Brinks in Time: The Unification

by Tom Rogal

  ***

  The young man walked carefully in the dark. How did he get here? He had gone to sleep, he remembered that, and then. . . His memory flickered out. There was no sound, wherever he was. It was so quiet; the silence was deafening. Despite himself, the man began to shake a little. He walked heavily, so that he could focus on the sound of his own feet stepping on the hidden ground. It made the place seem a bit more real. Maybe he was dreaming? He would yell something. If anyone else were here, they would have to answer. Maybe he’d wake himself up.

  “Hello?”

  His voice trailed through the dark realm infinitely. No reply. The young man ran about ten strides ahead.

  “Is anyone here?”

  Nothing. He was alone . . . Alone in some unending space. His mind began to reel. He became disorientated, as though he were falling. He fell to his knees and clawed at a floor he couldn’t see.

  Levus.

  What was that? The young man looked around frantically. To his right, a strange sliver of light appeared in the far distance. The young man lifted himself from his knees. Perhaps it was an escape from this blank reality. Levus stood and began to run toward the small light. Odd. The light wasn’t growing closer. He ran as fast as he could, but the light remained small and far away. Tired and sweaty, he stopped to catch his breath. Was this a trick? Perhaps it was a taunt by this unknown black world he was in now. Levus looked up once again. That light . . . was getting closer. As it neared him, he began to see the outline of a young woman. Levus stepped back a couple of feet. He did not recognize the girl, though she reached out her hand to him. He slowly extended his hand toward hers.

  Suddenly, a large person stepped between him and the girl, and the white light drained into a deep purple. A thumping sound grew from the distance; it thundered louder and louder. The intruder was completely hidden by shadow, silhouetted against the light. Levus strained his eyes wanting to finally see the face of this invader.

  Levus! Your soul . . . is Time’s.

  The purple light flashed and soon engulfed the man and flooded towards Levus. He shielded his face and dropped to the floor, screaming in terror as the light overcame him.

  ***

  “Levus!”

  Levus jolted from his bed. He was back in his own room. Everything was just as he left it. It was just a bad dream. He was home.

  “Levus! Hurry up! Your breakfast is getting cold!”

  He shouted back, “I’ll be right down, Mom!”

  He laid down again on his pillow, which was still moist with sweat. Why did he have this dream? For fourteen years, ever since his father went missing, this nightmare has haunted him. And now it was more frequent. Three times this week now. What could it possibly mean?

  His stomach rumbled. Hungry, he put the dream out of his mind. There was time to worry about it later. At least fifteen hours or so . . . He was so busy last night; he must have forgotten to eat. Today was equally as important, though for different reasons. Levus threw his sheet on the floor and stretched. He flinched when his feet touched the cold wood. A draft nipped his legs. Must be a new hole in the wall . . . figures. As he opened his cabinet, the doors creaked loudly. He always meant to fix it, but when was there time for that?

  Looking around, Levus realized that his room was falling apart. Except for his bed, most of the furniture was creaking or broken. It would have to wait for another day, though. One of the last things his father said to him was that each person was given a set number of tasks they needed to complete before their time would be up. At the rate he was getting things done, he safely calculated his lifetime to be somewhere between indefinite and forever. Give or take.

  Levus put on a pair of brown leather pants and his old pair of brown boots. He turned to head down but suddenly stopped. How could he forget? He turned to the breastplate resting on the table. It was made of gold and steel, and included an onyx emblem the size of a man’s fist. The emblem had the design of an eagle-like creature he had never seen before as it had three legs with gilded edges. The gold would shine like the sun when light hit it right. Underneath it was his sword. It was not the prettiest of weapons as its silver color showed many nicks. Cerrapies, a family friend, made it for him when he was a young boy. Now he began to think it was time for a new one. Over ten years old, it lasted longer than most. Levus walked quickly over to the weapon and armor and picked them up, then went downstairs.

  The smell of fresh fruit and fried meat filled the small kitchen. Most of the houses in Arnis weren’t big, but it seemed to Levus his home was the smallest. The kitchen consisted of a stove, a table, and a few cabinets. The only other rooms in the house were the living room and another small bedroom. It was enough, though. It was just his mom and he, after all.

  He could see Frey busy at work preparing breakfast. Frey is rich in virtues, but impoverished height-wise. She had to balance on her toes to reach the bottom shelf of the cabinet over the counter. She needed a stool to reach the upper shelves. Her light brown hair was tied back with a bamboo string and her clothing was very shabby, but it was the best thread she could afford. Levus smiled at his mother as he handed her the bowl she was trying to reach.

  Hard times had hit the village of Arnis. Jobs were difficult to come by. No one had been able to find available work in Porsita, either. Some had already left to seek their fortunes in the now unnamed capital city of Dyyros, where their new ruler currently resided. “New” was a relative term, however. He had been in power for at least five years, but with the turnover of leaders recently, the people saw little point in believing this one would last long either. Stability was something Dyyros hadn’t seen much in the last ten years.

  Levus sat at the table and placed the breastplate next to his plate. His sword fell over the edge and banged on the floor. Frey cleared her throat loudly.

  “Sorry, Mom.” Levus placed the breastplate on the floor. Only then did Frey sit down, and they began to dig into their bowls of red berries and hirill slices, a sweet fruit from trees located nearby.

  Frey said, “You almost overslept this morning.”

  “I was over by Leeta’s most of last night talking with her mother. She’s gone to Dynis to pick up her test results. We’re both really nervous, probably more so than she is.”

  Frey gave a slight smile, “I’m hoping she gets it. She is such an intelligent young woman,”

  Levus finished his fruit. He couldn’t wait to get out and into the woods to hunt. He was very skilled, able to kill many animals from close range that an archer had a hard time getting to, and enjoyed the thrill of it. Several of the villagers often paid him for occasional rabbit or haunch of deer. The extra money helped when things became especially tight, which was pretty much all the time since his father had disappeared. He dropped his spoon and got up to leave. He was already partially strapped into his breastplate before the spoon had finished spinning in the bowl.

  “Well, aren’t we in a hurry?”

  “I have a feeling this is going to be a good day, Mom. I got special requests from Terrza and Cisis. We should be pulling in a good amount of money.”

  That was an understatement, and Levus knew it. Terrza maintained a village garden while her husband, a renowned lumberjack, was far away on jobs. Cisis became a widow when her husband passed away from the Devil Fever a few years back, but she owned one of the few farms near the coast and Arnis was her main supplier and distributer. Both families had their only daughters getting married in a couple months and they were going to pay Levus to take some of the skins from his kills to get expensive jewelry as a gift. Combined, they were paying him a whole silver drinott! A good day of honest work in the Woods usually earned five darmma, at most. He hadn’t told his mom the details because he wanted it to be a surprise. Frey smiled proudly.

  “How would you like to go over to Porsita afterwards, then? You need a new jacket with winter coming. I need fabric for another skirt and the last wooden fork broke last night. I would wait for a traveling merchant,
but they are few and far between these days. Gilliam believes it’s because of increasing bandit attacks.”

  Gilliam was the town gossip and while he didn’t like her nosiness, she did keep his mom occupied while he was hunting or doing something else. With that point he agreed with her. The roads to Tartus, Porsita, and Dynis were no longer safe. Not that they were ever completely, but they no longer had the support of the Dyyros Army, which before Ulcinar at least tried to stop it. It did make the five-day walk to Porsita a much more trying one.

  “Of course. I was thinking of heading there anyway. I’m going to need the blacksmith there to sharpen my sword.”

  “Why not have Arttis Zor do it?”

  “Mom, you saw what he did to those horseshoes. It’s why the hunters must walk now. Besides, Cerrapies would be upset if someone whose skills had deteriorating that badly even tried to fix one of his blades.”

  Frey hated to admit it, but her son was right. It seemed like ages since Cerrapies had visited. Before her husband disappeared all those years ago. She still couldn’t believe it had been over a decade. She could have remarried, but she didn’t want to just marry for the sake of it. Her husband told her he had a very valuable last name. She didn’t know why Jared thought this, but she trusted him. He almost never lied to her.

  Frey got up and headed toward the pantry. It served more as a closet as there were more oddities than there was food. It did contain most of their dry rations, which meant she went in there often.

  Frey commented, “You might be right, but we should try and keep our business local when we have the services available. Heavens know that our town needs the money.”

  She looked high and low. She knew she had a clean cloth in here somewhere. While Levus hunted, she figured she would make the house look nicer. Hard to do when it was falling apart, but at least it would be a pleasant distraction until she had it fixed. It was not until she looked at the top shelf that she noticed a cloth . . .with about five things rested on top of it. Normally she kept them lower, but she had to use the others to clean up after the powerful storm that passed through a week ago. She tried reaching it, but the cloth was too high. Great.

  Frey grabbed the step stool, and when she stood on it her fingertips fiddled with a corner before she finally got her middle finger in the fold of the cloth. She tried pulling it softly, but her balance was upset began to slip off the stool. She stopped herself from falling, but nearly everything on the top shelf ended up on the floor.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. I wish I was taller.”

  Levus helped her pick up the items when his eyes were drawn to one last item fell separately, as if it wanted to be singled out. It made a sound like it was metal, but he had never heard metal make a thud as if it was a rock hitting cement. It was covered with a black cloth.

  Frey moved quickly to retrieve it. He was going to ask her what it was, but the look in her eyes stopped him. He knew that look. It was the expression she wore whenever she told him stories about the father he barely knew, a mixture of pride and despair, hope and loss, love and loneliness. He waited in the kitchen and gave Frey the space he thought she needed.

  Frey clutched the item hidden by the black cloth. This wasn’t the first time Levus’ eyes fixated on that mysterious material. He remembered asking his mother about what it covered, but she never answered with anything more than a shrug or a simply change the subject. The last time he’d asked was about five years ago. When he tried to find it, she apparently moved it. Now he knew where. His imagination ran wild with the possibilities.

  With curiosity once again getting the best of him, he asked, “Mom, what is it?”

  Frey hesitantly said, “Levus, what is underneath this cloth is something your father told me to never show you. He told me to hide it from your sight and to never unwrap it. He usually never spoke that way, so I never was tempted. Just forget it, my son. You should be going on those hunts, hmm?”

  Frey quickly placed the item on the highest shelf she could. It was rare to see his Mom act like this. He just couldn’t sit idle. If he did nothing, when he got back the item would be hidden once again . . . perhaps for good. His mom had a special talent at hiding stuff. He couldn’t let that happen. If it was something of his father’s, he had to see it.

  Levus said, “Okay, I will see you when I get back!”

  He exited after putting his breastplate on and grabbing his sword. Frey never moved as he left. She could hear him walking down the steps. She waited in front of the pantry, cautious to ensure her son did leave. The silence convinced her. That was close. Frey never knew exactly what was under the cloth either. She always assumed it a weapon, but if Jared was afraid of it, then it must have been bad. Why he never got rid of the thing did baffle her. But that was enough of the past. She had to come up with a new spot for it. She went into her bedroom and closed the door.

  Levus quickly looked through the window. The coast was clear. Lucky for him this happened in the early morning. If a passerbyer saw him, it would have blown his ruse. He quickly but quietly re-entered his house as he made his way toward the pantry. Hunter training was a blessing. All that stealth had other practical uses too. He reached the pantry and slowly grabbed the item. It was shockingly light. The outline of the cloth had the appearance of a weapon. As he slowly uncovered it, his eyes opened wide.

  Underneath the cloth was a brilliant, black sword. It was like no other that he had seen before. The grooved hilt was magnificently made to allow a better grip. The red jewel on the crossguard of the sword seemed dull despite light hitting it. The blade itself appeared sturdy and sharp in all the right places.

  As he grasped the handle, the muscles in his hand and arm began to vibrate. Levus couldn’t believe how good it felt. It was so cold, but inside he felt warm. As he pulled the sword from the cloth, the jewel began to glow dimly. He gazed at his reflection in the jewel, his blue and green eyes appeared so far away . . . deep. After a few seconds, the vibrating stopped and the lighted jewel returned to darkness.

  The metal was still chilled despite him holding the handle for about a minute. Very strange, indeed. His concentration was broken when he heard footsteps coming from his Mom’s room. He had to get out of here, fast! He switched places, putting his old sword on the shelf and sheathing the new one in the scabbard Cerrapies had made him, where it fit surprisingly well. Odd. He usually makes the sheaths unique to the style of his swords. Levus couldn’t think much further on it now. As quietly as he could he ran out the door once again.

  He jumped down the small wooden steps from his door and reached the graveled main street of Arnis. Surrounded by the Dyyros Woods and not far from the Gulf of Dyyros, it was a very desolate village, though it was located on the continent’s main trade route. Being the last stop had its disadvantages, however. If a trader didn’t want to make the five days extra travel, they’d sell their remaining goods in Porsita. Also, they would make more coin there than in Arnis. The closest village big enough to be recognized on a map was Salba, which was to the south and even smaller than its neighbor. It was often lost to travelers in between the rolling hills of the two great southern plains: Sarnis and Zio. Porsita was slightly further than Salba in distance only because it was located on a small peninsula, so one had to go south again after going west.

  There was very little to offer concerning trade in the village. They had a blacksmith of no more than average skill, named Arttis Zor, who seemed to get worse every year. It was the reason Levus would rather travel to Porsita to fix his tools. He used to have some skill, though, as he was commonly known to the villagers as “Sledgehammer.” Levus always had good relations with the butcher, Hannar Vorres, as all his kills went to him for processing. The butcher was located on the northeastern side of the village close to the main gate. The pub, located at the most southern part of the village, prospered during the night. Levus liked to go there for the traveling bards and storytellers that would pass through. It did tend to g
et a little rowdy, but that was the charm of the place. A clothier and leathermaker were the only other trades in the village, both occupied by one man, Harrin Ferrud.

  As he waved at one of the villagers, the house about Mistress Sylph caught his eye. The newest member of the village, she was an expert in medicines. Her appearance and demeanor often led the rest of the villagers to characterize her as a witch. She had her own place on the far eastern side of Arnis. All the children avoided the place because of the stories that were whispered around about her eating small kids. He only met her a few times, once to pick up a strange package from Porsita for Sylph. The other times he preferred not to think about them as they were memories he’d like to forget. She was quite the mysterious individual, to say the least.

  In the center of town was the mayor’s house. The current mayor was a respectable man named Jarek Vullnar. He wasn’t Levus’ first choice to be mayor, but he couldn’t deny that Jarek was one of the few reasons why Arnis had been able to stay on its feet during this dark time. His plan to maximize supply of food and materials kept the village well stocked last winter, which was the harshest Levus had ever experienced. He also had some walls constructed before the harvest. With the increasing amount of Night Predator attacks on villages in the past couple years, no one could hardly argue with that plan. If everything went to smoothly, the walls would be finished before this upcoming winter. As he lived in Arnis nearly his whole life, he knew every villager by name.

  In front of the mayor’s house stood an empty flagpole. It hadn’t always been this way. Several years ago it had flown the flag of the Aranian kingdom, a red field with a picture of a citadel surrounded by a white oval. Before that, it flew the flag of the Ghordan Dynasty, a beige field bearing a crown encircling four swords. Before that was the Volcannin Dynasty, whose flag was of a reddish tint and bore their family crest of a griffin and a lion intertwined by a thorny vine. Since Ulcinar’s coup d’état twelve years ago, there was no flag. There was no push for unity or support. From the moment he took over, it was like he never cared about the past or future. Not like the previous three ruling bodies that pledged allegiance to it and fought for it.