Under The Broken Wing

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

Allen whispered the words to himself repeatedly as his feet inched closer to the gate. One by one, the line of silhouetted figures in front of him became five, then four, then three as they disappeared into the darkness ahead. He suddenly felt sick and thought he might lose what little contents remained in his stomach but concentrated hard not to.

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

The soldiers in front of him muttered the same phrase as they passed through the tall iron bars. A loud metallic screech echoed off the canyon walls that surrounded them bringing the march to a halt. The two remaining men looked at one another and what Allen saw in the man's eyes scared him more than the sounds coming from the machines that hunted them. The dark orbs that stared back had no hope left and offered only the moon's reflection back.

Another screech thundered just around the corner. Allen grabbed the Colt Python from his chest holster, cocked it, and placed it in the man's shaking hands. “No more running, no more burying friends. No more blood. This is our chance to end this.” The trembling hands steadied and gripped the revolver with conviction. The man he had fought alongside for years nodded, then stepped forward between the two metal beams with nothing but black oblivion between them, and disappeared. Behind him, Allen could hear the sound of alloy breaking rock and felt a heavy thud beneath his feet.

"There weren’t always dragons in the valley."

He took one last breath of familiar air and stepped into the Great Void.

Preface: Tidings From Beyond the Gate

I’m going to tell you a story. A story that is ancient and far away in the distant future. One that has already happened but has yet to happen. I’m going to tell you because you already know it but still must hear it for the first time. All that you know of time and your role in it has no place here. Only the truth shall remain. I’m going to tell you a story, but you must cross the threshold with me and never look back. The door is open and my words shall beckon you inside with outstretched hands.

- Bran

Prologue

The summer of 2185 was a never-ending torrent of sweltering heat waves and violent dust storms. The once vibrant planet was now a deserted shell of its former self obliterated by a battle between humans and a monster of its own creation. Artificially intelligent machines quickly hunted down and killed humans methodically and the Crimson War seemed over before it had even begun. Only a small group of survivors, the Desert Soldiers, carried on in the shadows, planning and waiting for their time to strike. With no corners left to flee to, the brave men and women created a doorway that would allow them to step through into another time, bring back people to fight against their enemy, and reclaim the world as their own.

Long before the rains had stopped and the cities fell silent, ancient humans were assertively charging their way through the medieval era. A culture bound to the treasures of their enchanting world reveled in a time when magic was just as much an element of nature as fire or air. Tucked away in the icy waters of the Atlantic sat the Land of the Lochs; a large island blanketed with dense forests and rolling hills. Far inland, deep into the thick of the Cowell Woods, a peaceful town sat oblivious to the strange outsiders that appeared nearby one quiet morning.

Though bloodied, beaten, and on the verge of death, the strange group immediately began recruiting warriors to take back and fight against an enemy they referred to as "machines." Though the townspeople couldn't comprehend the beasts that they spoke of, a few drawings done by the Desert Soldiers cast a clear image and they began to refer to them as "Iron Dragons."

The fiery spark of hope that had propelled Allen into a dark abyss one fateful night had been almost entirely extinguished. But as he sat hidden in the brush one afternoon, peering through a hunting scope at a muscular man attempting to milk a stubborn goat, he couldn’t help but smile. A brief conversation around a fire with the man who called himself Fearghas convinced him that an abundance of wisdom, strength, and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, lay dormant within the enigmatic figure. The land had quickly sprouted a seed of curiosity inside Allen, and his days spent with Fearghas only helped indurate its roots.

Days faded into weeks and then months. Fearghas taught his strange new companion everything he knew about hunting and combat and herb medicine. Allen taught the Celtic brut about code and automatic weapons and what being a human meant outside the confines of survival nearly two centuries in the future.

Allen knew he had thrown away any life he might have had as another gear in the mechanism of the Crimson War. He also knew his people would continue to come and search for more innocent souls, sucking the life out of this time as they did theirs. So together, the two outcasts gathered runaways and drifters of the forest to establish a new village, Faerseton Keep, hidden along the edge of the tree line; far away enough to not be seen, but close enough to remain ready for their inevitable return. A return that would send two allies from different corners of time on a journey into the jaws of the Great Void.

Chapter 1: Remember The Key

It's you.

The soft distorted voice kissed his ears as Fearghas floated through the rubble and debris around him. A mixture of black smoke and fog filled the air, the latter filling up his nose and lungs. He remained still as the invisible force carried him through the burnt remains of his village and everything he once held dear.

It's you... it's you... it’s you...

Arriving in the center of town, a woman with vibrant red hair down to her knees and a torn white dress appeared before him. Tears carved clean trails as they streamed down her ash-smudged face. The words, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, echoed repeatedly as he floated closer.

Still frozen, Fearghas watched as she knelt in front of him with her head down and arms raised, presenting a long sword engulfed in fiery red flames. He grabbed the sword and felt the searing heat on his hands and arms.

It's you.

"NO!" Fearghas sat abruptly upright, gasping for air. He clenched his fists, still feeling the burning pain from his nightmare. As he slowed his breathing he looked up and saw the worried expression on Allen's face.

“Sleep ok?” he asked hesitantly.

Fearghas chuckled and nodded. "Like a rock." His eyes fell on the red cloth tied with twine lying next to him. The cloth that held, wrapped in its warmth, a bronze sword with a serpent carved into its handle.

Allen followed his gaze. “You ever gonna tell me who gave you that thing?” Fearghas answered with silence, admiring the birds singing their morning chorus in the trees above, and Allen thought one day he just might.

"What was that riddle you used to tell Utin? The one about Mother Earth, do you remember it?" Fearghas asked as Allen paddled their small wooden canoe with him down the winding Emerald Channel. Earning its name from the lush foliage that lined the narrow river on each side, small leaves cascaded down around them and covered the water's surface like a swirling meadow.

"Oh, I remember it I just don't like it."

"Have you any other suggestions for passing the time? We've still a day's journey ahead of us."

"Yeah, to a destination you insist on keeping from me, amongst other secrets of yours." Allen continued to paddle, stubbornly looking ahead into the forest.

"All that you need to know you already know my brother."

"How very poetic of you."

"We are heading to the Temple of Blight to find someone who can help us track down the soldiers who burnt our village and kidnapped our men so that we may-"

"Return the stolen army of Faerseton Keep to its rightful home. Yes Fear, I know. And you know I would follow you to the ends of the earth if someone so much as took Lulach for an afternoon walk without your permission." As if on queue, the small grey wolf pup napping in the folds of a blanket at Fearghas's feet poked its head up and yawned.

"Tell me the riddle and I will tell you who gifted me my sword."

Allen looked back at the mischievous smile on Fearghas’s face and rolled his eyes.

“‘Baby Blue’s cradle is about to fly, while her children dance on her grave. Leave her embrace and wait to die, or stay here and show us you're brave.'"

"Well whoever wrote such a rhyme must be-"

"No one wrote it." Allen harshly retorted. The disdain in his voice was all Fearghas needed to hear to know what he was talking about. “It was them." He stared at his troubled friend and thought about all of the horrible things Allen had told him he witnessed during the war and wondered what things he had yet to tell him.

Allen continued, "The beasts, the ones we call machines, they were unlike anything we had ever seen in our time. They somehow figured out what scared us and changed accordingly. Their form at the start of the war was just like you and me but constructed of metal and wires and computer code. The last time I saw one..." He trailed off staring down into the water. "Let's just say the people from Grayrock were right to call them Iron Dragons."

It's you.

The peculiar words bubbled up to the surface of Fearghas's mind and he instinctively grabbed the soft red bundle at his side.

"They concluded we deserved our fate and needed to be punished for it. They were mocking us. More than that, they were trying to scare us." A chill tickled the back of Fearghas's neck and he told himself it was just the late afternoon breeze though he was not completely sure.

"That awful riddle was the last message we received from them before they turned on us. Whoever we're going to see, I hope you're right about them knowing how to find our people. Because if they walk through those gates at the hands of the soldiers, we're never going to see them again."

Suddenly Lulach began growling at the treeline. Drawing his sword, Fearghas stared intently into the woods as Allen raised his rifle in unison.

"Eyes?" Fearghas’s own green eyes darted around wildly as Lulach's growl became a menacing snarl.

"I got nothing." She suddenly whipped around and redirected her alarm to the other side of the river.

"Soldiers?!” Fearghas tried and failed to mask the panic in his voice with rage.

"No, they would have already made their presence known by now." The young feral creature began spinning around in all directions frantically and the two men faced back to back, attempting to cover every angle of whatever mysterious force was lurking beyond their vision.

Just as quickly as the wailing had begun, Lulach abruptly stopped and sat, staring at the river ahead. Allen's stomach soured at the silence of the forest around them. A landscape with an otherwise deafening cacophony of bird songs and insect chirps had become unnaturally quiet. Fearghas scooped up Lulach and placed her on his broad shoulders as he peered down the river through a pair of binoculars. "There’s something up ahead."

"Here let me see." Through the distorted lens, Allen could see the vague outline of a stone archway that spanned from one side of the river to the other. Through the stone arch, he saw nothing but a familiar black oblivion, and his soured stomach turned to rot.

“HEAD FOR THE SHORE!”

The rapidly increasing current pulled the men closer to the magnetic gateway and they put all of their strength into paddling the raft. Up ahead, the wreck of a previous voyage lay scattered amongst the jagged rocks protruding on either side of the stone arch. Striking one of the boulders, the hard impact sent Allen flying into the emerald waters. “ALLEN!” In one swoop Fearghas tucked Lulach against his chest and dove into the river.

The onslaught of rushing water plunged Fearghas into a chaotic blur. He suddenly felt the familiar woven cloth of Allen's jacket and wrapped his arms around the cloudy shape, pulling it to the surface. Emerging onto the bank of the Emerald Channel, the two collapsed onto the gravel, choking and coughing the wetness out of their lungs. Lulach slipped out of the flap of Feraghas's vest and shook her slick grey coat as Allen stood and offered a hand to his rescuer.

"How did you know?" Fearghas motioned to the gateway. The arch appeared as a window looking out onto a starless night sky as water poured into the Great Void and cascaded somewhere else.

"Kinda hard to forget."

"Is that one of them?" Allen nodded his head. "Same one you came through?"

"No."

"Could they have taken our people through?" Items from their raft that were strewn into the water during the melee began floating to the edge of the river bank. Allen reached down towards a black box, flipped its metal latch, and grabbed one of the many guns stored inside.

"Doesn't look like it. It's most likely a trap. Set to fling whatever poor soul dared fall asleep on the water into the twenty-second century. I haven't seen these tactics used before, they must be getting-" Before he could finish his sentence, Allen's face shifted and the click of his handgun being cocked cut through the silence as his attention focused behind Fearghas. "We're gonna be needing that."

Fearghas turned around to see a shrill man hunched over the soggy red cloth which housed his sword. Allen kept his gun trained on the stranger who slowly raised his emaciated arms in compliance. An impish grin emerged with the lifting of his hands like a puppet on a string and he motioned down to the bundle.

"Of course." He retreated to the wagon behind him full of various items, some of which far exceeded the time period.

"Come here often?" Allen lowered his weapon while Fearghas retrieved the sword.

"I come and go as I please." All three glanced over at the gateway, the Emerald Channel's unnatural mouth from which there was no escape. Fearghas's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward to confront the man.

"Enough lies. Have you seen any Desert Soldiers pass through here? They would have had a group of people with them-"

"Do you still seek the Crimson Herald?" The strange figure ignored Fearghas and stared intently at Allen, whose eyes widened at the mention of a name long forgotten.

"H-How do you..." The man pulled up the torn cloth of his shirt to reveal a Colt Python tucked into the waist of his pants.

No more running, no more burying friends.

Allen staggered back, the shock of the once-familiar face now sunken and unrecognizable sent his mind reeling. "Brian?" A memory flashed in front of his eyes and he heard the distant wailing of the Iron Dragons, flocking to him like moths to a flame.

"Hello, Allen." He strained to prevent the well of tears in his eyes from spilling over as a dagger of overwhelming guilt pierced his heart. What had happened to his companion since the night they had stepped out of their world into the darkness?

"Do you still remember the key?" Allen mustered a subtle nod. "Good." The man once known as Brian, now a hollowed ghost of his former self lost in a forgotten time, waved goodbye to the two travelers as he pulled his wagon off into the forest.

Allen stuffed his exposed emotions underneath a facade of indifference and slowly began gathering the rest of the items strewn along the bank. "We'll have to make our way to the lake on foot. Do you know the way?"

"Yes. Allen, are you alr-"

"Still not gonna tell me who we're seeing?"

"Do you trust me?" Allen let out an exasperated sigh as Fearghas unwrapped the contents of his precious red bundle.

"Hey, you still haven't held up your end of the bargain." Allen motioned to the sword.

"The person who gave this to me is the person we are going to see."

Allen's inquisitive demeanor deflated and he followed Fearghas into the woods.

"Figures."

Emerging from the safe womb of the Cowell Woods, the men were greeted with the stark and barren landscape of Hephiem Loch, a large body of water lurking in the shadow of its towering jagged peaks. Commandeering a small massless boat abandoned on its shore, they set sail across the dark waters and the sun bid its farewell behind the clouds.

Allen couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder as he gazed across the murky surface of the lake at the residence of an unknown ally. After everything he had been through with his fearless friend, he knew how much losing the village had broken Fearghas and hoped that the resulting pursuit would not lead them back into the crosshairs of the Crimson War.

"Your friend we met back on the river, what did he mean when he asked if you still remembered the key? What is the Crimson Herald?"

"It was just an inside joke between the soldiers."

Fearghas turned to face Allen who sat with his back against the edge of the boat with Lulach asleep in his lap. He was focusing hard on studying the shadowed cliffs above them to avoid eyes he did not want to see.

"And what did he really mean?"

"You don't believe me?"

"Allen, you are not a soldier anymore. You do not need to protect those men, they can protect themselves."

"No one can protect themselves from this," Allen quietly spoke, partially to Fearghas and partially to some esoteric being he felt must be watching above and assigning punishment. He took a deep breath and resolved to tell Fearghas the truth.

"The gates that we built, well I didn't build them, but the ones we used to travel here, we wanted to make sure that the machines could not follow us back through or use them to travel themselves."

High above them, the silhouette of a raven flew by and cawed at the gloomy sky.

"Each gate required a voice activated key and had a unique phrase attached to it. The group I fought with was located in a valley with the highest concentration of machines anywhere. By the end, there weren't many of us left and we needed something to give the survivors hope that there was still a chance we could save our world."

He looked down and solemnly rubbed a long jagged scar on his arm. "Our key was something that helped remind us that it wasn't too late to set things back to the way they once were. It was something that had been passed down through generations by an unknown figure. Some of the soldiers said it came from a hero of legend, the Crimson Herald, that would emerge during the war and unite the survivors. I think that hero just lived inside all of us, whether we knew it or not."

Fearghas smiled and handed the sword to Allen who marveled at the impressive size and intricate detail. "That it does."

As their boat approached the shore of the lake, The darkening sky filled with the circling flight of hundreds of ravens. They followed a path on foot through a grove of dead tree limbs and rocks, eventually reaching the ruins of a stone temple. A dilapidated graveyard marked the entrance to the Temple of Blight and Fearghas stopped and set Lulach on the ground. "We're here."

The air suddenly went silent as a low-hanging fog seeped over the cold ground.

"What brings your return?"

An airy whisper bounced off the crumbled walls around them and Lulach cowered beneath their feet. Allen's blood ran cold and despite everything in his body telling him to run, he planted his feet firmly next to Fearghas.

"Bran, I have come to make another deal. My village was destroyed by the invaders from the future and my people enslaved. I ask to use the well to locate them in exchange for the Sword of the Serpent."

A small patch of fog cleared and the men could see the black silhouette of an unusually large raven perched on a branch above them. A raspy cackle emanated from the witch and Allen clutched his gun. A voice from the inner corners of his mind softly spoke into his ears.

Your weapons are useless here, stubborn fool.

He gasped and the witch laughed again.

"Please!" He stepped forward but was held back by Fearghas.

"The people you seek are already gone."

The witch flew down to a well sitting slumped at the bottom of an old dead oak tree and the group followed. Peering down into the well, Fearghas watched as the waters began to morph and display an unfamiliar world.

"The people of the age of starlight are almost gone. The passing of your people into the time of the war marks the beginning of the end." Allen and Fearghas watched in horror as the well showed thousands of Iron Dragons flying through a sea of enormous gates.

"Soon the beasts will have the power of the gateways on their side and will begin to travel throughout all of time to destroy any human life that has ever existed. A total annihilation of the past by order of the future."

Fearghas shook his head, "No… there has to be another way."

Allen stepped back from the well and hung his head in defeat. "If they get their hands on the gates-"

"No!" Fearghas began pacing, gripping the handle of his sword so tightly that his fingers became numb. "What if we went through the gate in the Emerald Channel? We could help stop it from happening."

"We don't know the key, Fear. We’d just be left floating in the Great Void."

Fearghas turned back towards the Witch Raven. "Can you get us through to the time of the war?"

"Allen, even if it could, there are more Iron Dragons in one single valley than we could possibly take on ourselves-"

"There were not always dragons in the valley!" Fearghas drove the bronze sword into the ground, penetrating clear through a large rock like a knife through butter.

Allen stared blankly at the man he called his friend. The one he had stumbled upon all those years ago and helped build a life as they ran away from the same monsters they had in their closets. And for the first time, he stared at him as the Crimson Herald.

"It's you." The simple words carried through the air like musical notes and their eyes met in mutual astonishment. A moment that seemed to last an eternity passed before Bran's whisper broke the reticence.

"There is a way through the temple." The witch, now perched on a tombstone pointed its wing towards the tall structure.

As if reinvigorated by a jolt of lightning, Allen gestured for Fearghas to follow and ran eagerly into the fog. "Let's go!" As he retrieved his sword from the ground, the witch spoke into Fearghas's mind.

I must warn you, there is no deal here. Merely an answer to your question. But a great sacrifice is necessary in order to breach the natural order of the universe. It is out of my hands.

With a thrash of its wings, the witch dissolved into a fine black mist and vanished into the air.

Allen ardently emerged from the fog into the cold, damp chamber nestled between the cobbled pillars of the Temple of Blight. His enthusiasm was short-lived as the fog dissipated and the only contents of the room were a large stone fountain against the far wall and a single peculiar dagger standing on its point in the middle of the floor.

Catching up behind him, Fearghas ran into the room accompanied by Lulach. "Where's the gate?"

"I don't know... I don't see one."

Their eyes simultaneously fell on the dagger and Fearghas cautiously approached the fountain, keeping his eyes trained on the floating object. Above the large basin of water were three words carved into the stone.

"What do they say?" Allen asked as he examined the dagger.

"Fuil airson ùine."

"What does that mean?" He could not see the blood drain out of Fearghas's face as he spoke but he could hear the crack in his voice.

"Blood for time."

A profound stillness settled on the chamber as Allen pondered over the phrase.

"How could I have been so foolish." Fearghas fell to his knees in front of the fountain and stared at his reflection. "It requires the taking of one life to grant passage for another. The witch warned me as much... Perhaps there is still time to make it back to the Emerald Channel..." Allen suddenly felt an alignment somewhere deep inside of him and for the first time in his life, knew that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"We're out of time, Fear. But you're going to be ok. Everything's gonna be ok..." Fearghas was snapped out of his deep thought by the sound of a heavy thud hitting the floor. He whipped around to see Allen lying on his side with the dagger pierced into his chest.

"NO!" Fearghas rushed over and pulled Allen onto his lap. He tried to press his hands around the wound but Allen only grimaced as more blood spilled onto the ground. Tears streamed heavily down Feraghas's face and he groaned in agonizing frustration, "Why have you done this?!"

"All this time we... we were looking for you..." Allen weakly reached up to wipe a tear from Fearghas's chin. "You're not just going to save your people, Fear," he pulled him closer despite the pain that riddled his body, "you're going to save everyone."

Allen took one last look up at his friend and smiled. "Do you know why we called it the Crimson War?" Fearghas shook his head as he tightened his grip on Allen's blood-soaked jacket. "You." As Allen's eyes closed his hands fell softly to the floor and with them fell one generation's hero, electing another in his place.

Lulach sheepishly nuzzled into Fearghas's chest and attempted to lick the tears from under his tired eyes. He had lived through the deaths of enough loved ones to drive any sane person to madness but knew that this time he would not, and could not, let it be in vain. He rested his hand on Allen's forehead and said a silent prayer, bringing more tears to his eyes from a deep bottomless reservoir carved by the pain of his past.

Pulling the dagger from Allen's chest he stepped up to the fountain and raised the blade over the thick black water. "Take me to the year of the Crimson War."

A drop of blood trickled down and fell into the fountain and Fearghas could feel the air around him shift. He watched as the water level receded, and heard the sound of it draining somewhere beneath his feet. A set of stairs carved into the bottom of the fountain revealed themselves and led down underneath the temple and into the dark. "Lulach, come girl." The small wolf, still huddled around Allen's body, let out a tiny whimper before skipping off to follow him down the stairs.

Fearghas could only hear the dull thud of his boots against the muddy floor as he walked through the pitch-black tunnel towards the unknown. Several small pinholes of light marked the end of the tunnel ahead of him and he breathed a sigh of relief. As he regarded the light spilling through the strange circular metal door, he tried to push it open by leaning against it with his full weight. The sudden flood of bright sunlight rendered him blind and he shielded his eyes as he pushed the metal disk away from the wall and crawled through with Lulach in tow.

The ancient duo rolled out of the dark and into the sandy street of a long-deserted city. Fearghas pulled what he didn't know was a manhole cover back into place and looked around at the alien world he now called home. The dry desert heat quickly filled his lungs and he shed his heavy winter coat as Lulach licked her paws.

They searched for refuge from the unforgiving and unfamiliar sun, settling on a single-engine plane that met its demise years before in the middle of the street. To Fearghas it didn’t look any more foreign or out of place than the sea of skyscrapers around them that stretched on for miles like a shiny metal dune. He rested the Sword of the Serpent at his side and closed his eyes, focusing his ears on the wind to listen for any metallic screeches rising out of the desert.

The sun dipped below the skyline and the air cooled. Two souls tethered together like survivors on a lifeboat in time sat under the broken wing and waited for nightfall.