Waithe woke to a beam of sunlight streaming through a narrow slot in the rock above. He lifted his hand into the beam, feeling the warmth on his palm. A new day, he thought, just maybe it will be one of hope.

Ceres laid close to him on one side with Quar and Kori on the other to conserve what warmth they could. Ceres periodically shuddered in her sleep. Her face seemed pale and her cheeks hollow, likely due to hunger and thirst. Waithe felt his stomach twist in protest. He had insisted that Ceres take much of his share of the stingy amount of food and water given to them, since her strength would be the most important of all, but he knew now that it would not be strength that would win the day.

Worst of all this, even more so than the meager rations or the uncomfortable dark place that entombed them, had been the unknowing. The anxiety of when, what, and how picked at his heart, slowly chipping away at the hope he tried to shelter. It had to be worse for the others, especially Ceres. But now there was knowing. Even with the uncertainty of the final outcome, be it light or dark, it offered some renewal of spirit.

Ceres stirred. Her shallow reddened eyes leveled on Waithe. Tears would have wetted her cheeks if not for her thirst. She trembled as she turned into her father's arms.

Her voice strained to come out. "I do not know how much more I can take of this, Father."

"This wretched place exists only to steal hope from the heart, leaving behind only despair. Raste tries to make you easy prey for the Darkness." He kissed her head. "My dear daughter, guard jealously the hope in your heart. Do not let him take it away."

Quar and Kori woke, blinking their eyes and rising to sitting positions. Waithe gathered them into a small circle.

He nodded to each. "Today, our fate and that of the realm shall be resolved."

Ceres tilted her head and lifted an eyebrow.

He continued. "Last night a vision came to me, one of hope." He turned toward his daughter. "Ceres, you shall finally face Raste and the Darkness."

She shook her head. "But I am so weak."

"Victory shall not come by strength, my daughter, only by love. That be the lesson of the vision, that the Darkness cannot invade a heart filled with love. Have you not wondered why the Spirits chose you for this quest? It be for more than your link to them or strength of youth, it be for your loving heart. Know this as surely as the sun rises, dear daughter, that I love you deeply." He swept his arm. "And all of us here, we all love you."

First Kori and then Quar laid their hands on Ceres shoulders. Kori nodded. "Aye, my friend, it be so."

Waithe smiled as Ceres widened eyes appeared no longer so hopeless. "Carry that love with you, daughter. From love rises hope."

All eyes turned to a sudden appearance of a light that bathed the cell in a comforting green glow. The Spirit settled in the middle of the circle of prisoners.

A slight grin came to Ceres' face. "Phy, what brings you here?" Her grin widened to a smile as she gazed upon the Spirit. She grasped Waithe's hand. "Father, it be Eira! She sends me a vision of her own. And Alden be with her!"

Waithe grinned. "And there be so many others outside of this dank cell who love you as well, not the least of which be Eira and Alden, and at least one mischievous Spirit." He cocked an eye at the green light and whispered, "That be exquisitely good timing, my dear Phy."

Phy faded away, again leaving them in relative darkness. Ceres jumped at the rattle of a key in the lock. The cell door above squealed as it moved open.

The Darkness blackened eyes of the guard who peered through the small opening. "Out! All of you, except the old witch. She stays."

One by one they crawled up to the doorway to be yanked out. As Waithe reached the door he pulled out a key from his pocket and dropped it at Quar's feet, momentarily locking eyes with her with a slight nod, one almost imperceptible. Pulled out into the hallway, two guards shoved him up against the stone wall while a third bound his hands behind him.

Waithe stumbled along as a guard pushed him forward, Ceres and Kori grasping his bound arms before he fell. Another guard led the procession up the gray cut stone stairs and yet another followed behind. All three wore the blue and red uniforms of the Medice Guard, but corrupted by the Darkness they were no more than slaves to Shaman Raste.

The austerity of Raste's office surprised Waithe. Scias may have an eye for beauty and form, but Raste had none. No art or coverings adorned the dull gray stone walls. A plain wooden desk occupied the middle with a scratched wooden wardrobe off to one side. There were no chairs for visitors, presumably they were to stand. Behind a partially opened door in the back was what appeared to be a sparse bedroom.

As Ceres entered, she jumped back with a gasp. On the floor, Lord Scias laid motionless on his back in a pool of partially dried blood, his mouth open and eyes closed. The hilt of a knife extended from his chest.

Raste spun around, causing the ceremonial black robe of a Shaman flare out. He pointed at the body. "A shame, he was to be part of my plans. This is on you, Ceres. You poisoned his mind."

Ceres pulled her lips tight. "The truth is not poison. But you are, Raste."

The Shaman settled down into his desk chair. "I must compliment you, Lady Ceres. A worthy foe have you been. You weakened me and forced changes in my plans. But soon that shall not matter." He leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk with his pale fingers laced together. "You shall understand the true power of existence. Side by side, we shall be invincible and a new order will rise."

"The Darkness corrupts you."

Raste jumped up and scowled. "No! It enlightens me! All the power of the Darkness to this world flows through me and soon it shall it also flow through you as well, my dear Lady."

Ceres narrowed her eyes. "I shall not allow you to corrupt me! So wrong it is."

The Shaman's words rolled out like acid. "Your pathetic morality disgusts me. Always has it been the victors who define righteousness."

Two additional guards, not of the three who brought them up from the dungeon, stood on either side of Waithe and Kori. They wore the black uniforms and red sash of the palace guard. Waithe noticed that their eyes had not been blackened with the Darkness. They must be particularly loyal to Raste to stand there with their Lord dead on the floor. With a motion from Raste, the guards shoved Waithe and Kori down to their knees. Kori yelped as one guard yanked her head upright by her black hair.

The Shaman walked around the desk, stopping before the two kneeling on the floor. He extracted a shiny knife from his belt and moved it back and forth. "In that case, Lady Ceres, I shall let you decide which one dies. If you do not decide, I shall kill both." He pressed his blade against Waithe's throat hard enough to release a small trickle of blood. "Perhaps the old man?"

Ceres eyes snapped full open as she let out an airy gasp. Raising a bushy eyebrow, Raste put on a vile smirk. "So this one means something to you? Once cleansed with the Darkness, perhaps he shall become our servant."

Raste withdrew the knife, stepped back, and raised a crooked hand. Black tendrils snaked out from his finger tips and swirled in lazy spirals. Still on his knees, Waithe attempted to back away from the poisonous vapors, but the guards held him firmly in place. A cold fear gripped him as the tendrils encircled him, probing like a predator to trapped prey. When the Darkness pieced him, Waithe tipped his head back and let out a silent scream.

Fear turned to terror. The essence of himself, his very soul, withered before the dark assault. He steeled his will, fighting back with all the fury he could summon. But it did not impede the invader, any more than a slashing sword would stop smoke.

Words from the Woman of Light rose from a corner of his mind like a lantern at midnight. Love, Grandfather. The Darkness cannot be defeated by strength. Only love.

Waithe closed his eyes and consciously slowed his breath. In place of the fury, he reached into his mind's vault and lifted treasured memories, those rich in love: his wife on their wedding day, the birth of a daughter, a lost daughter re-found. The Darkness recoiled from the light, writhing and hissing, but still it attacked. The voice of Raste came to him, but as though muted through a long tube. "Interesting. He resists. But there is more than enough Darkness to subdue him."

Ceres cried out, "Stop this, please! I shall do as you wish if you would spare him."

The Darkness withdrew, leaving Waithe bent over while pulling deep raspy breaths. It left weeping wounds on his soul that would remain forever as scars. A dreadful thought chilled him - how could Ceres endure this?

Raste sneered at her as he pulled his hand back. "So weak your sentiments make you. Now kneel before me!"

Ceres dropped down to her knees and bowed her head. She jerked as he stabbed the knife down hard onto the desktop, leaving it embedded in the wooden top. A grin grew wide on his ashen face and a series of malicious cackles spilled out of his mouth. 

Raste stood before the kneeling Lady of the Order, seemingly taking a few moments to revel in her submission. He pulled the black hood over his head. Gray bony hands with long cracked fingernails extended toward her. Again, black tendrils swirled from his fingers like smoke and circled her. Ceres faint whimper tore at Waithe's heart as the Darkness invaded her body.

The palace guards near him turned their heads to a commotion outside the door. Hardly a moment later the door burst open, slamming hard against the wall, the crash echoing off the stone walls. A current of unnatural wind blasted in. Both Kori and Ceres' hair lifted in tangled fury as the wind buffeted them. A concentrated whirl of air knocked Raste back and billowed his black robe. He would have fallen to the floor had he not steadied himself with a hand on the desk.

A figure appeared at the door. "Let her be, Raste!" She snarled through gritted teeth. The bright yellow light of the Spirit Aer hovered above her.

Waithe's eyes went wide. He mumbled to himself, "Quar, nay. You were meant to escape."

The three corrupted Medice guards at the back of the room turned to each other, apparently unsure of what to do. The two palace guards beside Waithe and Kori, unencumbered by the will suppression brought on by the Darkness, had no such indecision. They rushed her with blades drawn, but a blast of wind sent them tumbling across the floor.

Kori buried her head into Waithe's shoulder. With the guards focused on Quar, Waithe whispered to her, "There be a knife in my right boot. Take it out and give it to me. Quickly." He accepted the knife and began sawing through the leather cords which bound his hands behind him.

Raste stood up, his face twisted with anger under the hood. An ashen-colored light streaked with blackness snapped into existence above him. Waithe recognized the light, the same one that opposed Ceres the day after she hired him as protector and again in the swamps of Moeras: Ker, the Spirit of Death. Loathsome, Ceres called the Spirit, but one that would not oppose her if not for the Darkness.

Ker pulsed a blackness that spread across the room like waves. Kori gasped as her grip tightened on Waithe. Each pulse halted his breath and blurred his mind. Aer, the Air Spirit, flashed wildly, spun about in a spiraling circle, and then disappeared as if Ker frightened her away. Quar's eyes flashed wide while Raste grinned.

A gray fog sprang from the Death Spirit, flowing like a river of mist to enshroud Quar. Her mouth snapped fully open, but only a raspy moan emerged. Twisting and contorting under the foul Magic, her body aged decades in a moment. She tried to stumble away, but the fog held her firm while she wasted. She slumped down as the terrible fog pulled back. Once an elegant woman, she laid reduced to nearly a skeleton, pallid and wrinkled, quivering on the floor. Despite all of this, her eyes formed into an icy stare at him.

Kori turned her eyes away. Waithe felt rage well up in him. Had Quar not already paid enough for her sins?

Raste let out a sadistic chuckle. "Reverend Quar, I shall let you live... for now. I grant you the privilege of witnessing the transformation of the Realm." He turned back to Ceres, who still knelt with her head bowed. "Now where were we? I believe we had begun your enlightenment."