A Son’s Betrayal (4)

By Samuel S. Bunnya, Uganda

Orhóvihir was more determined to fight his father for the mantle of Great Father. Something inside of him sparked a resistance to the force of his father. His body quaked with the effort he put in to withstand his father’s power. He suddenly felt the force clear. Orhóvihir did not wait for his father to realise that he had broken free of the force.

He got to his feet but found himself pushed back by strange dark vines that appeared out of thin air. Orhóvihir hacked at them knowing they were deadly. One of the vines curled itself around his leg, and forced Orhóvihir down on one knee. Still, the eldest son of the Great Father did not give up. Without thinking so much about it, Orhóvihir called unto the one force he knew could push his father to the limit.

Combined with my own power, we might be able to overcome the Great Father.

Orhóvihir pulled with all his strength at the vine that grasped his hand. He closed his eyes and pulled. His mind started to reach out through the Realms. Although it had been defeated, Orhóvihir knew that there was a part of it that remained out in the Realm. Nothing was ever truly defeated. He hoped that he was right as he used his mind to reach out to the great power that had once been the greatest enemy of his father.

Just as his father’s strength started to prevail, Orhóvihir felt it. It started as a fleeting sensation at the back of his mind. He clasped onto it using the arts of magic his mother had taught all the children of the Great Father. Somewhere deep in the realms of men and the Great Realm, the darkness lingered. It was not as strong or powerful as he expected, but it was there. Orhóvihir could feel it lurching onto him as well. He felt his power begin to grow and knew that he could embrace it.

Orhóvihir looked into his father’s eyes. He saw the realisation from the Great Father at what he, Orhóvihir, was doing. He saw the ashen look that crossed the Great Father’s facial features and understood that the Great Father was afraid. Without thinking twice, Orhóvihir embraced the dark power he felt going through him. He felt strength he had never felt in his life. He could feel the energy coursing through him. Orhóvihir felt the hearts of more than tens of thousands. He did not understand it, but he liked it.

Suddenly, a force took hold of his mind. “Why do you seek us?” Something vile and powerful slithered raced through his mind. Orhóvihir was powerless to stop it. He felt it watching his heart and memories of the past. “Why does a son of the evil father seek us?”

Evil father.

“Yes. The tyrant who led his golden hordes against us in the name of being the supreme being.”

What do you mean?

He heard a sinister cackle in his mind.

“Orhóvihir, son of Vedhor, you are indeed a fool.”

Vedhor?

“You are blind youngling,” the voice whispered. “But we shall open your eyes.”

A strange surge of energy flowed through him. He felt the earnest desire for revenge and power take hold. He felt greed, longing and a need for violence. Never had Orhóvihir felt such emotions. He did not understand them. But the linger he felt them, the stronger he felt. He could sense his power rising and growing. He could feel it bursting through him. He smiled as he stared at the Great Father.

Something took hold of him as he stared at his father. He was seeing him with new eyes. Orhóvihir could see the power of his father, but at the same time he could see the weaknesses of the Great Father. He saw through the façade of greatness that the Great Father had built. His father looked less of the man Orhóvihir had grown and watched for centuries. He looked more like an old fool. He appeared as a traitor.

Traitor. The thought was silent but powerful enough to echo through his mind. The Great Traitor of the world.

“Orhóvihir,” the Great Father’s voice was laced with fear.

Orhóvihir blinked twice to see the indecision and fear in his father. The Great Father was hesitating as he stared down at Orhóvihir. From the expression on his face, Orhóvihir knew that his father was afraid of him. He could tell that there was something that the Great Father saw in his eyes that frightened him. Orhóvihir knew he had a few moments before the Great Father made up his mind.

“What are you?” Orhóvihir asked his father.

“I am your father,” came the firm response.

He could hear the faint whispers of unanswered questions in his mind. “Am I a son of a traitor?” Orhóvihir asked.

The Great Father gasped. “Do not speak to it,” he warned.

Orhóvihir’s eyes snapped to his father. “You know what this is.”

“How could you Orhóvihir?” the Great Father roared. “You have let it in.”

“Let what in, father?”

Orhóvihir knew the answer to his own question. He had reached out in hope and he had been answered. His father had lied to them. There was more to the tale of the darkness and Orhóvihir intended to find out what it was.

Without seeing them, Orhóvihir saw Israfel and Eiael coming straight at him with so much force. He was too shocked to move an inch. He could feel the whirling power that was radiating off the two sacred weapons of his father. The Great Father meant to destroy him.

I am your son, Orhóvihir thought.

Yet the blades were coming at him. Time faded into a snail as Orhóvihir looked at the two weapons which would go through his chest ending him. Something took hold of him. Orhóvihir moved away at the last moment and the two ancient and powerful weapons of the Great Father flew past him. He turned to the man he had always called father. Orhóvihir was hurt and shocked. He could not believe it.

“He has always been a traitor,” the voice whispered in Orhóvihir’s head. “He seeks to destroy that which can show him for what he is.”

Orhóvihir’s body moved again as the blades came past him once more. He watched as they settled into his father’s hands. As the eldest son of the Great Father, Orhóvihir had always believed that he held a special place in his father’s eyes. He was wrong if his father’s expression dared to speak. As far as Orhóvihir could tell his father was staring at him like an enemy and nothing else.

“I am your son,” Orhóvihir whispered.

“You are an ungrateful mad fool, Orhóvihir.” The Great Father raised his two ancient blades to the sky and thunder rolled all around them. “No son of mine would have reached out to the darkness.”

So that is what this is, Orhóvihir thought.

“He calls us the darkness, but we are his kin and he is a traitor.” The vile voice in his mind sounded stronger.

“Darkness,” Orhóvihir spat.

“Yes, darkness,” the great Father fired back.

“You were once part of it,” Orhóvihir reasoned. His anger was rising. “You told us that you are the one who decided to break from it. Not so long ago you told me how you broke from it by sheer force of will.”

“And that is why I will end it forever.”