The Torchbearer's Quest
PREFACE

The quietscratch of a quill and the gentle shuffle of parchment whispered through thesmall cave, and then a sharp intake of breath was followed by a heavy exhale.

“I finally haveit! The Tree of Life. It has to be!”

“And so weshall finally pass through the Gates of Death,” a woman said soberly.

“We must havefaith, my love. This is our calling; we were created for this very thing.”

They had calledthis small hole in the rock home for nearly a year, their quest separating themfrom their daughter, Willow.

A musty scentclung to the air. The cave was lit by an oil lamp resting atop a makeshift deskcomposed of two small boulders and a flat oblong rock propped precariously uponthem. A map, compass, and a few shabby books lay scattered about the desk. An orbof light from the lamp danced on the low rock ceiling, casting shadows on atattered mattress pushed against the far corner and a beat-up wooden trunkhousing their few possessions. Leaning against the stub of an old candleresting on the trunk was a well worn black and white photo of a beautiful younggirl -- the only keepsake they dared to carry.

It was fortheir daughter’s sake that they had scoured the land with ferocity andcommitment in search of long forsaken secrets. They had gone to great lengthsto protect her identity -- even though it shortened their limited time together-- but secrets always had a way of surfacing in time, as their research hadproved.

If he had learned of her existence, hadunderstood everything that her birth portended, all would have been lost. Theirprecious child would have had no hope of survival. How could a mere child possiblywithstand what none before had been able to overcome?

Both the manand the woman, dressed in filthy rags, were unusually tall, slender, and beautifuldespite the toll cave life had upon their appearance. Their porcelain skin,almost luminous, shone through the dirt and the grime. The woman shared thesame curly hair as the girl in the photo, though cropped short in a halo ofgolden blonde locks; her silver gray eyes only added to her angelic features.The man’s disheveled honey brown hair lightly fell across his hazel eyes.

“The Gates ofDeath, it is- ,” began the woman.

A muted thudfollowed by the shuffle of feet could be heard just outside the cave.

“He’s found us,”they said together.

The man turnedto the woman, determination in his eyes. “Quick! Cause a cave-in.” He knew thecollapse would do little to deter the Black Angel, but all he needed was amoment’s delay.

The woman gapedat him. “You’re asking me to dig our own grave.”

“This cave isalready our tomb. We need the extra time a cave-in will provide. It’s the onlychance we can offer her now.”

Understandingdawned on his wife. “Okay,” she said simply.

She hurriedover to the cave entrance, stretched her right palm out as if motioning someoneto stop, and slowly traced the rugged archway of the cave’s gaping mouth. Asoft rumbling slowly grew into a deafening crash as the entrance collapsed.

Squinting throughthe rising dust, she watched as her husband walked to the furthest niche.Closing his eyes and mumbling softly, he pressed his palm to the moist, grayrock wall. A hole twisted open from the solid stone. He slid a small bundle asfar as he could stretch into the deep recess. Once again, he pointed his palmat the hole which twisted closed, vanishing into the wall of rock, sealing thebundle within.

Immediately, ablast from the mouth of the cave alerted them to the intruder. Standing in acloud of dust was a man whose beauty had been long corrupted from the insideout; his long, dark, greasy hair was pushed back with a black bandana. He hadstone black eyes, a scruffy goatee, and was dressed in a black shirt withragged sleeves and filthy black pants.

A tattoo of aknotted blood-red snake had a heart beat of its own as it undulated around hisright bicep; a testament to his power as shape-shifter. Tightly grasped in hisright hand, the hilt of a curved sword was untouched by the fierce flames thatspewed from the blade and licked the air.

TheAngels Grim stood behind him and smiled. They were dressed in a haze of blackrobes and were hungry with blood lust. Their grotesque faces beneath shadowyhoods, were eager for the upcoming slaughter, and they crowded the tinyentrance in gleeful anticipation. Their numbers were legion, but today only afew of their great number were present. They were not expecting muchresistance.

The man steppedforward, shielding his wife. He whispered the sorcerer’s name. “Abaddon Ravana.”

“Thanks-s-s fordoing all the leg work for me. I’ll be needing that journal now.” The shape-shifter’shiss was barely human. His gaze flickered to the oil lamp on the homemade desk.

The man followedhis gaze and caught sight of its tiny flame dancing. “It’s gone. We burned it.”

“The Father ofLies-s-s is not easily deceived,” Abaddon said.

The Angels Grimlet out a low snicker that echoed in the cramped space.

“Very well,your death’s-s-s s-s-shall come first then. It is-s-s easier that way,” hemused. “Any last words-s-s?”

Willow’sparents turned and faced each other, their faces taut with pain for theirdaughter. A tiny pendant, a miniature torch housing a miniscule blue-whiteflame, hung from the woman’s neck. They whispered, “We love you, Willow. We are so verysorry. Be strong and of good courage, for you are never alone.”

As soon as thewords slipped through her lips, the woman’s eyes flashed with terror and fellupon the photograph. How could they have been so stupid? Her heart sank like arock within her chest. She shuddered to think that all their efforts topreserve Willow’sanonymity were for naught. Caught in a moment of panic, a single act offoolishness would betray everything. She willed herself to tear her eyes awayfrom her daughter’s face, praying that Abaddon had failed to adopt her gaze,but knowing it was a futile hope.

A sly smiledanced upon his lips.

The man andwife took each other’s hands, and once again he stepped in front of her. Theywhispered “I love you” to each other, and then in a much louder voice and witheyes closed the man said, “We commit our souls to You. May we open our eyesonce more in the glory of Your presence.”

“Oh, howtouching. Lets-s-s s-s-see your ‘Lord Protector’ s-s-save you,” Abaddon mocked.“And now....”

He plunged theflaming sword into both their hearts in a single blow. Where just secondsbefore stood flesh and bone, muscle and tendon, heart and soul, there wasnothing but a smoldering pile of ash.

“S-s-search theplace,” Abaddon commanded the Angels Grim.

Feeling theirway along the rocky surface the Grim hunted for traces of enchantments or spells,the slight tingling sensation that would reveal the location of previous magic.

“Here, myLord,” said the largest and most gruesome.

The Grim’s darkbrown eyes glinted with evil pride. His smile looked like a grimace as itdistorted his grisly features. He dragged a long sharp and ragged fingernailalong the wall where he felt the presence of magic, and the rock crumbledbeneath his touch.

“Such fools,”he laughed maniacally. With eager hands he snatched a bundle from the rock andpassed it to Abaddon.

Abaddon lookedaround the cave one last time and his cold eyes fell on the black and whitephoto. He fingered it hungrily.

“Is that her?”the Grim asked.

“Mostdefinitely,” Abaddon said. With a cracked yellow fingernail, he traced thegirl’s features. “She has her mother’s beauty...” he sighed.

Heexited the cave, the Angels Grim at his heels, and with a careless sweep of hishand what remained of the cave vanished into rubble. “Such a waste,” he mused,eyeing the girl in the photo appreciatively before letting the picture fallfrom his claw-like hands to cap her parents’ grave.

He took a long,deep breath, drinking in the destruction. With a smile, he said, “Now, let thereal fun begin.”