Into the Fold

by Chase Blackwood

  “What had Tilly said?” Peter asked, his curiosity bleeding into his tone with all the subtlety of an angry harpy, although he was far more curious what the grandmaster had whispered to Thea, he let those questions burn and fester within.

  Thea at first, kept her eyes upon the opal path. She too seemed lost in thought. She ran a hand over her cloak, smoothing it out, before looking at Peter.

  “She said the annalist had attacked them.”

  Thea’s voice was careful. It held no weight of accusation or judgement. It was still as an untouched pond. Yet, the words struck Peter like an anvil. He furrowed his brow and looked away. He refused to believe the annalist would attack without cause.

  “She sounded like she knew him,” Peter said, shifting the topic away from what he didn’t want to hear, “maybe it wasn’t the annalist. Maybe the Kan Savasci had come…” his voice dwindled away like an afternoon breeze.

  Thea didn’t respond at first. She seemed to weigh his response against her own thoughts.

  “Although, if it was the Kan Savasci, it seems strange he’d not kill them both,” Peter continued, more quietly this time, contemplatively.

  Thea looked up sharply.

  “The Kan Savasci wouldn’t have killed either one of them,” she said almost too quickly, “perhaps your annalist isn’t as noble of heart as you’d like to believe.”

  Peter dropped his gaze, chastised. He knew when to be quiet. The military had taught him that much.

  Thea appeared to have more to say. She then closed her mouth and looked away and didn’t say another word.

  The following hours wrapped the twosome in a warm blanket of silence. It cocooned them from their thoughts. It shielded them from the hard reality of the Fold and the slow demise of Verold.

  They descended Mystes Mountain in a haze of retrospection and inner turmoil. Each wrestled with different thoughts. Thea struggled with the shape of reality as she attempted to stitch fragments of knowledge into a cohesive whole. Peter wrestled with his curiosity as he fought for a basic understanding of unfolding events.

  “Why was the Tower of the Arkein so quiet?” Peter asked, feeling a sufficient amount of time had passed.

  If Thea was bothered by the question, she didn’t show it.

  “There are many reasons,” she replied.

  Peter nodded, waiting for her to continue. When he realized she wouldn’t, he prompted her.

  “Could you please tell me the reasons your grace,” he urged, “We have the time.”

  Thea slowly shook her head, “Time is the one commodity we don’t have, especially here in the Fold.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Thea smiled in spite of herself.

  “Ask me about time, when the night sky has settled its velvety weight over the Fold.”

  Peter nodded in agreement. He was momentarily placated. He turned his attention to the vibrant greens of the few noble pines as they ceded space to broad-leafed perennials. He smiled at the bluebells and wild forest grass that carpeted the spaces between the trees, offering a vivid splash of color.

  In contrast to the natural splendor was the opal road, its ocean blue and midnight black stones complemented the bluebells and reminded him of the uniqueness of the Fold.

  Why had the annalist come to the Fold? Was the Kan Savasci here?

  His previous questions bubbled back to the surface.

  “Your grace,” Peter pontificated.

  “Yes?” Thea smiled.

  “Why was Andir and the Tower so quiet?”

  Thea looked away for a moment as the heavy weight of memory befell her.

  “Because of too much death,” she paused, “the grandmaster sent everyone else home. Andir likely dwindled as a result.”

  Peter nodded and whispered a thank you. Thea hardly noticed.

  Chapter 47

  “To a moth, an hour is a lifetime.” Emperor Karaka - Savikko

  Night descended slowly. It settled its weight over the Fold like a majestic quilt. Thin points of light peered through the fabric forming a semblance of gloaming. The surrounding trees had become shadows as Peter finished stacking branches about a central pile of kindling.

  “Step back,” Thea ordered, they were her first spoken words in hours.

  Peter nodded and obliged. He watched as Thea closed her eyes. Her forehead knitted into a frown as she held her hand over the kindling. There was a brief finger of smoke and suddenly the kindling erupted into flame.

  Peter watched as the initial flicker of fire grew like a living thing. It spread its bright orange warmth to the carefully stacked branches. Soon they too began to cough and sputter as they succumbed to the heat of the flames.

  “Your grace,” Peter said, looking up from the campfire, “You had asked me to remind you about time here in the Fold.”

  Thea was watching the fire. The light played with her features as she glanced up at him.

  “I did say that,” her voice was calm. She took a moment to study the remnants of dusk before continuing, “Look up to the night sky and tell me what is lacking.”

  Peter stepped away from the firelight and waited for his eyes to adjust. He peered into the velvety fabric of gloaming. The mauve curtain of darkness was pierced by a thousand pinpricks of light. He searched the sky for but a moment before he smiled in triumph.

  “The moon your grace,” he said proudly, pointing to the night sky.

  Thea nodded once.

  “Keep searching. It’s lacking more than the moon,” she said, “I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the strange color of the sky I’m after.”

  The smile slipped from Peter’s face as he resumed his search. He studied the unfamiliar constellations in the sky. He attempted to count the number of stars marking the firmament. He drew imaginary lines and created shapes amongst the stars.

  Frustration had begun to settle in the pit of his stomach as he failed to find anything of merit. Peter was stubborn. He refused to give up so easily. It was his dogged determination that had suited him to the Ranged Guard. It was his single-minded persistence that had driven him to follow the annalist. It’s what had allowed Peter to convince the annalist of his worth. It’s what had persuaded the annalist to adopt Peter as his apprentice.

  A smile spread across Peter’s face. Finally, as the sky turned a deep mulberry purple, Peter found what he had been looking for.

  “There,” he uttered just loud enough to be heard.

  Thea looked to where Peter was pointing.

  “There’s a gap in the sky, where there should be stars,” he said.

  Thea openly smiled. She gestured for Peter to join her by the fire. Peter settled himself close enough to feel the warmth of the glowing embers. It briefly reminded him of Vintas Pass. A stab of loss clouded his mind.

  “Have you ever heard of Dominatus Pur?”

  Peter shook his head.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “It’s an ancient text, penned by Ansuz himself. In it, he described the Fold as a trans-dimensional, transtemporal world. A world affected by a singularity of extraordinary proportion. One in which time was warped by the fabric of existence.”

  Peter wrinkled his brow. Confusion beset his face as he struggled with comprehension.

  “I don’t understand,” he admitted.

  Thea laughed into the firelight. Her hair reflected the golden warmth as the flames danced in her eyes.

  “You know,” she said conspiratorially, “I never understood it myself.”

  Peter’s face relaxed as a grin fought for control.

  “What I do know,” Thea said, “is that for every hour here, in the Fold, two passes in Verold.”

  She swept some hair from her face and looked upon the fire. Peter cast his gaze once more to the stars. His mind struggling to understand the complexities of the mysterious unknown.

  Chapter 48

  “Stories are told through the lens of the storyteller.” Canton of Sawol

  Peter was up before the golden reac
h of the sun pierced the purple sky. He moved about the forest, checking the snares he had made. He wove past the trees, which stood as silent sentinels in the dawn. He brushed by the bluebells, their lilac faces turned downward, away from the celestial painting that mirrored their complexion.

  Each snare lay empty, save for one. The tan coat of a plump squirrel hung limply off the side of a tree branch. Its head had become stuck and as a consequence it had continued to run forward until it had choked itself to death.

  He loosened the snare and tucked it into a pocket. He grabbed the squirrel by the tail and made his way back to camp.

  They had camped that night in a small clearing, marked by a smooth piece of granite. The boulder had formed a backdrop to their campsite, blocking the wind, and trapping the heat of their campfire.

  Peter fussed with the burning embers, stoking them with a stick and breathing them back to life. Once satisfied, he set to skinning his catch. He sliced into the skin just below the squirrel’s tail. He twisted and broke the tail bone, before widening the cut. He then placed the deceased animal onto the ground, placing his boot onto the base of the tail, pinning it to the ground, and peeled the skin in one smooth motion. It came off like a Sumor tunic.

  He stripped the lower piece of skin off, cut off the legs and the back meat, placing it all into a small cooking pot. He then pulled potatoes and carrots from his bag. He set to peeling and cutting two potatoes, two carrots, before he added some wild onion, he’d found the day before. Peter added a pinch of salt, some water from his pouch, and placed the pot over the fire.

  By the time Thea awoke, the stew was nearly done.

  “Smells good,” she said, with a small stretch.

  She took a swig from her water pouch and disappeared into the forest. As he waited, Peter took down their makeshift tent, a wide cloak, he’d tied up the night before. He scattered the pine-bough bed, a habit from his Ranged Guard days. He dispersed the extra firewood into the surrounding tree line and resumed stirring the soup.

  Thea returned just as Peter offered her a spoon.

  They sat in silence, enjoying their simple breakfast. The meat was gamey, but felt good. The potatoes were crisp and sweet.

  They quickly slurped the pot dry. Once done, Peter wiped the pot clean and placed it into his pack. Thea kicked the slow-burning logs, disrupting the fire. Peter covered the remainder in dirt, watching as bouts of smoke wove lazily through the air.

  He glanced about the campsite, looking for any obvious signs they had been there. Satisfied, he gathered his belongings and nodded to Thea. She shrugged on her own pack and they were on their way.

  The sun inched its way into the sky, as the hours passed below, until Mystes Mountain rested under the glorious weight of burnished light. Lufian River roared and sparkled under the midday sun.

  They stopped to fill their water pouches and their bellies.

  The sight of a thousand rainbows dancing off the edges of a cascading set of waterfalls stole Peter’s attention. It reminded him of the strangeness of the Fold. It rekindled the questions burning in his mind.

  He had been watching Thea most of the morning, biding his time, waiting for the right moment. He had been watching her expressions, as minute as they were. With a belly full of water, and their breakfast still a pleasant memory, he judged now to be as good a time as any.

  “Why are we seeking the Sages of Umbra?” Peter asked.

  Thea looked up, almost surprised at another human voice.

  “It’s where we hope to find the annalist,” she said.

  Peter already knew that. It was the reason they had entered the Fold in the first place. The annalist had sent a falcon with a letter to the Blue City. The falcon had reached Thea in the keep within the remnants of a once great palace upon the Isle of Castle Forge. The last line had read, “…come find me at the Tower of the Arkein…”

  “I don’t understand,” Peter pressed, “Why the Sages of Umbra? Who are they?”

  Thea’s eyes were tight and focused. She blinked and swept some hair from her eyes, looking into the distance.

  “The Sages of Umbra are the children of Ansuz and Bellas. They are gifted with the Sight. They are the renowned prophets of the Fold…” her voice fell away.

  Peter watched intently. He knew there was more. He didn’t want to push too quickly. Like the annalist, Thea didn’t like being pressed for information. It had to come naturally. It had to flow as part of the conversation. She had to want to tell him.

  “Have you seen them before?” he asked with unbridled curiosity.

  Thea nodded, “I have.”

  At first, Peter had thought she would say more. It had looked like she would. She had taken in a breath as if to speak. But, instead, she exhaled and looked away.

  That was Peter’s que to nudge the conversation forward. Seeking a story was at times like wooing a lover. It required patience. It required the right pressure at the right moment, otherwise it’d all collapse before one’s very eyes.

  “Did the Kan Savasci seek the Sages?”

  Thea nodded in spite of herself.

  “How do you know?” he asked, with the tiniest hint of disbelief in his voice.

  Peter had learned from the annalist, that doubt in the face of knowledge, was a method of manipulation.

  “I was there.”

  Thea was studying Peter. He didn’t look away, as much as he had wanted to. Instead, he returned her gaze expectantly.

  “You want the whole story,” she said with a hint of compassion and amusement.

  Peter fought to hide a grin.

  “Yes, your grace.”

  Thea nodded to herself. She cast a glance at the Lufian River and gathered her thoughts. The sun continued to rise as the birds sang a distant song. Mists gathered at the base of the falls, now a diminishing memory as they continued to trek toward their destination.

  “Then you shall have it,” she said, “I’ll tell you of our journey to the Sages of Umbra, and what knowledge I had gained there. It’ll serve as both a reminder of the treacherous path and as a warning to you.”

  Chapter 49

  “The key to a good story lies in its introduction.” Jal Isa Sha’ril – Caliph of the A’sh

  “Forgive me if I forget something, for it has been nearly five years, as far as the Fold has been concerned. But for Verold, and for me, it’s been closer to ten. Ten long years, fraught with struggle.”

  Thea paused. Peter stopped and looked up in concern.

  In the space of a handful of heartbeats, Thea’s face tightened. Her shoulders tensed and her fingers slowly clenched into fists. She closed her eyes as if recollecting the shape of pain.

  Slowly, the tension bled out, onto the opal stone path. Thea opened her eyes. She unclenched her fists. Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly. She exhaled and resumed walking. Within a few steps, she too resumed her story.

  “I will strive for accuracy, but I must warn you, this was a difficult time. I was overcome with emotion. As if being young, stupid, and in love weren’t enough, they were desultory. The true depths of my rancor were fueled by older pains.”

  She paused yet again. This time far more briefly. Only the faintest hint of shadow rolled across her features. It was like a distant cloud on a Sumor day.

  “Let me explain myself, so you can understand,” she swept some hair from her face, “Perhaps, in this telling, I can find some vindication for my actions. Perhaps, I can better understand how I had been so fooled. How I had been so blind. How I had been so wrong.”

  For some reason the masters had thought it a good idea to not only break a group of students into two separate teams, but to make it a competition. A competition which involved a puzzle, riddles, and a map. It wasn’t until later that I’d learn it wasn’t the masters plan at all, but the bidding of the sages themselves.

  As fate would have it, Aeden and I were part of one of these teams, as were Sakhira, Garit and Oria. It’s funny what memory conjures. I remember each for
their unique qualities. Mostly, I recall how each had bothered me in their own particular way.

  The other team was no different in that respect.

  It was comprised of Adel, who had been Aeden’s closest friend. Perhaps, the only person who hadn’t grated my nerves. There was the tall and handsome Kallon. The annoyingly charismatic Janto. And, I would be remiss if I failed to mention Caine. The man who had been Aeden’s nemesis in many ways. The man whose stupidity and ego had caused so much heartache. The man who…

  No, I get ahead of myself.

  Let me make this a proper story. One with a beginning, middle, and eventually, an end. A true story must be compelling. It is brought to life by the characters and it is made intriguing by conflict.

  It was not an easy journey. I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you, there are great perils ahead. Perhaps, by telling this story, I will remember the path more clearly.

  Let’s begin with the first challenges. A puzzle, riddles, and a map.

  Chapter 50

  “Sometimes the easiest way to the other side is through a wall.” A Thane Sagan Saying

  Within the open space of Seraph Hall, lay a seamless wooden box, resting quietly upon a table. It was dark, like the oily black of a moonless night, or the murky depths of the Stamm Caves of Roewold. It had no visible hinges. It had no visible lock. It was unlike any normal box I’d ever seen, and within lay a secret.

  Therein lie the problem. That secret was our first clue to finding the Sages of Umbra. It was frustratingly close, yet remained hidden behind a puzzle, just out of reach, despite the attempts of several of the best students from the Tower of the Arkein.

  Of our small group, Garit tried the hardest. Oria had only fiddled with it. Sakhira had studied it with great intensity. I had spent time examining it. Aeden had stood nearby, watching it all.