Night-rise [Short Story]
On a forgotten world and the eve of revolution, a couple spend their last night together...
Meet Ral, one of the heroes of our story. The Yesterday Saga continues.
“Darkness is hope, life and love. Darkness is home.”
1 / Then
Ral was nearing the third cycle of his life the first time he laid eyes on the light of a star. For cycles, growing up in the darkness of Verilia, starlight was a rare and dangerous thing. Beasts and demons lurk in the light threatening to burn your skin and steal away your life like raindrops in the great seas. That’s what the elders in his village told him, anyway. Some of the children believed it, and some still do, but Ral was never convinced. He saw starlight as something else. Something that wasn’t dangerous, just different. Then came the war.
Verilia had been mostly ignored by House Setia in the millennia since its erroneous creation. The great dynasty didn't particularly care to gaze upon its supposed failures. And so, Verilia and her people were left alone. Alone to build and grow and live on the blackened edge of a dying moon. They found kinship with their homeland. A discarded rock drifting through the blessed darkness.
They knew War had begun off-world. Travellers to remote Verilian settlements, assassins and smugglers and the like, brought with them more than violence and cargo. They brought word of a Great War that had engulfed The System.
Some of the elders gathered when few sought to join the fight. Ral had stood in meetings, red flame fires burning at the heart of stone settlements as anger fuelled a desire to fight back against the dynasty that had brought them so much pain. They decided that War wasn’t worth risking the lives of their people. But War has a way of seeking out and destroying peace.
Ral listened to the crack of the Doom Ships in the skies over his village as the King’s forces made landing. His father hurried him beneath his bed urging him to stay quiet, a task made more difficult as he watched his parents dragged onto the Doom Ships bound for Hellan to be forced into the Royal Army.
Those who refused were executed. Those that survived had nothing.
By the time Ral pulled himself from beneath his bed and out into the rubble of his village, the Verilian elders who’d sought to remain free from War were gone, piled into mass graves crudely dug into the hardened surface of the moon by outsiders with no knowledge of their ways.
Cycles passed, feeding off scraps in the empty streets of settlements across the blackened edge. He scavenged what he could from the ruins of his home but what little remained would only sustain him for days.
“Hey,” the boy said, “you can have this.”
The first words Arva said to him as he passed him a piece of fruit - the best thing he’d ever tasted.
“Arva,” the boy said. He was about the same size as Ral and even shared the same brilliant blue eyes that his mother had named the jewels of Verilia. Arva had short, dirty blonde hair, hair that Ral hadn’t seen before.
Ral hadn't felt safe for cycles. His shoulders and limb's aching, eyes dull and dry from sleepless nights. Seeing Arva and tasting fruit and kindness let him breathe. He felt muscles he hadn't known he'd been tensing finally relax.
"Want to see something cool?" Arva asked.
Ral nodded and followed Arva out into the dusty planes beyond the ruins of what had once been a prosperous settlement.
"Look," Arva said.
In the middle distance, the warm light of Hellan Prime crawled across the surface of Verilia. Just out beyond the reaches of The Blackened Edge, stars gave way to a kaleidoscope of purple and blue.
"Isn't it dangerous?" Ral asked.
"Let's find out together."
2 / Now
War was all-consuming. From the surface of Verilia, Ral and Arva watched ships rain fire from the sky for cycles. Then, as simple as a night-rise, it was over.
"Peace?" Arva shouted. "You think this is peace?"
"It's over isn't it?" Ral said.
"Nothing is over," Arva said. "Our people fought for the losing side, remember?"
"Against our will."
"And you think that'll matter to them? We weren't citizens before the War, that's not going to change unless we change it."
Ral took a bag, heavy with ember pistols and ammunition, off of the table at the heart of their modest home and tossed it at Arva's feet.
"And this will?" he said.
"We can't all just hide under our bed and watch the bad people come and roll through town."
Ral looked wounded.
"I'm sorry, that was..." Arva stopped midway through the sentence.
"We can have a life here," Ral said. "We have a life here."
"For how much longer?"
3 / The night of
"What time does your ship set out?" Ral asked.
"Just after night-rise," Arva said.
Ral nodded, avoiding Arva’s gaze. "Want to see something cool?"
Arva smiled and reached out his hand.
He led Arva to the apex of a nearby ridge and gazed out at the distant flecks of white on the black canvas of the night.
"You saved me," Ral said.
"I just gave you fruit."
"And you showed me this view."
They sat together on the cliff edge, looking out at the white desert that separated the blackened edge from the Lighted Planes beyond.
“Tell me a story?” Arva asked.
“Nope,” Ral replied.
“Come on, I'm about to go do something really stupid tomorrow, tell me a story.”
Ral rolled his eyes.
"Please?" Arva said. “All parents tell kids stories before bed.”
Ral had stories. Tons of them. Sweeping epics, romantic fables, dangerous stories of terror and adventure. His father and mother would act them out for him late into the night. They always told him it was to help him get to sleep or to help him dream, but more often than not they’d get so carried away that the stories would last far longer than they’d planned.
He could hear them still, echoing in his brain, telling him of ancient worlds with fearless warriors. Maidens and monsters. Magic beyond the minds of mere mortals. Stories were their language. A telepathic connection between Ral and his parents. Or the memory of them, at least. He thought of one particular tale his father had told him one evening after they’d been working to repair the roof of their homestead following a dust storm. Ral remembered his hands stinging in a way they hadn’t before, as though a thousand invisible cuts covered the surface of his pale skin. Even now, as he thinks of his father’s story, his hands tingle.
“There is one,” he said.
“Now we’re talking.”
Arva smiled, rested his head on Ral's shoulder and clasped his hands together on his chest.
“I’ll warn you,” Ral said, “I’m no storyteller.”
“You’ll do fine,” Arva replied.
“It’s called ‘The Tale of Ter Ligen, Knight of Shadows’,” Ral began.
“So, if I remember it right, there once was a planet known as Than. A beautiful place of endless obsidian night. Purple oceans raged in illustrious storms, skies swirled with a thousand bioluminescent hues of blue and pink and green. A paradise…”
“I thought you told me you weren’t a storyteller,” Arva interrupted.
“Do you want to hear the story or not?” Ral said.
“Sorry,” Arva said.
“Thank you.”
He cleared his throat.
“Anyway. So Than. It was a paradise home to many people. They existed in near total harmony under the protection of the Knight of Shadows. A warrior born into every generation and embued with the power of the night, a protector tasked with maintaining the balance between light and dark. A warrior whose magic was the very essence of the world.
“This generation’s Knight of Shadows, a warrior by the name of Uhr Uga, was as fierce as they come. They brandished their sword, the Shadow Blade, with masterful precision. They could shoot an arrow from one thousand clicks away and hit a target the size of an atom. Uhr Uga was legend.
“At the heart of Than sat a tower, the tallest ever built. It was home to the Hearran, the native peoples of Than and, during this particular generation, the rulers of the planet. The Hearran Prime, Rav Tarel, made sure that all the peoples of Than were taken care of, a duty they saw as the highest honour. Unfortunately, Rav Tarel was destined to be the last Prime of Than.
“In the dark of a blistering cold evening, a storm known as Lek drew ever closer to the tower that the Hearran called home. Storms came and went and most were nothing more than an inconvenience to the Hearran but this storm had a name.
“This storm had eyes. Blood-red eyes stared out from deep within the cloud of light as it dragged its belly across the sky. Rav Tarel could see it crawling towards them, its teeth still slick, blood raining from the skies. He sounded the alarm, calling for Uhr Uga but by the time the Knight of Shadows came, the tower was ash and the Hearran people and its Prime were lost.”
“Gods, this got dark quickly,” Arva said.
“Stay with me,” Ral said.
For the briefest moment, before he dove back into the world of the Knight of Shadows, Ral could feel his parents with him. He could hear their voices speaking through him as he told the story.
“Uhr Uga rode across the planes of Than searching for the storm that was Lek, desperate for revenge. But in their grief, they neglected the other kingdoms of Than and soon the harmony and balance that had once raised the planet was lost. Light had begun to engulf Than and Uhr Uga was powerless to stop it.
“By the time the Knight of Shadows reached the lair of Lek, a mountain surrounded by cascading waterfalls of fire, the warrior was merely a vessel for rage. They climbed the mountain and drew the Shadow Blade, holding it aloft over their head, black rings around their empty, angry eyes. But revenge had swallowed their soul. Before Uhr Uga could plunge their blade into the heart of Lek, the storm stole their last breath. And so the Knight of Shadows was defeated. The Shadow Blade faded into the ether, destined to lay dormant until another was born, worthy to wield it.”
“That better not be the end of the story, I swear…”
Ral leaned in and kissed Arva, stifling his words.
“Okay, I’ll be quiet,” Arva said.
“Out beyond the planes of Aldair, near the boiling pools of Ffare, was a town. A town that was home to a baker. A baker with a child. A baker whose life was snuffed out by a monster that crept out of the light, taking advantage of the death of the Knight of Shadows. The monster had its feed and left the child. Ter Leigen watched as their parent was devoured before their eyes and they too were filled with rage.
“They followed the monster, their slight feet and frame allowing them to sneak by unannounced, as it made its way deep into the growth beyond the planes of Aldair and into the Forest of Illuminus.
“Ter Leigen had taken the baker’s knife in their sleeve and they waited as the monster rested. They waited for hours, patiently watching the monster, the blade gripped tightly in their hand, willing themselves to step forward and plunge the serrated edge into the beast’s heart.
“But they couldn’t move. They were still. The rage that fueled their pursuit was gone, giving way to an immense and overwhelming woe. “Weep not for the dead,” a disembodied voice spoke to Ter. “For they are the only ones truly alive.”
“Ter turned and saw a being composed entirely of darkness. A perfect, beautiful, complete darkness. And in its hand: the Shadow Blade. “The duty has come to you, child of Than,” the figure said, its voice soft and warm.
“Who are you?” Ter asked. “I am the Mother of All Things,” the figure said. “But it is not my identity that matters today.”
“I am alone,” Ter said through tears.“You are never alone, life surrounds you,” the Mother continued, “there is life in the darkness and the light alike.”
“I want to destroy them all,” Ter said. “And yet you won’t,” the Mother said.
The Mother moved the handle of the Shadow Blade towards Ter’s hand. “Reach out and take hold of your destiny, Ter Leigen, Knight of Shadows.”
“And Ter did exactly that. They reached out and took hold of the Shadow Blade and they felt the power of light and darkness flowing through their being. In an instant they realised that their body and soul had been apart for their whole life and that, now that they were whole again, they knew was truth really was.
“The blade felt lighter than a leaf from a fledgling tree and heavier than the largest boulder on the slopes of the greatest peaks. It felt as cool as the first winter snow and as hot as the boiling waters of Ffare.
“What shall I do?” Ter asked. “What your predecessor failed to do,” the Mother replied, “bring balance to this universe.”
And Ter did exactly that.”
There was a long pause as Ral ended the story.
“That’s it?” Arva said. “No big battles? No justice for the Hearran people?”
Ral didn’t say anything. He thought back to the first time his parents told him the story of Ter Leigan. How they had told him that balance was the heart of the universe. It was the Verilian way.
Balance meant staying out of the War, staying free from the conflict that had engulfed The System. Balance meant his parents getting dragged off to fight for someone who thought it was their right to rule over us. The Verilian way hadn’t worked out too well for anyone.
"Night-rise," Ral said, noticing the first glimpse of Hellan Primes light on the horizon.
"I'll come back, you know," Arva said. "This is what it takes. We have to fight for our place in this universe."
"I know," Ral said.
"I'll come back to you."
And, for the first time since Arva had first shown him this view, Ral was afraid of the light.
If you’ve made it this far in the post, thank you. This story took me a long time to write. Ral and Arva are going to be huge characters moving forward in the story so I wanted to give them the spotlight early on.
Let me know what you think in the comments.
Every few paragraphs feels like a glimpse into an enormous universe rich with history and myth. The prose also has a natural flow that lets it fade into the background in a way that serves the story but doesn’t intrude on it.
Really excellent short story. Thank you for sharing it.