REVENANTS
by Ryan Sherwood



EXCERPT

CHAPTER 1

It was nearly impossible for every revenant involved to comprehend the amount of death ahead: no matter the estimate, the guess was conservative.

“A reason worth fighting for is both the single most reason to live and to die for,” stated the tall dark haired revenant standing above a cluster of nodding comrades. “You are all here because we all know what has to be done. I will not speak any more about what we do being right, that decision is up to the ages now. What I will speak to is what is wrong. I stand before you, as the obvious evidence that there is too much wrong occurring. I would not be here if everything was right. And it falls to us to set an end to it.”

Huddled in a large barn on the edge of an ancient forest, a group of revenants stirred in agreement. On the loft, with the hay and chickens, stood an elite band of Lucien Sols and in the center, the revenant that was supposed to end all the strife. He stood tall and proud, his thin angular features leapt out over his ashen skin. Black hair hung to his sharp jawline and stemmed off in strands over his ball nose and thin lips. Trace amounts of brilliant blue lingered in the irises of his deep set white eyes, yet worry was the most apparent. He stood above his fellow revenants in the same loose robes they donned to show his stout belief in equality. Some were familiar and loved, others were fresh, but all were dressed in their earthen colored attire with light leather under armor and a sword at one side. It no matter who the troops were though, they would provide the necessary diversion for the Sols to get the real work done. To reveal the truth. If there were too many failures Ghost knows what would happen.

“I have been with all of you for a short time it seems; learning from you, teaching you what I’ve discovered. Much has happened in the months and years we’ve been together – some have been here from the beginning and some have come seeking shelter from the coming storm. The truth shall set forth on the wind and that wind will become a gale as long as we, right here, right now, get behind and push.”

The crowd below cheered.

“Pleroma… sir, My Pleroma…” a deep voice whispered in the ear of the gaunt speaker from the group of Sols in the loft. “Janna is back, we are ready.”

“Thank you and please quit being so formal, it’s strange having someone like you, who has been with me when I was nothing, call me that.”

“Sure thing,” the deep voice answered. His dark, tall and solid stature teetered back and forth with anticipation. “Then, shall we?”

The Pleroma turned to the sea of revenants below with a metal cylinder resting on his open palms. Every tongue hushed. The Pleroma’s heart pounded in his temples but he made sure to keep his hands steady; there could be no signs of weakness, no more anxiety to be seen. This tactical strike had to be pulled off in one way or another. The Sols have been under constant persecution from vastly superior forces for centuries yet have always found ways to survive. They always managed. But this time, their existence, and truthfully every revenants existence was on the verge of an intentional extinction. They all stood to suffer a species-wide suicide unless he stopped the Holous. They had to be stopped.

“The Cycle will persist. We will see to it. And we will continue on with our holy mission of protection and perseverance. We have our own future in our hands…will we fight for it?”

The crowd cheered with minimal tenacity.

“Will we fight?!”

The group screamed a unified ‘yes.’

The Pleroma’s hand clenched tight around the cylinder and a stalk of blue light appeared. The azure beam smoothly weaved up through thin air as growing liquid light, tumbling over bright strands of itself until it formed into a thick curved shape of a blade. The familiar combination of a rushing river and a crackling fire sang as it roused, humming the soothing tune of the aura blade. It gently illuminated his face cobalt as his eyes burned the same color. Swirling navy blue lines snaked within the burning blade, curling in complex circular patterns, adorning the weapon with manifestations reflecting the same complex emotions cursing through the Pleroma’s soul.

“And we will win!” the Pleroma shouted as the lines twisting through his aura blade spiked with his passion. “Take your positions and take your futures!”

The throng chanted and cheered, banging their helmets and clapping their hands to kick up enough clamor for the enemy to hear. For the heavens to hear. The Pleroma couldn’t help but think of the old Roman legions when he looked at his troops. These revenants stood before simple and tall wooden barn doors, valiantly facing a truly pivotal point that lay across a lush field of late Spring grass. The doors creaked open and the legion trampled out into the night, lead by a pair of revenants with glowing swords.

The beautiful blue glow surrounding the Pleroma winked out as he turned back to his trusted group with a mere metal cylinder in his hand. All types stood before him in brown ribbed leather that resembled muscle tissue, covered with loose tan robes. He looked down their bodies to their knee high boots, then back to their thick belt with ribbed metal cylinders attached. Every face was painted with a thick red circle that covered the eyes with an inner red dot. In all four directions from this circle grew arms of a simple cross that covered the rest of the face. Every face was decorated and ready for battle, the Pleroma was no exception.

“Pleroma, one last time,” the deep voice sounded again, “can we convince you to stay here out of harms way?”

“No matter what occurs good friends,” he responded, “everything is in place – whether I live or not. I am needed on the field. Now scatter to your companions and positions.”

The group did just that until only two revenants were left standing before him. A woman with curly and tangled dirty strawberry blonde hair, with red paint splattered in it, and the man with the deep voice, whose red painted cross had spread to cover most of his bald head.

“My favored… we ride,” the Pleroma smiled.

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