The Herald of Darkness

[ZOMBI3S]

Chapter 19 - Clarity

 

 

Sithrak collapsed to the deck, clawing at his throat, blood covering his chest and fingers. Eyes wide, he gazed up to Takua, gasping and sputtering as more and more blood flowed, washed quickly away by the rain. His bony fingers clutched and clasped, contorting as they desperately tried to stop it, to save himself from slipping away, but it was no use. He writhed, strength failing, his life slipping away with every beat of his heat. And Takua watched as he reached out one last time.

 

The Kryll’s nails clawed at his boot, perhaps a last attempt to do him harm, or a maybe a final, desperate cry for help. Either way, the hand soon fell limp, and Takua saw the light leave his eyes.

 

It was done. Sithrak was gone.

 

Lightning flashed behind him, thunder booming as he cracked his neck, feeling what could only be closure, or maybe clarity. He looked to Rashi, unapologetic and unmoving. And the Kryll, it seemed, had nothing to say about her captain’s death.

 

Fwoosh!

 

The ship rocked to the side as a great wave smashed into it, spraying them with water, and suddenly they were back in the madness. Rashi sprinted for the wheel, grabbing hold and pulling, righting the ship’s course just as another wave spilled over the deck. Takua moved past her without engaging, agreeing to whatever unspoken arrangement she seemed to have offered. He sprinted down the steps to the main deck, back into the flurry of Matoran and Kryll, into the chaos of battle. Jaka. He had to find Jaka.

 

Takua grabbed the deck’s railing as the ship rocked, riding up the crest of a wave, dodging a rolling barrel that careened past, and —

 

“Loose!”

 

The far-away orders of Matoran, and Takua hit the deck as they crested the wave, a volley of fiery arrows flying over his head, sinking into the deck and a few unlucky Kryll behind him. The ship rocketed forward, sailing down again as Takua scampered along the ship, whirling around a pair of Kryll and Matoran who locked blades. A Ga-Matoran, a Po-Matoran!  But he had no time make allies; he had to get back to the hold. He had to find Jaka!

 

“Takua…!”

 

He whirled around at the sound of his name, only to be met with water crashing over the railing. He blinked, wiping his vision clear, seeing the warship fly past, and through the sheets of rain — a Matoran, hanging onto its rigging, calling out to him.

 

“Takua!” the voice was barely audible over the storm. “…Rope!” it yelled.

 

Takua squinted, recognizing the Po-Matoran’s mask “…Sorin!? Is that you!?”

 

“Grab the rope!” he yelled, tossing a length of heavy cord out across the water, but they were moving too fast, and in a second the warship was out of reach.

 

“I’ll find you,” Takua yelled out as the Po-Matoran disappeared into the dark. “I’ll find you!” he repeated, louder, hoping his ally had heard.

 

Thunk!

 

A battle axe sank into the rail behind him and Takua whirled around, face to face with a brute, the Kryll’s claws reaching out, trying to reclaim him as a prisoner. But Takua had no time for this. He dropped as the ship rocked again, batted once more by an enormous wave, and slid across the slippery wood, right through the warrior’s legs. He sprinted away, around the mast and toward the door to the hold. Jaka… Jaka! He prayed he was okay, that he hadn’t lost too much blood, that he could patch him up and get safely out of here before —

 

“Incoming!”

 

Another flaming barrel, this one smashing into the ship just a dozen feet to his left. Splintering the floor, smashing the flagship into another wave, Takua shielded his face as wood and metal flew past, as more water coated the already soaked deck. He righted himself, moving ever forward to the door… there it was! Just a few strides away — and it burst open before he could reach it.

 

…Jaka.

 

Takua breathed a sigh of relief. His mangled hand was bandaged, his thumb and only three fingers sticking out of a great ball of white wrappings. His shield already rested on his back and a small dagger was clutched in his off hand. It was obvious someone had freed him, patched him up, helped him find his things. And yet, there was pain on his face. Pain at the sight of Takua.

 

Maybe it was his wounds. Maybe it was the blood, still not yet washed off his mask, or the wild look in his eyes that made Jaka open his mouth. But for whatever reason, instead of being thrilled at seeing his friend alive and free, Jaka’s initial response was… worry.

 

“Takua…” he said softly, unfazed by the chaos of the storm. “What have you done?”

 

But there was no time to talk.

 

“Rogue wave!”

 

“Wave!”

 

Yelling, screaming, all around them, and the fighting paused as Matoran and Kryll alike looked up, seeing with horror the tsunami that rushed toward them. The Matoran ship was far away now, already riding for it, flying forward as it challenged the hundred-foot-tall wall of water. But their ship was sideways, half-sinking, and time was running out.

 

“Come on!” Takua yelled as he grabbed Jaka’s arm, pulling him back toward Sithrak’s cabin, but Rashi had already pulled at the wheel, and the ship wrenched sideways, throwing them off-balance. It sent them, the Kryll, and anything not bolted down careening to the far railing.

 

Takua latched onto it, holding on for dear life as the rudder pulled them, slowly turning — but they weren’t going to make it. Already at the base of the wave, Takua looked up with horror as the water towered above them, curling over, blotting out the sky before — he took one last look at Jaka.

 

And it fell upon them.

 

Takua was torn from the ship, pummeled by thousands of pounds of merciless water. There was sea. Sky. Sea. Sky. White. And then — black.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Through the bumpy, rumbly carriage ride, Aya waited.

 

She sat, cloak pulled tight around her, eyes baggy as she stared half-lidded at Mako and the other Ta-Matoran guard. The Ga-Matoran noble sitting beside her nervously twiddled her thumbs. The Ussal crab that pulled their vehicle scuttled over the volcanic soil, and still, Aya waited. She tried not to pick at her bandages. She tried to think of nothing. She tried her best to stay awake. But she was thoroughly exhausted.

 

She was on her way out of the city. Kokani had found her a healer and they’d patched her up, smushed ointment on her burns and let her rest for a few hours. As if that mattered, for with the city in utter chaos she’d gotten little sleep. People ran amok, yelling about the end of days, lamenting the Toa and Turaga, weeping for friends and family lost in the night’s violence. But to their credit, what remained of the Ta-Koro guard had stepped in and saved what little sanity the City of Fire had left. There was peace for the moment. How long that would last, however, remained to be seen.

 

Aya herself didn’t know what to think. Maybe she was still in shock, maybe she was too tired, or maybe she was just stubborn enough to not believe it yet. But the loss of… well, everyone of importance, left her feeling… confused. If anything at all.

 

Raipu. Aya managed an exasperated sigh. It had been Raipu all along, hiding a single canister of gas in a chest beneath his bed. A single dose for a single day, saved for the one Matoran who could give him the access he needed to carry out his plan.

 

She looked to Mako’s Matatu, sunken, pale and just as exhausted as she was — but he looked better than the previous night. He’d spilled the details of Raipu’s plot as he detoxed, shaking as he recalled being a prisoner in his own body. Constantly teetering on the edge of sanity, he’d been unable to fight Raipu’s commands, unable to tell anyone as he’d carried just a few explosives into elder Ta-Koro, adding more every day until there was enough to destroy the old city. He’d wanted to resign. He’d pleaded with Kokani and Illum to relieve him of his duties but they’d both refused. Because they needed everyone now. Everyone who remained.

 

Aya watched him as the scuttling of their Ussal slowed, and the carriage rolled to a stop. Mako blinked, looking almost alive again. Aya suspected they wanted to keep him close — if only for fear of what Mako’s guilt might make him do.

 

The guard opened the door, and both Ta-Matoran exited. Aya motioned for the Ga-Matoran noble to follow, and by the time she exited the carriage and her boots hit the ground, she found a circle of Matoran waiting in the bright light outside.

 

“So here we are.”

 

Aya glanced around, realizing this was Illum’s informal way of starting the meeting. It was a cloudy, windy, mid-afternoon, and they were at the crossroads outside the city, where they’d first met Illum and the other Turaga upon their arrival. It seemed the most private place, with the city in its current state. But instead of Turaga and Toa standing between the silent black obelisks, there were only a few carriages, and their Matoran passengers now standing outside. Illum and Rae. Kokani and Ihko. A high-ranking Po-Matoran clerk, and the low-ranking Ga-Matoran noble that stood beside Aya. A few members of the Sanctum. A handful of advisors from each Koro. Some of the Ta-Koro guard… and Mako.

 

“Here we are,” the Onu-Matoran said solemnly. “All that remains.”

 

This was the highest leadership they had left — and Aya hardly knew any of their names.

 

“We’re here for obvious reasons,” Illum went on. “To decide our next move, before we fracture into chaos.”

 

“People are still unaccounted for,” the clerk from Po-Koro interjected. “The dead aren’t buried yet; we’ve had no time to even mourn. Can’t this wait?”

 

“No…!” came Mako’s voice suddenly, surprising many, Aya included. The Ta-Matoran straightened his gait and lifted his chin, forcing his weakened voice to stay strong. “…We can mourn when we ourselves are dead,” he said sharply, and the stout-hearted Guard Captain he was known to be started to show. “There is no time for council or deliberation. We need a plan. Today. Here and now. Or we will splinter and fall, and the Kryll will have won.”

 

“Unity…” Illum replied. “That is what I propose. Throughout all of history’s darkest hours, the Koro have only ever survived by uniting under one banner.”

 

A murmur rippled through the crossing as people looked to each other, but Illum silenced them with a wave of his hand. Controversial or not, it was obvious he had the most power here. His honeyed words began to flow as he stood, cloak rippling in the wind.

 

“Each of you has a choice to make,” he said, turning around the circle, making eye contact with everyone present. “You can go, or you can stay. It’s that simple.”

 

Aya listened, meandering around the circle’s edge until she stood a few feet away from Kokani. The group murmured again, but she and Ko-Matoran were silent. They made brief eye contact as Illum went on.

 

“You can go, or you can stay,” he nodded, drumming home his point. “You can go back to your respective Koro and deliver the terrible news: that we are lost and leaderless. And from there you will deliberate, you and the others in your caste. You will talk and act and push and prod, perhaps appointing new Turaga quickly, perhaps not,” he shrugged, wrapping his cloak closer as a gust whipped through them. “And I wouldn’t blame you. It’s a sensible thing to do, and I’d be doing the same if my predecessor had not already passed. But just know that while you do that, our enemies will rally.” And he paused again, if only for dramatic effect. “They will grow under Makuta’s shadow, they will dig deep and spread their roots, and when they return you may find all your blades together are not strong enough to cut them down.” Illum looked around, his eyepatch shining in the cloudy light.

 

“Or you can stay here,” he rebutted, gesturing to the dirt before them. “And you can send word to your people that we have come together. You can say that our late Turaga wished for us to follow our ancient virtues — to unite. And overcome our foes together.” He paused, turning briefly to face Kokani and Aya. “That is… if we choose a leader.”

 

“And allow us to guess… that leader should be you?” It was Ihko who had spoken, challenging the Onu-Matoran. His sanctum members stood tall behind him, and his Miru smiled, gladly resisting Illum’s power.

 

“…No.”

 

Aya looked up, just as surprised as Ihko. “No?”

 

“No,” Illum shook his head, pulling his cloak tighter as the breeze rustled again. “No… as much as I would like to. I have support among the Underworld, but it would be in bad taste. Krosis’ attack paints me as a villain — I brought the one who betrayed us, and it was my trial cut short by the loss of the Turaga. I cannot use this for political gain without sacrificing my credibility.”

 

Aya huffed, leaning back against an obelisk. She didn’t know what to make of Illum anymore, but it was a valid point.

 

The Onu-Matoran went on. “If I cannot earn your trust here, in this windy crossing, how would I ever win the hearts of all Mata Nui’s people?”

 

“Then who?” Mako added, remorse peppering his professionalism. “It cannot be me, for I have already failed you all. A Turaga of one Koro is already much to bear. But a Turaga of six? Who among us is strong enough? Look at us — we are not Mata Nui’s leaders. We are the followers, suddenly forced into leadership because everyone else is gone. Who among us is brave enough?”

 

And the murmur spread again. Matoran looked to the ground, avoiding Mako’s question. He was right — if not Illum, no one in this circle had any real experience. No one that remained was willing to take up such a responsibility. Aya sighed, kicking the dirt. It wouldn’t be that Po-Matoran — he was scrawny and awkward and didn’t seem have ever led more than a Mahi. And the Ga-Matoran, she was too quiet, too shy, too unknown for a position such as this. Ihko, maybe, but he didn’t speak up, and he wasn’t nearly charismatic enough to unite Mata Nui. She folded her arms, knowing it in the back of her mind.

 

The circle was quiet. One of the Ussal crabs scuttled in place. Only the black obelisks stood tall as everyone huddled before the wind.

 

Aya hoped someone else would speak, but nothing came. She huffed.

 

“Are we going to dance around this all afternoon or do I have to say it?”

 

The crossing was still, and all eyes turned to her. She should’ve felt out of place — she was a nobody, after all. And speaking up in a council to determine the fate of the island? It went against everything in her character. But most everyone here was a nobody, and at this point, she was simply too tired to care. Aya rolled her eyes.

 

“Kokani, it has to be you.”

 

The Ko-Matoran lifted his head. Another wave of mumblings ran through the obelisks.

 

“I think — !” Illum stood up, stifling the noise as he repeated himself. “I think I speak for many of us when I say there is no one else more qualified.”

 

Kokani spoke. “I am no Turaga, Illum.”

 

“Neither was I, until I became one.”

 

“You led my guardsmen when I could not,” Mako nodded. “You didn’t hesitate when my city needed you. You took up the mantle when no one else did.”

 

Illum followed. “We’ve always had our differences, but we work for a common goal.” He paused, lowering his voice. “And you know, more than anyone else, what has to be done.”

 

“Ko-Koro will follow you,” Ihko nodded. “That should not need to be said.”

 

“You’re almost legend among my people,” the Po-Matoran spoke up. “I grew up hearing how you fought the Toa of Shadow in Po-Koro’s streets. And you were there when Pohatu returned to us. You’ve saved many Po-Matoran lives already.”

 

And before Kokani could reply, Illum began to work his magic, addressing everyone once more. “Look! This is Kokani of Ko-Koro, standing humbly before you. Valued friend of the late Turaga Matau, member of the Sanctum Guard, protector of the Atouri, soldier of Mata Nui. He has saved countless lives in the battles across the land; he fought alongside the Toa in Ga-Koro. He rallied for Ta-Koro, uniting us when we were caught unaware — if not for him, many of us would not have made it through the night.” Illum paused, waiting for a rebuttal, but no one spoke and so he continued. “If any of you object, do so now — but know that your other option is defeat. Know, that if you do not stand with us in the light… you will undoubtedly become lost in darkness.”

 

And the clearing was deathly silent. Only the wind rippled the fields around them. Only the clouds moved above. Only the air spoke, its breath powerless against Illum’s words.

 

“…Let Mata Nui be our witness,” he said finally, and he turned to Kokani, his mask — for once — entirely sincere. “That is… if you’ll have us, Kokani.”

 

A few more seconds of silence, and Aya leaned over, “You’re not a warrior anymore, Kokani. You’re a leader,” she shrugged, nonchalantly whispering in his ear. “I mean… whether you like it or not, at this point.”

 

And Kokani muttered to himself. “Six peoples, one destiny.”

 

Aya nodded.

 

“We’ve no more heroes, and so we must make our own,” Kokani stood, addressing all those before him, assuming his role without reprise. “Send word to your Koro. All who remain, all our soldiers, all who are brave and strong enough to fight — say that I summon them. Say that I challenge them, to live up to their duty, to unite under this shared cause and fulfill our common destiny.”

 

And there was a voice — some lone advisor, calling out from within the crowd. “We stand with you, Turaga.”

 

“Tell them we will walk the path of our ancestors.” Kokani said, raising his volume. “Tell them we will unify upon the ancient stones of the Kini Nui, and from there — we sail. To the fabled lands of the Eastern Continent, to the shining White Tower across the sea.”

 

And another voice, louder than before. “Turaga Kokani!”

 

“We will no longer sit idly by while destiny is decided for us,” he went on, his words carried, amplified by the wind. “No… we will take it for our own. We will take everything we have — all our warriors, all our ships, everyone your Koro can spare to give. And we’ll take this fight to the Kryll. We will take this fight… to Makuta himself!”

 

“Turaga Kokani.”

 

“…Turaga Kokani!”

 

And a chant had started to form, growing louder by the second. “Turaga… Turaga! Turaga Kokani!”

 

“For as of today, we stand together,” the Ko-Matoran nodded, approving of their enthusiasm. “We will stand, proud and tall against Makuta and his minions. Without Turaga, without Toa… we will stand as our own heroes, and we will stand as one. Six peoples… one destiny! United, under Mata Nui.”

 

And the circle erupted with cheers. They showed their support for the newfound leader, but Kokani didn’t bathe in it. He didn’t even seem pleased. His mask was as stoic as ever. His eyes were cold and blue as he turned back to Aya, seemingly immune to the praise he now received. The two took a moment to connect, each of them processing what exactly this meant, and how it would change their lives. But finally, Kokani nodded to her, and finished his speech with a promise — a vow.

 

“We’ll find Takua,” he said, now low and unapologetic. He clenched his jaw, swearing it before her, carving the words into her mind.

 

And Aya bowed her head, making the vow herself.

 

“We’ll find Takua,” Kokani repeated. “And we’ll end this — once and for all.”

 

 

~~~

 

 

Hand over hand, Krosis pulled the rope in silence, slowly unfurling the sail of his vessel. His eyes stared up to the expanding cloth, and to the twilight sky beyond it, lost in thought as the gentle waves lapped against Mata Nui’s shore. It was a small ship, only large enough for him and a handful of others. Most of his circle had already left for the Eastern Continent, and so he would not arrive on a flagship with fanfare, he would not participate in the great journey his peers often spoke of. No, he would have this simple sailboat, arguably little more than a dingy. A humble vessel, for a humbled king.

 

“All aboard?”

 

His captain called out, and Krosis nodded to him. With the sail at its full height, their anchor was pulled, and the ship began to rock against the waves. Krosis moved to the bow, choosing only the spray of the sea for company.

 

It should have been a victory. It should have been the crowning jewel on his campaign, and one could argue that it was. But it didn’t feel like that. It was muddled. Tainted, withered… poisoned by the price he’d paid. Perhaps Krosis was a fool for sending him. Perhaps he should’ve sent grunts, soldiers he had no personal connection to, but… no. Only he could have led this operation. Only he had the heart, the spirit, the will… to give everything he had, with full knowledge that he very likely wouldn’t come back.

 

Blood and fire… only Noruk could have done it.

 

Krosis watched the waves as the wind filled their sail, drumming his claws against the ship’s railing. He given so much for this cause, and he felt it now, more than ever before — the cost of his actions; the weight of his deeds. Every day, it seemed to grow heavier.

 

Noises pulled him back to reality. A few shouts, the sound of a rope cast overboard, of something being pulled on deck. But he knew what was happening, so he didn’t feel the need to turn around. Rather, he grimaced, annoyed that this thorn in his side had returned once again. He narrowed his eyes, staring out to sea as he heard footsteps approach from behind.

 

“Were you going to leave without me?”

 

The voice sounded irritated, and so Krosis matched it. “I wait for no one.”

 

“You said you’d take me. I was promised.”

 

“You’re a fool, Raipu.”

 

“You owe me.”

 

Krosis turned around, looking down on the Po-Matoran. He crossed his arms, letting out a quiet sigh. “This is what you want then? The White Tower? Your payment was not enough?”

 

“I was given visions,” Raipu held his ground, his mask sweaty, clearly having rushed to meet the ship in time. He paused to catch his breath. “I must see him. I… I was promised.”

 

“You were promised….” Krosis couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. “Like I said: you’re a fool.”

 

But Raipu’s anger was evident, and he put his foot down, bold against the King of the Kryll. “You couldn’t have done it without me. You will take me to him. You owe me!”

 

“I owe you nothing,” Krosis spat, tired of his disrespect. He took a step forward, advancing. “You made your deal with Makuta, not I. You betrayed your people, not I. Now tell me, what did the darkness promise you? Power? Riches? A life you lost long ago?”

 

Raipu stumbled, hesitating as Krosis hit the nail on the head. But he remained resolute, making his demand once again. “…Take me to him.”

 

“Face it — you were used, Raipu. You’ll find nothing at the White Tower.” Krosis looked down on him, studying his frantic mask, reading him like a book. “None can bring back the dead — not you, not I, not Makuta or Mata Nui himself. What’s done is done.” And he turned to face the sea once more. “Take my advice… accept it. And move on.”

 

There was a moment of silence where Krosis looked to the horizon, feeling Raipu’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He watched the clouds, thin and wispy against the sky’s gradient, unconcerned with whatever crossed the Po-Matoran’s mind. Raipu had played his part; he’d delivered results — but he was no longer needed. And Krosis didn’t have the patience to entertain those he didn’t need.

 

“…Take me to him! You have to!”

 

“Go home, Po-Matoran.”

 

And Raipu must have been desperate, for Krosis turned his head at the sound of drawn steel — but his guards were close enough. A short scuffle, a few grunts as blows made their mark, and in a second the Matoran was restrained, his dagger clattering to the deck. With an exasperated breath, the King of the Kryll turned back to face him, shaking his head.

 

“…So be it.”

 

With more annoyance than anger, he moved, waving away his guards as he wrapped his claws around Raipu’s neck, lifting him off the ground. Wide-eyed, the Matoran struggled, fingers grasping at his arm, but Krosis held strong. Dangling him over the edge of ship, he stared at Raipu’s mask, gasping for air, hardly able to form words.

 

“…Wait! …Please!”

 

Krosis clicked his mandibles, silent as he drew a blade from his belt. The protosteel flashed in the setting sun, partially serrated, and inlaid with a sliver of gold — a blade he knew Raipu would recognize.

 

“Krosis… please…!” Raipu choked. “Don’t…!”

 

But the words were lost, and Krosis made it quick. Three times he sank the blade into Raipu’s gut, and the Matoran let out a slight moan. His eyes pained, his struggles subsiding, Krosis held him, suspended above the water, watching as the color drained from his Hau. Raipu’s grasping fingers faltered, and Krosis looked him up and down.

 

“I pity you.”

 

And he released his grip, letting the Po-Matoran fall.

 

In an instant he had disappeared, leaving only a cloud of blood in the water. In an instant, Raipu was gone — lost beneath the waves of the endless sea.

 

Krosis turned around, nodding his guards and crew away, wishing to be alone once more. He sank low, resting his tired, golden armor against the ship’s railing as he pulled out a cloth and began to clean the weapon. He took a minute, fingers moving automatically as he watched the fabric slowly stain red.

 

The weight returned, hanging heavy from his shoulders as he finished his work. And with a deep breath, he sheathed Takua’s dagger once more.

 

Soon, he thought. Soon… it will all be over.

 

 

~End of Part VI~

Edited June 25, 2021 by ZOMBI3S