by Rob Donovan
Epilogue - Mondorlous
The debate raged on; although raged was the wrong word. There was something not right about the discussion although he could not quite put his finger on what it was. Everyone was too calm, too serene. No one seemed to be animated, it was too amicable. There was nothing wrong in that, in fact it felt right; ideal almost. He just felt as if it should be different, although he did not know why.
He vaguely recalled a tall man with long hair arguing once but he could not remember over what. He was not sure if he had imagined the man either. A blond-haired woman crept into the memory, she was slightly more vivid and he felt close to her. There was also a man, of some importance, in a maroon robe. He imagined a storm and a mountainside but every time he tried to recall the memory it faded and became elusive, like a dream. Perhaps it was a dream, all his memories seemed to be like dreams, and he didn’t know if they were real or not.
He could not recall any of his past, there were snatches of images that seemed important but he did not know why. This didn't frustrate him; it was merely a small annoyance, that did not bother him.
"The rule has been in place for as long as there have been rules, ignoring it now is not an option," Annalua said. Even sitting she was a tall lady, regal almost with her straight back and her chin held high. Her brown hair was tied in a complicated knot on top of her head with ringlets falling stylishly down. She was not a Queen but she commanded the most authority and this was generally acknowledged by everyone.
"Agreed,"
"Agreed,"
"Agreed,"
One by one the dozens of people gathered in the hall echoed their assent. Not one of them opposed the notion and so it was difficult to determine the point of the debate.
"We need a volunteer for this honour. Someone who will offer salvation to the many but will be reviled by even more. Someone willing to give up paradise and who will not give in to temptation. Someone who will feed only when required," Annalua continued. "Every twelve years to be precise." She paused to reflect on the gravity of the words. "Do we have a volunteer?"
The silence was ubiquitous throughout the vast hall. The hall which he had seen for the first time not so long ago, although he could not recall the occasion in any detail, just being in awe of the location with the great trees stretching across the roof and the animals scurrying around them. Who was he with? Why had he come to the hall? Like everything the memory escaped him, that is, if it was a memory.
Men, women and children bowed their heads, afraid to look up in case their eye contact was mistaken for an offer to volunteer. To become a Gloom was the ultimate sacrifice. That much he did know. That person would leave this tranquil place and return to Frindoth a twisted, ethereal monster. Rage would replace contentment, hunger would replace fulfilment, and revenge would take the place of forgiveness. He was surer of this than anything else. His mind was like a locked chasm of murkiness with only small sectors clear to him. The knowledge of what would happen if one passed through the portal was now shared with them all. But to have a Gloom present in Frindoth was a necessity. At some stage, those that resided here would forget and it was the Gloom's duty to protect the people of Frindoth and bar the way through. It was a great, but thankless responsibility and one nobody wished to accept. To give up everything and gain nothing was the ultimate sacrifice.
The tension in the room was palpable; an unfamiliar, cloying sensation that felt like an invisible foul hand reached inside his body and slowly touched every part of him. From the way the others squirmed in the room they experienced it too. Would this be what it would be like to be a Gloom? Would the creature inflict the same creepiness upon others?
"I will do it," his voice sounded high pitched and unfamiliar. As if unshackled, scores of heads rose to see who had spoken. He felt every stare as if an invisible force had suddenly been cast upon him. He saw relief and admiration reflected in their eyes but at the same time he also registered pity. He did not know what had possessed him to speak up, only that he knew something was not right here and he could recall a time when things were different. Those thoughts were dissipating like a cloud being burnt away by the sun and he wanted to act before they vanished completely.
He stood, not knowing what else he should do. His hands were trembling so he placed them firmly against his sides, resisting the urge to wipe away the clamminess of them.
"You know what will happen to you?" Annalua asked. There was no appreciation in her voice; nothing to indicate she was impressed that someone had chosen to sacrifice themselves for the sake of all others.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"They will fear and despise you."
Again, all he could do was manage a nod. He noticed others in the room whispering to one another. The pity and admiration had gone now; it was as if there was no feeling about the monumental decision. He yearned to shout at them, to tell them there was more to life than this. He was sure there were other emotions other than calmness and happiness. He knew they had felt those only moments before. Why did they not feel them now?
"You will feel nothing but hate and anger, tinged with responsibility."
This time he did not react. How did she know this?
Annalua turned away from him and with an outstretched hand summoned the portal. Apparently, his unresponsiveness indicated that he was ready to traverse the worlds. He looked around and saw no one special to him. He felt warmness and kindness but there was no one who he shared a special bond with, he lacked that. He was not sure if that was a rational thought and like everything it faded as he felt it.
The portal began as a small orb and then flattened into a vertical disc, lilac in colour and fizzing with static. Some in the room gasped, but to him it appeared as an old friend. The portal rippled as if it was fluid, but he knew of no substance apart from liquid with such consistency. He took a deep breath and stood before the portal. One by one those in the room kneeled before him in supplication. All that is apart from Annalua who rose and held her hands aloft.
"The age of Seter Al Gul has passed. We usher in a new Gloom to protect both Frindoth and the place of eternal rest. Henceforth you will be known as Slur on Doom,"
He looked at Annalua and frowned. Did it have to be such a sinister name? He was going to be feared anyway. Why did his name have to inspire fear? As he stepped forward to within inches of the portal it occurred to him that he could not recollect his name. How could he not? It was his name after all!
With this disturbing thought, he stepped forward, the portal seeming to suck him in and engulf every part of him. He felt his body squeezed and stretched. His fingers contorted in front of his eyes; becoming elongated in until they were like tendrils and feeling their way into the blinding white light that had replaced the lilac colour.
His smooth, black skin shrivelled and hardened, cracking in places and becoming leathery. His mouth throbbed as his jaw distorted to accommodate teeth which grew and became razor sharp. He was appalled and tried to cry out but no words came. In the deepest recesses of his mind he heard Annalua's voice, "Thank you Mondorlous,"
The name instantly brought recognition. His name! Memories flooded back to him and then disappeared instantly. He was consumed with terror and sorrow. As his body became more and more misshapen the man formerly known as Mondorlous lifted his head and howled.
***
Twelve years later
Osrif opened his eyes and immediately smiled. The memory of last night's magical events washed over him. He had kissed Lucille Greenwood! It was a moment he had dreamt about for years and last night quite unexpectedly she had kissed him as they walked home from the market festival. It had been his first kiss and it did not disappoint; sure, he might have preferred to have been a bit more prepared and not in the middle of a sentence but that did not matter. The kiss had been tender and wet and everything he hoped. Lucille's lips tasted of lemon from the drink she had been consuming all that night.
That kiss had changed every
thing between them. They were no longer friends but something more. The way she had held him afterwards, breathed in his scent and then let out a contented sigh had almost melted his knees. "Lucille," Osrif said quietly and then repeated the name. "Lucille, Lucille, Lucille," he repeated her name and smiled more.
Osrif never woke up with a smile and yet today he had. Today he had a reason to and that made him smile even more. A light wind disturbed the curtain allowing the sun's rays to shine through on to his face. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth as a cockerel crowed in the distance.
"Lucille," he said and stretched his legs and arms out as far as the tendons would allow, then relaxed placing his hands under the pillow. He felt something small and hard. Curious, Osrif sat up and lifted the pillow still unable to keep the grin from his face.
There on the sheet was a small red stone. At first, he wondered how it got there, but then he realised its significance. The smile fell from Osrif's face, his heart thudded in his chest and he broke out in a cold sweat. "Oh Lucille,"
Acknowledgements
If you had asked me 9 years ago, when I began writing Ritual of the Stones if I could have envisage completing a series of 4 books and 2 spin-offs I would have laughed and muttered something along the lines of it being nice to dream about. Yet, here I sit typing these words feeling immensely proud of what I have accomplished. I’ve changed a lot during that time: I’ve become a dad of three fantastic boys, lost loved ones and suffered the recent tragedy of losing my best friend and brother-in-law Simon
As I type these words it is a bitter-sweet feeling. Simon was one of my biggest fans and supporters when I began this adventure, he read two of my novels and liked them so much he could not stand to wait for the next book. He declared he would not read them until the series was complete and hounded me relentlessly on when that would be. Unfortunately, that day came 5 months too late for him but I would like to thank him especially for his unwavering support and enthusiasm to my work. Simon, everyone knows how much I miss you, but seriously multiply that by 100.
There are many others who I would like to thank. Once again, the fantastic cover is down to James over at GoOnWrite.com. I have developed a great relationship with James over the years and it has been great to see his work prosper.
I would also like to thank my ever-willing proof-readers Kay Higgins and Jacqui Slaney. Both have meticulous eyes for details and never fail to shock me with the amount of errors I have made. Without them, this novel really would appear amateurish.
Finally, and most importantly, I would like to thank my family. My wife Emma and my three boys: Joseph, Jamie and Toby have been like a rock and so supportive of my work. They have grounded me when I needed grounding, pushed me when I needed encouragement and loved me to the moon and stars and back again. I am a lucky man.