curse her, deepening her isolation. And yet, what if they were not truths at all? It could be his attempt to see how much she blindly believed in him—in his words. Discerning truth from falsehood was a part of her education, was it not?

So much of the book appeared fantastical—the monsters that plagued the cursed Age of Chaos originated from the Eastern territory according to the book, but if they were truly such terrible, near immortal beings, where had they gone? The book spoke of no defeat, just disappearance, gone as mysteriously as they’d arrived. Father had never mentioned anything of the sort—she’d certainly never seen anything like what the book described. Some things did seem right, though. Her other books also mentioned the Age of Chaos, even if in infuriatingly vague detail, referring to it simply as an age of shadows—though never an age of monsters. So, at least some parts had to be true. There were too many similarities between stories for such a thing to be entirely fabricated.

Her eyes flicked open, wincing as the sun momentarily blinded her. Something about Father’s words had rung wrong when he’d left her this morning, but she’d paid little heed. Father had said to stay close to the cabin. He hadn’t needed to remind her of that rule for a long time now. His lessons carved themselves into memory—both of them knew that—and she hadn’t disappointed him in a while. So why give the reminder? Wasted words were not something Father indulged in.

At the thought, Eider sat up, eyes on the horizon, where the columns of smoke had once crowded the air.

An answer began to take shape, rough around the edges yet more convincing than that which she refused to accept. What if the task was maturity itself? She was at that age where Father could be expecting her to learn independence. Leaving the cabin and proving the lie could be the real task Father had left her.

A small smile grew at the thought. Did Father think it was time to end her isolation?

Then, as always, reason tugged at her, tensing her smile. Father always warned her she imagined beyond reality, beyond the realm of possibility. Her idea suddenly struck her as overly complex, sounding awfully like one of her better dreams. And yet, the book couldn’t be right. She wasn’t an omen.

Light had grown soft, golden in its curtain call as day began to wane into night. She’d been deep in thought, eyes on the horizon, hands idling in the grass as they plucked and tore at it absentmindedly. She knew she had to get back home, lest it became so dark that the potholed ground ambushed an unsuspecting ankle. With one last glance towards the horizon, she picked herself up, baneful book in hand, and began her walk home under a chorus of purple, pink, and orange.

Sunsets had always been prettier than sunrises to her, yet she still preferred sunrises. The cabin stood small against the towering pines that marked the edge of civilization and the bounds of raw nature. Foreboding as always—especially in the absence of the sun’s rays. Stories of shadowed monsters that drove men mad sat in the back of her mind like hot coals. The occasional hoot of an owl and the relentless crickets’ cries were her only company. She struggled to maintain a steady pace, animal instinct bristling in her veins, as she neared the cabin’s vegetable garden, throwing looks over her shoulder and scanning the treeline in quickening intervals. She knew the colours painting the sky were fast in losing their splendour. Yes, sunsets were prettier, but the nightfall that followed made it an uneven bargain in her eyes.

A snapping of twigs in the forest shattered her remaining nerve, and with a strangled cry she raced the remaining distance, heart fast and pounding in her ears, a tingling in her hands swiftly moistening her palms. The slam of the door behind her sounded like salvation itself, and she bolted and locked it tight in a rush of quivery panic. She spotted the windows she’d forgotten in her hurry, and chastised herself for it as she rushed to shut those too, closing the curtains with urgent finality. The need for barriers between her and the darkness in the trees pressed itself against her spine. She got to work on raising the fire once more, and it soon surged under her practiced hands. She relaxed a touch as the cabin was cast in flickering, dancing light, the forest’s noise drowning under a rising wind.

After a bit of strain, her mother’s chair sat before the fire, and she sank into its cushions as the stew grew hotter above the flames. Darkness had blanketed the sky by the time it warmed. The walls of the cabin complained as wind blew in increasingly savage gusts. Fire always offered her some entertainment as she ate, and she watched its flames perform for her—like figures dancing in an ashen ballroom. After tidying up and tending to minor chores, she returned to the chair, ready to continue reading in the sanctuary of the cabin. The excitement that had accompanied the first few chapters mellowed into wary interest—unease accompanying every turned page.

The wind picked up with growing agitation. It was not long before the distant roar of thunder accompanied its howl and lightning lit the cabin in flashes of cool light. It split the sky, bolts tearing through the dark, joining the symphony of the storm. Admittedly, it was frightening. Even so, Eider smiled as she heard the thunder, wonder-struck eyes occasionally jumping to a window as lightning spilled through the thin curtains. Her reading continued until the downpour began, heavy and relentless as it pelted on the wooden shingles of the groaning cabin. She set the book down with a sigh and jostled emotions, fingers tracing over the adorned cover. After feeding the fire one last time, she made her way to her room, candle in hand as she traversed a cabin that was now cavernous—entirely too large for night-bound solitude.

She slid between the unmade sheets with tired necessity, candle snuffed out, and closed her eyes.

Sleep failed to heed her call as the storm roared in her ears, the cacophony not nearly enough to drown out her thoughts. Ideas, plans, and frustrations fought each other as her sheets tangled around restless limbs. A world had been revealed to her, yet it disowned her before learning her name. Rejection clamped hard around the thought as it relentlessly clawed at her chest. She had to believe the text was inaccurate, embellished, fabricated. Yet, even then, too many things made sense in its truth.

Her eyes tracked the rain as it pattered against the window ceaselessly. Utzara lay beyond, undoubtedly bearing the same storm, chimney smoke lost to darkness and downpour. Utzara and its half day’s ride plagued her, tempting her like never before. Travel would take far longer afoot and on little legs, but she had faith in her chances. Father had shown her the trail that led to the village—a begrudging concession for emergencies, should anything happen to him. All that was left was taking the leap, trusting that hope would guide her well. The risk would be worth it—she would either be claimed by the world as any other, or be rejected by it. In both cases, she would have answers.

Night went on, the storm reluctantly passed, and she continued her rumination with mounting impatience.

By the time dawn lit the soaked earth, Eider stood at the door, boots laced tightly, satchel resting against her hip, hand barely hesitant on the doorknob as she slipped from the hold of her Father’s first rule.