The Chronicles of Kale: Dawn of Retribution (Book 2) (23 page)

His words were soon answered by a low, steady hum. Kale glanced down to find the stone altar was lit by red, glowing symbols. Sudden whispers echoed in all directions, chanting foreign words that Kale couldn’t decipher. The rhythmic voices amplified until he felt a strong grip upon his ankle. A black armored hand tightly squeezed, causing great discomfort.

He jerked his foot, careful not to slip from the platform, but the hand would not free. Kale felt a shift beneath his boots and heard the familiar sound of crumbling stone. He was being pulled down against the platform, so forcefully, it was beginning to crack.

“Release me!” Kale yelled down to the hand. He used his opposite foot to kick against the black armor protecting the appendage.

Despite his efforts, the steel armor covering the hand proved tolerant to damage. As more stone crumbled away into the darkness, Kale knelt low and channeled intense heat into his right palm. He reached out and locked onto the gloved hand. Instantly, brightly glowing red veins coursed through Kale’s body as his own ability attacked him. He yelled out in pain as the burning sensation pulsed beneath his skin. He focused his energy to cool the temperatures and return his body to normal.

As Kale attempted to withdraw his arm, another armored hand shot out, pulling him down in place. His strength was no match, and his muscles soon ached in defeat.

“What do you want from me?” Kale questioned loudly with his head hung.

The armored hands pulled down with a sudden, forceful jolt, and the remaining stone gave out beneath Kale’s feet. Surrounding whispers grew loud as Kale plummeted down, the two tightly gripped hands still clamped against his skin. The sensation of falling this time was much different than the first time he had entered Pan’s realm through the tower. He descended at speeds far too fast to even speak, or to have control over his own movement. The wind pressed firmly into his face, causing his cheeks to ripple and stretch. He pinched his eyes shut to avoid the dry discomfort.

A new sensation began to cross his limbs as he realized the armored hands were now climbing their way up his body. Kale could do nothing but continue to drop as the
being
took control.

Metal tips from the gloved fingers pressed into Kale’s biceps, tearing into the top layers of flesh. He grunted loudly within his throat. Kale could sense a presence was now directly before his face—it felt as though his very soul was being violated. He could no longer fight his curiosity—he needed to know who was before him. He forced his eyes to part, just enough to see the deathly-looking skull, protected by a black, steel helmet.

Within two sunken eye sockets, glowed a faint red, much like the symbols he had earlier seen. Its jaw parted as the skull released a hissing sound.

Unable to speak, Kale silently eyed the skeletal figure. Black armor could faintly be seen, covering its entire body. There was a moment when their eyes met, and Kale felt as though his energy was being sucked away.

“Your time,” the skeletal figure spoke, “is now. . .”

Its eyes dimmed, and the pallid color of bone faded away until nothing but the shell of armor remained. Kale quickly found himself with nothing but the sight of darkness surrounding him.

He felt the steel armor push hard against him. The pressure intensified until he could no longer breathe. Kale knew at that moment that the armor was trying to enter his body. The taste of iron filled his mouth as warm blood poured from his lips. He coughed, releasing what little oxygen he held. Kale’s mind spun and his neck felt limp and weak. He couldn’t hold on much longer. His final thought, before everything faded away, was of him and Neelan, smiling happily together. A moment of peace swept over him before he drifted into a state of unconsciousness.

“Now that wasn’t bad, was it?”

It was Zasha’s voice.

Kale pinched his eyes and furrowed his brows. “Where am I?” He softly spoke.

“We’re done now, Kale. Zasha has somewhere she’d like to take us,” Thomas’ voice spoke.

Kale parted his eyelids to find himself knelt before the altar where they had prayed to Pan.

“Well, dear, stand up.” Zasha chuckled.

Kale rubbed his head.
Wait a moment . . .
he thought as he raised his sleeve to find there were no marks from where the skeletal figure had gripped.

“Are you all right?” Neelan knelt by his side, brushing a chunk of dark hair from his face.

Kale came to the realization that to them, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It was an experience shared only with him. His mind shifted to the sight of Neelan being beaten, and he immediately stood. He lifted her to her feet and wrapped his arms tightly around her body. Their warm bodies pressed snuggly against one another in a tight embrace. Kale broke from their hold and combed Neelan’s hair behind an ear. He leaned in close, until her warm breath caressed his lips.

“I will always protect you,” Kale’s words revealed certainty and confidence. He leaned down, allowing their lips to touch as he pulled her into his chest. At that moment, Kale cared not for those who stood near. He took his hand, and gently placed it upon the back of her head, locking her mouth with his.

When they finally broke the kiss, there was a sigh of relief from Illadar, who stood in awkward silence with Thomas and Zasha. They each attempted to remain uninterested, gazing around the room to distract from what had just occurred. Neelan was aware of their false behavior and knew they had seen everything. She looked down bashfully, allowing her hair to conceal the cherry-tint which stained her cheeks.

Thomas cleared his dry throat. “Thank you Zasha, for sharing your worship with us.” He attempted to shift the mood, taking notice to Neelan’s discomfort.

Before Zasha could respond, a light patter could be heard.

Dibble entered, carrying a silver device that softly clicked. He raised and inspected the item before silently nodding to himself.

“Food will be ready momentarily. Please join me in the garden.” Dibble motioned the group to follow.

Kale took Neelan by the hand and attempted to walk forward. His body nearly folded over as he realized that he was being held in place by an invisible force. Despite his efforts, his feet would no longer lift from the floor.

“It has been done,” Pan’s voice filled Kale’s ears, yet no one else seemed to hear.

“Is everything all right, Kale?” Thomas asked in concern.

Kale could no longer respond. In an instant, he felt his body tingle—everything became numb. The black armor began to take form at the shoulders.

Its sudden appearance caused Neelan to step back in surprise. The armor continued to materialize over Kale’s body, creating a steel fortress around his flesh.

The smooth metals glared reflectively with every subtle movement Kale made. The wide, studded shoulder plates attached to full-length arm protection. Its intricate design allowed Kale to move his arm around with ease. He examined his hands closely, confirming his suspicions that the armor had indeed belonged to the skeletal figure.

Zasha stood with her mouth hung. “It cannot be . . .”

A loud noise from behind sounded, and Kale freely moved his footing to investigate.

The altar had once again lit up with the many symbols, shining brightly within the room. Tiny bits of rock and dirt danced upon the platform as the altar rumbled.

As Kale placed a gloved palm upon the surface, it began to crumble until no more than a pile of rubble, leaving a cloud of dust in the air.

Zasha released a loud gasp at the sight.

The debris settled and they could see a long sword, floating above the ground where the altar once stood. For a brief moment, symbols flared on the sword’s blade before fading within. Light reflected brightly from the steel as it poured in from the square opening in the roof.

“What’s taking so lo—” Dibble’s voice broke into silence as he gazed upon the weapon. He fell to a knee, dropping his head in a bow. “I cannot believe my eyes! Never did I dream that another would be chosen.” Dibble rose to his feet and shuffled toward Kale. “Do not delay! Claim the weapon—it is rightfully yours.”

Kale nodded; his lips dry, breath shaken. His unsteady hand extended toward the black hilt, clamping down firmly. A burst of light radiated from the blade, causing Kale to pinch his eyes shut. He parted his lids to see that the weapon had returned to a normal state, yet it now felt incredibly light weight and easy to maneuver. Kale lifted the sword above his head, pointing the tip toward the square opening.

“Master.” Dibble bowed before Kale.

“My son, you have been chosen to undertake a great responsibility.” Zasha’s eyes twinkled with a sense of pride—and yet, her maternal worry for her son could still be read upon her face.

“There is no need for concern.” Kale responded to his mother before turning toward Dibble. “What exactly do you mean by
Master
? And what has happened to me?”

“You have been honored by the Gods themselves. Your God, Pan, has chosen you to rise as The Black Vindicator. The armor and weapon you possess were created by my ancestors long ago. It bears extraordinary power. Although the Gods may choose a mortal—the armor itself must too accept. It has become one with you, Kale Firehart.” Dibble glanced up. “See for yourself. Will the armor away.”

“
Will
it away?” Kale looked at the armor, unsure of what to do. “Be gone!” He commanded.

Silence fell over the room and Dibble shook his head.

“No, Master.
Will
is within you—it is your inner energy—you needn’t words. Focus your mind, and become one with your armor. Feel it as you would your own flesh.”

Kale grunted and closed his eyes. He could feel it—the warmth of the armor, gently sucking against his flesh like a parasite—alive. The sensation was unsettling, yet oddly comforting all at once. He pulled at the armor within his mind, forcing it to retract inside of his body. He found it to be much like the ability to walk—natural and with little effort. He opened his eyes to see that the sword and armor were no longer present.

“I am so proud, my son,” Zasha spoke as she approached him. “You will use that same method to call forth the Black Vindicator armor in a time of need.”

“Simply fascinating,” Thomas said while applying pressure to Kale’s forearm with his fingertip. “I do hope you apply common sense when utilizing such a gift.”

“I shall,” Kale firmly replied while taking Neelan’s hand into his. He was determined to prevent the horrid vision of her from becoming a reality.

“It’s a shame my site of prayer has fallen to ruin. Though, I’m sure Pan has his reasons. I just cannot believe the Black Vindicator sword was within this altar, for who knows how long.” She ended as though a giddy child who had experienced something extraordinary. She clapped her hands together. “Well, I suppose nothing more can be done here at this time. Let us go celebrate with a feast.”

Kale nodded while rolling his wrist, which remained sore from where the skeletal figure had grabbed.

They walked up the stairs and along the side of the building to a lengthy, rectangular room with no ceiling. Grass bedded the ground, and flowers lined the walls.

Four gords stood together at the head of a large, stone banquet table. Two females wore white bonnets atop their bald, grey heads, and a blue dress which hung to their tiny knees. The males were clad in formal suits, accented with a golden brooch at the collar.

Dibble hurried over to the gords and immediately began to speak in his native tongue. He pointed toward Kale, and gasps of surprise amplified the room. The four servers hurried over to where Kale stood and fell to their knees. Their bodies folded forward with arms outstretched.

“Master!” They spoke in unison, “We live to serve at your command.”

Kale looked to Zasha uncomfortably. “But I am no different than I was before. Though miraculous as it is—it’s only armor and sword, is it not? How does that change my status?”

“It certainly is
not
ordinary armor and blade!” Dibble spoke defensively. “It has been passed to great heroes since the dawn of man. Our ancestors crafted the exquisite suit from metals found deep within the ground. The land was known for channeling powerful magic, though they had never expected what was found.

“But I am not truly a human. I’m sure you are aware of this . . . so why has it chosen me?” Kale questioned.

“Yes, this is a first that I’m aware of—but the armor must accept the host who has been chosen by the Gods—and it seems to have made its bond to you.”

Neelan’s stomach growled loudly.

“Oh dear, let us speak later. For now, we feast. This is a celebration—my son has not only returned to me, but is a chosen one of the Gods.” Zasha smiled and gently moved Neelan to a large, polished oak chair.

The gords stood and hurried over to a wide, silver serving tray. They lifted the lid and a hiss escaped, sending steam rising toward the sky. A delightful array of fish and roasted vegetables filled the table.

“My friends, please eat until you cannot stuff anymore into your bellies.” Zasha clapped her palms together before taking hold of a wide spoon.

They each piled their plates high with succulent fish. Kale found it difficult to adjust to the gords constantly insisting to cater to their new master. Though the idea of having servants was not appealing to him, he could see the pleasure they felt when caring for his every need. He came to the decision that he would allow them to continue serving him as they wished.

Once Kale’s gut pressed firmly upon the inner seams of his pants, he released a close-mouthed cough into a curled fist. “I’d like to know more about this armor now.”

“Of course.” Zasha took a cloth napkin and dabbed along the corner of her mouth. “The mystical powers the armor contains have been long sought after. Though few know of the armor’s true nature, those who
do
have gone to great lengths to discover its location. You see, the armor will never lay dormant in the same place twice. It is always moving, always seeking a new host once one has fallen. Men have spent their entire lives trying to find it, each hoping that if discovered, the armor will accept them as a host. Should an individual find the armor and a bond is not made, that person will meet a terrible fate. Their skin will melt right from their body until no more than ashes remain—it is a risk few are willing to gamble with.” Zasha’s face bore great concern. “My son, you must not take this circumstance lightly. With this armor, comes a great responsibility to Revaxis.” Zasha paused to read the expression upon Kale’s face. “You must be prepared to protect the good and vanquish evils that cause turmoil within the world.