What was he supposed to do now? Even without his magic he could feel evil accelerating all around him. While he was sitting and listening to Thendin, he felt his words trying to resonate within him as if they were trying to replicate what he felt while he was in the cavern and inspire that same level of faith, but there was an emptiness to them. Maybe not to the words, for Thendin believed them wholeheartedly, just as Intellos had; however, he could not deny that ever since The Severing, he felt an innate emptiness in everything. The more he dwelt upon it, and he did dwell upon it, the more he was beginning to realize that it was not only his connection to his magic that was removed. It seemed as though his ability to believe in anything not tangibly within his small circle of existence had been severed as well.
He had no illusions that what he felt in the cavern, the great Dragon King Lacorion, had been an extension of God himself. Nor did he doubt the existence of the man in his vision, Jesus, and His influence and cleansing of the land from the awful and evil sludge that had progressed throughout it. He was sure he had been given the task of finding The Scribe and that this task was of utmost importance to the land of Avendia itself. But what kind of God would reveal Himself to one of his children causing him to lose everything he had previously obtained? What sort of entity would cruelly dangle the promise of divinely inspired purpose to one of His own only to remove that which was required to fulfill that purpose?
Intellos conceded that his ability to believe the words spoken by Thendin, and then his ability to convey that same message to Borinth or anyone else who happened to question him, was greatly hindered because of his belief that His God, Who once gave him so much that it turned his very understanding of the world completely around, had now forsaken him to fend for himself. At its core, his belief was shattered because he felt he was incapable of completing what he had been tasked to complete. And although the presence of Lacorion’s all-encompassing divinity still resonated deeply in his soul, the part of the former wizard devoted to belief and faith had somehow broken.
So deep had he sank into the innate wanderings of his thoughts that he almost walked right into the now stationary Lord Artus. “Here it is! Is it not majestic?” said their imposed host as he held out his hands toward the castle known as The Osin Thion. He took a deep breath, the kind one takes when returning home from a lengthy journey from a far distant land where the distance in miles was second to the distance in every other aspect of familiarity. “Soon, my friends. Soon you will see why this place was known as The Oasis of the Soul. Yes, you will soon see the legendary hospitality of The Osin Thion!”
He did not turn around to speak to his captive guests, instead he took one last long inhalation and began walking toward the castle. But what he had referred to as The Oasis of the Soul held no promise of that for Intellos, Borinth, Uuntule, or Aglascio as each of them perceived an ominous foreboding emanating from the darkly lit castle walls. Though it was still far enough away that they could barely make out its outer wall against the dimly lit night sky, they could clearly see a dark violet light emanating from inside of its courtyard. If they had any doubts about the location of the Acolytes and the women they had taken, they were firmly put to rest in the violet glow. Borinth and Intellos stole a glace to each other before they were gently but firmly instructed to follow Lord Artus still confidently striding toward his home.
The doom they all felt was amplified during this last portion of their journey so much so that, at one point, Aglascio stopped and refused to walk any further. It was only the short and abrupt instructions from his father that managed to pry the boy’s feet from the ground successfully enough to complete their trek. Intellos noticed that they greyness and barrenness of the surrounding lands was increased the closer they came to the outer wall. Indeed, for the last one hundred yards the land was grassless and lifeless. Even the stars and moon seemed to glow more dimly under the oppressive blanket emanating from the castle.
“Tarry not!” beckoned Lord Artus as he approached the outer gate. “We are almost there!” he continued exuberantly.
As the heavy gate was slowly raised, it creaked loudly and wickedly. Lord Artus wasted no time as he walked under it even before it was fully raised. As the four captive guests passed under the gate, they felt a spike in the ominous growing threat. Lord Artus continued with his energized gait until he was right in front of the large inner castle door. Once there, he turned around and said, “My guards will escort you to your quarters for the night. No doubt you are all tired and have many questions. Get a solid night’s rest and meet me for breakfast in the morning. I will answer all of your questions then.” He hesitated when he started to reach for the door and added, “Your quarters have been furnished with everything you will need until the morning. Please, remain inside them. It would not do well for you to venture outside tonight.”
Sleep came quickly for them that night, more quickly than it had any of the previous year’s nights. Though each of them was filled with anxiety regarding their current host, none of them protested when they were escorted to their own chambers separate from the others. Not even Uuntule and Aglascio seemed to mind being separated from the other. Intellos, had he still possessed the common wizard ability to sense the presence of magic, was sure he would have sensed a spell whose sole purpose was to mute their suppositions regarding the presence of evil; but because he was without it, all he was left with to confirm his suppositions were his suppositions. But they were minor for all practical purposes. And because they were minor, he was able to sleep quite readily.
His dreams were always vivid while he was the Grand Wizard, so vivid that sometimes he believed he had subconsciously traveled to some form of alternate reality, some other dimension existing within the vast, mortal complex, but outside of his own small existence. Perhaps he had even traveled, somehow, to one of the dimensions alluded to by Darkinian. However, he had been unable to devote either the time or resources of his mind to unraveling those secrets, if indeed what he thought was true. Even after The Severing, his dreams persisted in their heightened realism. However, within the walls of The Oasis of the Soul, the Osin Thion, no such dreams would present themselves to he or his companions. When he was awoken by a slight rapping on his chamber door followed by a voice informing him that breakfast was ready and Lord Artus was waiting, he opened his eyes to a renewed freshness of spirit as if he had drunk deeply from a spring of complete rebirthing.
He found his clothes had already been selected and laid out on the large and plush lounge chair in his chambers. He had been so tired last night that he did not remember many of the details of the room except that the bed he slept on felt like heaven’s own cloud. Now that he thought about it, he was unable to remember much of their journey here. He remembered meeting Lord Artus while they were journeying from somewhere; but he could not remember from exactly where their journey began, nor from which purpose it had been born. As he put on his clothes, a finely spun silk robe of all black, he began to question if the journey was, in fact, “his” instead of “theirs”.
Almost as if there was a conductor directing the moments of his life, as soon as he had completed donning the fine silks, a servant of Lord Artus appeared in his chambers and bid him to follow for breakfast. He remembered nothing of the castle hallways from the night before; but that is not to say he was not familiar with them. There is often a period of wonderment and uniqueness during the first time one witnesses something. For Intellos, there should have been an innate and reflexive gathering of information regarding the interior walls of The Osin Thion, the way one takes in all the details of a friend’s house during a first-time visit. Somewhere, Intellos knew this, but did not make the connection when he exhibited none of the normal behaviors one would expect to be generated from his first time inside the newly refurbished castle. But as it was, he felt familiar inside the walls, as if he had been here several times. When he and his escort arrived at the breakfast dining hall, he nodded graciously.
“My good
friend, Intellos,” said Lord Artus as he stood up from sitting at the head of a very large table.
“Good morning, Lord Artus,” returned Intellos as he extended his hand shaking Artus’s vigorously. “Your hospitality does embody the legend of The Osin Thion quite well. I have been in lack of nothing.”
“I am glad you are finding it adequate,” responded Lord Artus as he started walking back to his chair at the head of the table. “Please, sit and enjoy.”
“Thank you, sir,” responded Intellos as he sat down in the chair Lord Artus had indicated. No sooner had he settled in to the plush, leather lined seat, a bell rang in the distance. Right after that, the side doors of the breakfast room opened and four servants entered each carrying a different plate of fruit. As they set them down, Intellos could not help but marvel at their brightness and aesthetic succulence. The fruit was so perfect that it appeared to have been taken from a masterpiece of the best artist of the land. “I have not seen such brilliant color in fruit before. Does it taste as good as it looks?”
“I have been assured that it does,” said Lord Artus proudly.
“Tell me, from what farm did this come from?” he asked as he began gathering an assortment of fruits.
“Believe it or not, but it comes from the farms of The Stone Keep,” he answered.
“The Stone Keep?” asked Intellos as he bit into a particularly large strawberry.
“Indeed. They have recently partnered with the Wizards of The University to incorporate some sort of magical practice to augment the growing process.”
“Well, whatever they are doing, I can tell you they should keep doing it! This strawberry is amazing,” he said as he eagerly finished it. He wasted no time in selecting the next part of his meal, a splendidly red apple.
“Apparently, that is what they plan on doing. It is no secret that food has been in rather short supply this year, both from animals and from plants so much so that The University had to step in to prevent a potential famine,” said Lord Artus as he too began taking part in the feast before them.
“Is that so?” asked Intellos as he took a large bite from the apple.
“Indeed, it is. The new Lord of the Stone Keep has been placed in charge of the whole process including its distribution. And from what I can tell, he is doing a wonderful job. While we have experienced a shortage of food, it has not been as bad as the rest of the realm. We were fortunate enough to be one of the test provinces so our relief came much before the rest. From what I have been told, the food has been distributed on a very limited basis and only for some major events,” he told Intellos.
“How is it you became one of the test provinces? Not that I am complaining of course. Had you not been, I would not have been able to partake in this excellent breakfast!” stated Intellos. But before Lord Artus could respond he added, “Is that pompago?”
“Yes, it is,” answered Lord Artus with a chuckle drawn from Intellos’s enthusiasm.
“I did not think they could be grown in this part of the realm,” he said as he took the pompago and examined it. “It is nearly perfect in every way.”
“They cannot. At least, they could not before The University involved themselves. Now, it seems, nothing is out of their reach,” he said.
“If they can grow pompago of this quality here, then I would be inclined to agree with you,” he said biting into the juicy fruit. “It is amazing! I have not tasted this since I was a young child!”
“Feel free to enjoy yourself and indulge in as much of the food as you like,” said Lord Artus as he stood up.
“Are you not staying for its duration?” asked Intellos in between large bites of the pompago.
“As much as I would like to, I fear that if I did, I would not be prepared for this evening’s ceremony and following feast. There is much to do. And while I have enough assistances to allow me a respite from my duties, a ceremony of this importance requires my direct involvement,” stated Lord Artus.
“Then I will just have to eat enough of this delicious food for you!” replied Intellos who was already into his second bite of his second pompago.
“Splendid!” stated Artus. “You will have freedom to walk and visit any part of the castle you wish. There is, however, a wing that is still under construction. Or rather, being refurbished. It would not be safe to grant you passage while it is still unstable and unsafe. We would not want the ceiling to come crashing down on you,” he said.
“Quite right you are! I would not want that either,” said the former wizard.
“Then you will be able to occupy yourself while I see to the details of the ceremony and feast?” asked Lord Artus.
“Yes. I should be able to occupy myself for a while. Will there be more food like this at the feast?” asked Intellos anxiously.
“No. It will be even better,” said Lord Artus. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go.”
“Yes, yes. I have occupied too much of your time as it is. Thank you, Lord Artus, for your impeccable hospitality. You have done your predecessors proud.”
“Thank you, Intellos. I am pleased to hear that. Enjoy the rest of the food and the rest of your time here,” he said. Before he exited the room through the same door the servants brought in the food, he turned back to Intellos and said, “I will summon you when it is time.”
“Time for what?” he asked.
“Time for the ceremony, of course. You are the honored guest,” he said.
“Really? The ceremony and feast is for me? What did I do to deserve such an honor?”
“It is not what you have done, but what you will do. You are integral to the continuance of our plans.”
“Plans? What plans will I assist with?”
Lord Artus replied with a warm smile, “You will find out soon enough. I will summon you when it is time.” He turned around, opened the door and walked through it leaving Intellos to his own supervision and to finish the perfect meal in front of him.
As he bit into another delicious fruit, he could not help but wonder about his part in the plans. He could not imagine he could be of any importance; but whatever they would be, he could only envision them being both grand and benevolent. Such was the hospitality and graciousness of his host, that he could not imagine anything different. As he sat back in his chair, fully sated from possibly the most splendid breakfast he had ever eaten, he felt completely satisfied and content with his current place; however, there seemed to be something pulling at him, as if it was trying to remind him of something. But it was so distant from his conscious understanding of his reality that it felt created, the way we often times create anxiousness when things are going too well to continue on their path of prosperity and peace. So, we create a foreboding presence in response to our life’s patterns that have repeated enough to impart to us the knowledge that if something seems too good to be true, then it usually is. So, when the nagging presence of something contradicting his current peaceful existence tried to interject itself into his harmonious breakfast, he dispelled it as just another worry for worry’s sake. He dispelled it and picked out a final pompago fruit to enjoy as he explored the grounds of the legendary Osin Thion.
Supario
(Subjugation)
The rain was hard. It was being driven even harder by the gale force winds of an early spring typhoon. The fields of battle had already been soaked to the point where any form of strategic movement would be difficult; and by the time its action had begun in earnest, the river could very well be flooded making battle almost impossible. In fact, the seasonal rains and potential for flooding were the very reason battles and wars were either postponed or completely avoided during the early spring, thought it was not so with the rest of the world. The rest of the world was protected from the fierce storms of the western sea by the vast mountain range known only as The End. However, the Ogres and Trolls were not so fortunate as those from east of the mountains. So, when the early spring season came, and the western sea unleashed its deluge of wind driven rains, a
ll thoughts of violence passed.
But today was a special day. In spite of the quickly approaching risk to both opponents, fatal in its potential, neither of them was willing to avert their aggressions. So emotionally charged were they that not even the prospect of a simple postponement with the promise of returning to the carnage would due to sate their bloodlust. So, as he stood on the rain-soaked field, across from the enraged Ogres, wiping the drops of rain from his soaked hood so he would be able to see their first movements with clarity, he knew he might die today.
Death. Why did he continually face it on behalf of others? What motivated him to hire out his services, the greatest the land has ever seen, to put himself in its inevitable path, testing its grasp, taunting it, daring it to take him before his time? Was it for fame? Did he desire legendary status and the esteem that followed? Or was it something more tangible? Was it the fortunes that came with his level of skill and reputation? He had gathered massive amounts of both over the years. His name caused armies to avert their battle plans and settle for negotiations. His wealth rivaled that of lords and kings, though he was neither. Indeed, to all observers, it was nearly impossible to for him to practically improve upon either. But then, why the need to continually drive both fame and fortune just as hard as the winds were driving the rains?
He knew why. Deep in his heart, beneath the places we keep hidden from others, deeper still than the innately selfish desires driving all of humanity, he knew he needed praise. He knew he felt empty and alone when he was not being praised for his skill either by fellow warriors or the women who were all too eager to indulge in his poetic presence. He understood this emptiness was the motivation for his continual delving into the company of both battle and female pleasures; but what he did not know was the origin of this need. If he had friends, as normal people did, he was sure that he, or she, or they, would have tried to convince him to lay down his sword and find a single woman, a good woman, one whom he could love and live the rest of his life with in peace and prosperity. However, as pleasant and wishful as that thought was, it was nothing more than a fiction based upon the decision of a whole and healthy person; a fiction for him because he was neither whole nor healthy.
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