Into the Fold

by Chase Blackwood

  With another breath, Thea pulled back. She drew her attention away from the youth before her and once again felt the air on her skin. She felt the weight of the stone underfoot. She felt the kiss of the sun on her face.

  Thea opened her eyes and peered at Peter.

  “How do you feel?” she inquired.

  Peter didn’t answer at first. He’d been listening, waiting for Thea to speak. She hadn’t. Instead, he had felt a strange pulsing wave roil through his body. It was calming. It was unnerving. It felt like a hand had reached inside and steadied him.

  He monitored himself. He allowed a moment of introspection to pass before he felt confident in his response.

  “Better,” he said. He took another slow breath before asking, “What happened?”

  Thea glanced up at the statues guarding the green pathway before looking back to Peter.

  “I suspect,” she said, “that when I silenced the Tree of Forgotten Children, some of that energy must have touched you, disturbing your life force.”

  Peter’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “But you didn’t shout, like Aeden had in the story,” he said.

  “I didn’t need to,” she swept a strand of hair from her face, “the arkein is vast and complex. With a rudimentary understanding one relies on the voice and the movement of wind to create vibrations and affect the world about them. With a deeper understanding,” she paused, “well, this is no longer necessary.”

  Peter nodded as if he understood. In reality, more questions bubbled to his mind.

  He stifled them, feeling the tingling effects of a lingering headache. He took a swig of water. It was sweet. It was from the Lufian River.

  He then looked past Thea to the sentinel statues facing each other, supporting a stone archway with flowing script. The script spelled out the fourth riddle from Thea’s story.

  It felt strange seeing what she had just relayed. He felt like he was living within her tale. He felt like he was beginning to know Adel and Aeden. He waited for Oria to complain. He waited for Garit to bring up the Inquisition. He wondered when Caine and Janto would cause more trouble. He worried for Adel, as Peter felt an odd sense of kinship with him.

  More secretly, Peter hoped Thea would forgive Aeden.

  The story had turned, however. It had been difficult at the Tree of Forgotten Children, yet, now it had become real. It had taken on a new tone. It had become darker.

  A member of the group had been taken. Torn from the very mist. By what? How?

  “What happened to Kallon?” Peter suddenly asked, remembering her story.

  Thea sighed. A hint of sadness claimed her features.

  “He had been taken by one of the god’s creations,” she uttered, “never to be seen again.”

  Peter took note of her remembered grief and changed topics.

  “This is the entrance to the Gardens of Sorrow?”

  Thea nodded as she dug out two blindfolds.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Peter rubbed absently at his head as a wave of discomfort overtook him. He concealed it, smiled and nodded.

  Thea took a step forward and carefully placed the blindfold over his head, as if he were a child.

  “Cover your eyes after we pass the statues, and use the gold chain as a guide.”

  “It seems odd that we should cover our ears, then our eyes,” Peter said.

  “Then our mouths,” Thea finished for him.

  Peter looked back at Thea, the blindfold resting over his eyebrows.

  “Have you heard of the Templas Triangle?” she asked.

  Peter shook his head.

  “Is that a place, your grace?”

  Thea only smiled.

  “No,” she said, “They were once powerful leaders of Templas. King Karaka, King Suda, and the General Tessier. Karaka was known as the blind king, Suda the deaf king, and Tessier the mute general.”

  Peter continued to listen, striving to elicit meaning from Thea’s words.

  “You think Bellas’ trials mirror the Templas Triangle?”

  Thea only shrugged, “maybe, but the timeline wouldn’t make sense…”

  Her words fell away.

  Peter didn’t say anything. He waited for Thea to speak. She didn’t.

  With one final glance at the pathway, he moved to cover his eyes.

  “Wait,” Thea said.

  Peter paused, hoping she’d say more. Perhaps she’d expound upon the Templas Kings. Perhaps she’d tell him what took Kallon.

  Instead, she pulled a rope from her pack.

  “What’s that for?”

  “This,” she said, “was what we should have done the first time through. This is what Aeden had been about to suggest, before I silenced him with my ignorance and anger.”

  Thea tied one end about her belt and tossed the other end to Peter.

  “Tie it to your belt,” she said, “so we don’t become separated.”

  Peter caught the rope and tied a quick knot to his belt. He tugged on it to ensure it was secure, before he glanced back to Thea. She forced a smile and gestured him forward.

  With one final glance at the statues’ slit eyes, he moved to the golden chain. Anticipation and a sense of fear welled up, constricting his throat. He clasped the chain with his left hand and worked the blindfold over his eyes with his right.

  The world fell into darkness.

  “Thea?” he questioned.

  “I’m right behind you,” she said.

  “Could you tell me what happened at the Quietus Pillars?”

  Peter’s question echoed into silence. It pooled about them, unanswered.

  “Yes.”

  Her voice was so soft, Peter wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.

  Chapter 65

  “And so, Salvare wrapped in shade the midnight box, sheathing it in fear and anger.” Lost Verses of the Book of Khein

  The mist gathered and swelled upon the stony steps. It ebbed and flowed as our hearts beat madly. It swirled about in a frightening dance of hidden fear and lurking danger. It painted the Fold in drab strokes of hazy obscurity.

  Our group slipped and stumbled on a winding set of narrow stairs. I glanced once more at my own footing, as I followed Aeden up the steps to the Quietus Pillars. I peered blindly into the fog. I struggled with my rapidly beating heart. I mourned for Kallon. I longed for safety.

  The thought of a warm bed and a crackling fire beckoned to my soul. Imagined comforts, however, were a luxury and a distraction. I looked up, snapping loose from my mental wanderings.

  Once again, I found myself staring at Aeden. He had become my northern star.

  Like Oria, as much as it shames me, I sought the comfort of his presence. I craved the relative safety of his protection. It was a visceral thing. It was something coded into me. I felt powerless to stop it.

  It was strange how the prospect of death could awaken a deeper self-awareness. It wasn’t until I was almost killed by the Inquisitors that I’d realized I’d fallen in love with Aeden. It wasn’t until the destruction of my city that I’d realized how much of a fool I’d been, and how much I missed my father. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized my own stubbornness was my folly. The problem was I felt powerless to stop it.

  My thoughts turned dark as I watched Aeden round the bend.

  Aeden had assumed command without a word. I think everyone just looked to him as if it were a forgone conclusion. In all honesty, I felt a sense of relief, as well as a burning sense of injustice. It didn’t seem fair.

  I shook my head in an effort to shake loose my thoughts. Instead, memories broke loose from their hidden places and flooded my mind.

  Images of Kallon, ripped violently from our midst, tore through my imagination. I then remembered Caine, his face was pale as he dropped to the ground. Janto ran and hid. Contrasting the unbridled display of fear was Aeden.

  He remained standing, with sword in hand. The mists had swirled and parted, just enough to glimpse the grey
flesh of some other-worldly beast. A clawed foot reached downward, desperate, dangerous, and sharp.

  Aeden had swung his sword. The Templas blade sang as it sliced through the air. It cut into the leg of the beast. A shriek filled the air, followed by silence.

  As we cowered in fear, Aeden corralled us.

  It was Aeden who had gotten us to our feet and moved us forward.

  Aeden lead as if he were born to it.

  In many ways he had been. He didn’t speak much of his youth, but what parts he’d let slip indicated a childhood spent training. A childhood apprenticing under every master in his village. A childhood shaped by his martial training and marked by death.

  But you needn’t know he’d led men to imagine him a leader. Aeden’s role in overthrowing Sha’ril or fighting off the Inquisitors could remain unknown and you’d still think he’d led some heroic battle. He radiated a muted authority.

  Quite simply, Aeden looked the part. He was tall, strong, and handsome. His white hair, and steely eyes, his Templas sword and thick arms, spoke to our sleeping minds and reminded us of the stories we all read as children.

  It was frustrating.

  I wanted to scream into the weather. I wanted to explain why I made a better leader. I wanted to run back to the Tower of the Arkein and curl up under the covers of my bed. I wanted to kill whatever had taken Kallon. Mostly, I wanted to find the Sages of Umbra.

  But I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. None of us could.

  Silence had become our motto. It defined our every movement.

  Oria was forced to stifle her whimpering. Caine bit back his negative comments. Janto looked somber. His face was drawn into haggard lines. It made him look older.

  Sakhira remained nearby. He remained quiet. He remained steadfast in the misty sea of grey.

  Adel marched along. His head was down. His face was white. His mouth had formed a thin line. I knew he hated the stairs. He feared the potential dizzying heights. Although, I wondered if the fog helped. It masked the hidden depths of a potential fall.

  Despite his fear, he moved forward. He displayed a silent courage in the face of a relentless pace. It was brutal. Yet, none complained. We didn’t dare.

  It wasn’t until we had summited the steps that Aeden paused. He allowed us to catch our breath. He stood over us like a protector of his charge. His eyes were keen and alert.

  He took a step closer to me. I didn’t move. I became suddenly still. Worried he’d seen something I hadn’t. Had the mists swirled? Was there some mythical beast waiting to tear me from this life?

  Aeden leaned in. He breathed a few words into my ear, “wrap your boots with strips of cloth.”

  I could smell him. I could feel his body near mine, radiating heat like a distant oven. His presence was like a blanket on a cold night.

  He leaned away and the moment of safety fell like a stone.

  Aeden moved down the line like a cat, silent as the night. He whispered into each person’s ear. He didn’t hesitate as he spoke to Caine or Janto. He lingered with Adel, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. He paused by Oria. She suddenly wrapped her arms around him and buried her head into his chest.

  I watched as I wrapped my boots. I thought my thoughts. They were dark and inappropriate. She had lost a friend. She was scared. She was hugging my man.

  I was scared too. Where was my comfort? Maybe she’d be next.

  Aeden moved his way to the front, checking on everyone, before signaling us to move forward.

  The following hours were defined by the weather, grey, chilly, and most of all, foreboding.

  Bridges hung, suspended between rock pillars. They connected a forest of immensely tall stone formations that pierced upward into the sky. The pillars themselves had pockets of growth, small cracks and crevices where life spilled outward in a tight display of existence.

  The mist itself danced and swirled. It dissipated and allowed for a slice of sunlight to fall through its wake. The mists would then descend heavy as wool and blot out the light. It was during these periods of shaded gloom when my thoughts wrapped me in a cocoon of emotion.

  I feared what lay beyond. I wondered at the hidden depths of the stony canyon. I thought on Kallon. I thought on Aeden. I bemused my stubbornness. I speculated on the Sages of Umbra.

  Eventually the sun fell through the sky and cast us into complete darkness. It was the Cimmerian shade that harbored our greatest fear.

  Chapter 66

  “Broken, twisted, and feral are their children.” Children of Ansuz, A Written Compendium – Tower of the Arkein

  Filtered light trickled through Peter’s blindfold. It reminded him of the greater world, masked from sight. It hinted at the passage of time and the movement of the sun. It was warm and gentle upon his face, like a mother’s touch.

  The golden chain to his left was cool and still. The stones underfoot were green and smooth. His thoughts, however, were a churning mess. His head ached. It felt strangely hollow and full. It felt brittle and soft.

  His curiosity seeped through the insipid mess and formed a beacon of light. It called to him through the fog of pain and demanded a response.

  “What had taken Kallon?” he finally asked.

  He had to know. They were nearly upon the Quietus Pillars themselves.

  Thea remained silent. Only her footfalls upon the steps could be heard. Peter couldn’t gauge her thoughts. He couldn’t see her expression. He could only feel the gentle tug of rope upon his belt, letting him know they were still connected.

  “Your Grace?” Peter tried again.

  “I’m here,” she breathed.

  Peter hesitated. He didn’t want to nag. Yet, he was desperate to know more.

  Thankfully, Thea spoke, saving him from his own mental contortions.

  “Ansuz and Bellas had many children. Children who begot children. They played with the fabric of their being and created all sort of offspring. Some benevolent, some simply existed and died, but some,” her tone of voice changed, “some were malevolent.”

  Thea paused to collect her thoughts.

  “In the case of the Quietus Pillars,” she resumed, “the creatures there, lived in perpetual shadow, masked by the mists of the weather. These were dangerous creatures. These were malevolent offspring, hairless, half blind, with wings and claws and teeth.

  “In another time they were known as the Hounds of Ansuz. A flying army gone awry. Now,” Thea took in a slow breath, “they are known as harpies. It is their sense of hearing that marks their greatest strength and weakness.”

  Peter nodded as images of flying beasts filled his mind.

  “I will tell you what happened that night,” Thea said, “before we, ourselves, ascend the steps to the stone forest of the Quietus Pillars. I’ll tell you as a warning, to ensure you stay absolutely silent. Our lives may depend on it.”

  Chapter 67

  “An army of mythical beasts, unlike Verold had ever seen, descended into the blackness that had become the Forgotten War.” The Schism – Lost Scrolls of the Ancien

  “Verold is a wonderous thing, full of beauty and full of spectacle. Yet, of greater advantage is ignorance, for it shades us in its protective wreath and hides us from the terrible darkness of the oppressive depths and hidden menace that is the world.”

  I remember this line from a storybook I’d read as a child. I remember, because it had seared its place into my heart. It had kept me awake at night and prohibited me from touching the book for weeks.

  I have read many books, and untold thousands of lines, yet now, in the midst of total darkness, I remembered those lines. They swam in my vision like some living thing. They echoed within the hollowed chambers of my mind. They coursed through my veins with fervent intent.

  Fear had claimed me.

  My eyes were wide, attempting to glimpse the faintest hint of an outline. Nothing. The blackness was total. It was complete.

  The promise of dawn was nothing more than a distant whis
per, muted by time. The weight of obscurity clung to the very fabric of my clothing and cloaked my skin. My own hands were mysteries before my eyes, unseen shadows of obsidian.

  Adding to this tapestry of despair was silence. It echoed upon the vastness of the unending gloom. It hung over the Quietus Pillars like an onerous fleece, suffocating the life from our very lungs.

  I could feel the terror of the group through our tenuous connection, a thin rope tied about our waists. There was little movement, just the faint whisper of labored breathing. It was audible enough to heighten my sense of angst.

  Aeden had advised complete silence. Why did the others have to breathe so loudly?

  Then, there was the bridge itself, which creaked ever so lightly as it swayed, suspended some unknown height between the rock pillars. Death below as there was above, or so the saying goes.

  My imagination lingered upon the rocky depths. It peered into the black and created amorphous shapes of blood and death. Each iteration of imagined fear sharpened and coalesced into a singular point of despair.

  Someone sneezed.

  My mind tore free of its endless cycle of spurious thought. I listened. I strained against the feeble limits of my ears as the thrush of my heart washed onto the shores of consciousness.

  Someone had whispered a single word. It had scraped at the night like a knife upon a stone.

  I blinked and looked about, desperate as a newborn, blind as a troglodyte. The bridge creaked as someone moved. Was it Garit? Oria? Or was it Caine, once again marking our demise?

  For a moment there was nothing. No sound. No light. Just a void of self-consuming dread.

  It was during this period when they came. The piercing calls and flapping wings still haunt my dreams. They tore through my awareness with the sharpness of a Bodigan sword.

  I heard the acute intake of breath from a member of the group, or had it been me?

  The bridge creaked again and the sounds of impending doom descended like some visceral thing. The weight of mortality sank into my bones.

  A shout tore at the night. It ripped at the fabric of my being. It was Janto. Somehow, despite its garish nature, I recognized the pitch of his voice.