Ekleipsis

by Pordlaw LaRue

  From behind a tree appeared Onyx. “Dear Rayhold, what do ye sit there pondering?”

  “Oh, nothing,” replied Rayhold.

  “Dear Rayhold, why do thou yet lie to me? Have I not given thee that which thou desire,” asked Onyx.

  “Forgive me. It is but a selfish thing,” Rayhold looked down.

  “Tell me then, young Rayhold. Maybe I could help.”

  Rayhold looked to Onyx, of course he can. “There is a girl in Qualtes that I would much like to see again.”

  “Thou speak of young Cenobia,” Onyx answered, “and indeed I may be able to help.”

  “How…how do you know that?” Rayhold exclaimed.

  “I know many things,” laughed Onyx.

  Onyx pulled an amulet from his pocket. It was white, with faint swirls of grey running throughout. In the shape of a rose bloom, two inches in size, it was attached to a black twine necklace through one of the petals. Onyx grinned, holding the rose and allowing the twine to dangle, “Place this around her neck. She will love thee for it.”

  Rayhold smiled, holding out his hand to take it, “This is nice. Where did you get it?”

  Onyx handed it over, ensuring Rayhold of its power. “I’ve had it for quite some time. Take it. It will do what thou please.”

  Rayhold held the rose in his palm examining the detail; the craftsmanship was of high quality. This is beautiful.

  “Yes Rayhold, it is,” Onyx replied to Rayhold’s thoughts aloud.

  Rayhold looked up, “You’ve got to teach me that.”

  “Not all at once young Rayhold. Patience and practice,” Onyx explained. “Shall we being then?”

  Trachten,

  Land of the Seekers

  Trachten was an extremely large area in Erde, made of mostly desert with little vegetation. If it weren’t for the Umeten Canal, which ran near the top of the city, there would have been no Trachten. While the channel was being dug, workers had to haul in water from the Liban River, which was later used to feed the passage. By creating the small stem off, Trachten was able to take whatever it wanted from the river through the canal, while allowing the rest of the fresh water to continue onward.

  Hence, the name Land of the Seekers had been used as far back as any could remember. In the days before the canal, those seeking to flee the Shadow Lands would often die before they could reach the Liban River to the east. For that reason, most would dare not try to leave, and often were snatched into the Darkness of Oscuridad. Instead of trying to escape, they simply accepted their fate. The small stretch of Shadow Lands was all that separated Trachten from Oscuridad, and was full of many unspeakable pleasures.

  When the Sealed first helped build the Umeten Canal, many people came from the west, being led out of the Shadow Lands across the desert, but the numbers crossing over slowed drastically with time. Those from the Shadow Lands began only to go as far as Trachten to wander amidst the semiannual markets, but no further. They found all they needed in the Land of the Seekers, and returned to the Shadow Lands with their desires being filled. They no longer feared the Darkness, as Jagare had seemingly been silent these past years. And the Shadow Lands lent them more lustful freedom, than the rest of Erde was allowed.

  Xima was the governor of Trachten. His family had played the major role in the finance of breaking ground and digging the Umeten Canal, accepting help from the Sealed. The city even received its name from its originator, Sir Trachten, grandfather in the lineage of Xima. He was a very wealthy, intelligent man.

  History told Sir Trachten somewhat disliked the laws of King Allmachtig and neither cared much for the teachings of King Salvare, but he also feared the Shadow Lands and Oscuridad. For this cause he took all that he had – which was much – and settled in the desert away from all.

  Since that day, Sir Trachten’s generations have remained there; especially, with the idea of a semiannual market, which saw thousands upon thousands of people from all over, bringing in mighty fine revenue indeed. They remained a family of wealth, claiming never to pledge their allegiance either to the King or the Darkness. The Trachten generations proclaimed neutrality, gladly accepting any and all benefits from both those of the King and those of the Darkness.

  § § § §

  MaZak and Dartego traveled for days, finally arriving in Trachten. It was a long trip. Stopping only in Goslet for a night and Salong for another, they were more than ready to rest a while each day. The closer they came to Trachten, the dryer the climate became, the hotter the days, and the colder the nights. They already missed the fresh mountain air of Nesal.

  Entering Trachten, they still had to travel somewhat a distance to Palvolin, where the markets were actually held. Due south of Telbaton, central Trachten, furthest from the Umeten Canal, it was dry and dusty, but had the most room for all the people. It was also far from the palace of Xima and the majestic parts of Trachten in Xiacon, where the prominent lived. Originally near the center of Trachten in Telbaton, the markets had hence moved more southwest to Palvolin in the last ten years. Ever so closer to the Shadow Lands did they move.

  They stopped at the same place they always did, to pay for a room for the week. Most of the dignitaries and renowned fellows stayed north a good ways at Yoto’s Inn. Near Xima’s palace, it was fancier and higher priced than Brocolat’s. Yoto’s had maids who tended to washing, meals, and what not, whereas Brocolat’s was merely do-it-yourself rooms. Brocolat’s surroundings were simple and bland, while Yoto’s Inn, being closer to the palace in Xiacon, lay also among the less godly establishments of Trachten, which the Sealed had taken oath to refrain from.

  The time of these markets were an occasion to reacquaint friendships, sell ones goods, and to peer into the talents and merchandise of others; whereas such would have been greated restricted, if limited to only their own villages. But also for many wealthy souls, it was an occasion for the indulgence of their lusts.

  “I don’t know about you good friend, but I think I’m getting somewhat old,” claimed MaZak, bringing the wagon to a halt.

  “Aye, you look pretty old,” Dartego replied smiling.

  MaZak returned a chuckle.

  MaZak and Dartego stepped up to the old wooden counter. Full of chips and splinters, with scribbling here and there carved into the surface, it hadn’t been replaced in a while. The smell of sawdust on the floors brought back memories every year. Around the way came the attendant. The total of four weeks a year for these markets was where Brocolat’s made most of its money. It wasn’t much to look at, but the owner and his workers had always seemed to be cheery, honest fellows.

  “Hey, Key,” (a nickname for obvious reasons) MaZak called out.

  “Hey, MaZak, back again I see,” noted Key. “And, I see you’re still hanging around with this old guy, Dartego.”

  “Yeah, someone has to take care of him,” Dartego replied, smartly.

  MaZak and Key likewise chuckled.

  “So, what you got fancy this trip?” asked Key.

  “I may have something you like,” MaZak claimed with a smile, “but you’ll have to wait till the morrow. We need some rest.”

  “Park your wagon behind the place, and you can put your horses in the stables. This will give you more protection,” explained Key.

  “Been having problems lately?” asked Dartego.

  “I just don’t want anything diapearing and you two accusing me. Last trip a guy blamed me for his trinkets coming up missing. Said his wagon was parked out front, so it was my fault. Made a big stink, but turns out he was just lying, so we ran him out of town.”

  “I see. You take the guy’s stuff, and then run him out of town,” MaZak smiled.

  “Sounds like that’s what happened to me,” added Dartego.

  “Ah, I can see now this is going to be a long week with you two,” grinned Key.

  § § § §

  Morning came early, but MaZak and Dartego were ready to greet it. Cricket’s Eatery was the small tavern next door to the inn, where most ea
ting was done on makeshift wooden benches and tables outside around the front and back. One had to make sure not to get a splinter or two. As they didn’t serve wine and strong drink, it was one of the few places to get breakfast without having the leftover drunkards from the night before pestering one for money.

  The food was often fresh and the help was usually very pleasant. The help looked clean and were mannered servants indeed. MaZak and Dartego grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs and smoked ham, with a stein of fresh goat milk before heading out to setup their booth. Goat milk with a hint of sugar cane delighted their bellies.

  The streets were very busy that morning, with owners scurrying from place to place preparing to display all of their goods for sell or trade. Seekers from the surrounding villages had already peered out into the market, to get the first glance as to what was new. They were eyeing new things and making deals before the so-called outsiders (anyone that did not dwell in the Land of the Seekers) piled in. This severely crowded the village, and kept a constant haze of dust in the air.

  Guards were dressed with gold-colored chest plates and light blue cloth, with matching shin and forearm guards, and semi-helmets covering the crown of their heads. Holding long wooden spears with swords latched at their sides. They were stiff, muscular men, who stood as statues throughout the market over the space of a mile.

  Anyplace items of interest and money were found, security was of necessity. They were the soldiers of Xima the governor, who most humbly required ten percent of all sales. Plus an upfront cost of ten pieces of Erdian silver per booth, in addition to ten percent tax already on every business which was operated in Trachten.

  As the day progressed, the crests of many dignitaries could be seen while the mass of people grew by the minute. MaZak and Dartego saw many familiar faces of those from past buyers. They even took notice of some of the Sealed walking among the seekers. Soon the stretch would be elbow-to-elbow, with people of various ethnic and cultural backgrounds, having one thing in mind; I want the best item for the cheapest price.

  § § § §

  By the time mid-day arrived, the mile stretch of booths was overrun with people as expected. Men, women, boys, and girls wandered about searching high and low for the one thing they just couldn’t live without. Everything from armor to clothing, tools to gadgets, games to toys, could be bought or traded at the market. Along with fortune-tellers and medicine-men, there were the kissing booths, storytelling, and all sorts of religious and non-religious professions from mystic to witch, theist to atheist. If one wanted it, someone had it. Seek it there, and one would find it. Thus, Land of the Seekers.

  The crowd was almost overbearingly loud, but from a distance, MaZak could almost swear he heard screams. Again, he heard what appeared to be the voice of some crying out in fear. Instantly, he paused, ending the conversation with a young man questioning him concerning one of his daggers. MaZak did his best to block out the noise nearest him, trying to focus on the sounds he believed he heard from the distance. This time he heard a multitude of hollering and so did Dartego. It was coming from the other end of the far stretch of booths. Jerking himself from concentration, MaZak watched two of Xima’s soldiers run through the crowd in that direction.

  “Gottlos,” was the cry, as panic surfaced in the mind of many. Some dropped what they were looking at and began to run, while others ran still holding what they had. At least, they tried to run, but there was no room to move. Thousands of people tried to funnel down the narrow way, seemingly caged in by the continual booths lined along both sides the length of the entire market. Mass confusion set in, with the spirit of hysteria.

  Men and women began to trample the small children, who were unable to get out of the way. Babies were dropped in the frenzy, as men and teenagers pushed against the women causing them to stumble and fall. The Gottlos were coming, but the Ubils were already present. Weapons were drawn, and people carried by the chaos began to fight one another, while trying to escape for fear of what was coming. Souls seemed to lose all conciseness of humanity, focusing purely on self-preservation.

  MaZak and Dartego took off behind the booths, running toward the screams as most people remained in the street. Swords in hand, they prepared their minds for battle for whatever sort it would be. As the crowd pushed and shoved their way far from the cries, glimpses of soldiers, members of the Sealed, and independent militias were seen running toward the Gottlos.

  Balls of fire, the size of wagons, fell from the sky, engulfing groups of people at a time. Dignitaries ran for safety, using their slaves and soldiers as shields for protection. Booths exploded on both sides of the street, sending scraps of burning wood and molten metal through the air like arrows into the flesh of panic-stricken people.

  The smell of burning flesh, along with torched wood and materials, with sweat, fear, and screams, filled the air most sourly. The fires were hot and suffocated the people, as they screamed and ran franticly trying to escape. Flames and smoke made it difficult to see where to go, but the masses continued to sway here and there looking for a way out. Fighting in their fear, they realized not each merely hindered the other from escaping.

  MaZak saw a small child crying amidst the middle of the path. He was yards away as a burst of adrenalin boosted him toward her. She was afraid, alone, standing still, looking all around. She held her hands out as people ran by without noticing. Her tears dampened her face, and the smoke burned her tender blue eyes. She was nearly six, with curly locks of the lightest blonde hair. He feared she would be trampled by the crowd if he did not reach her. Almost there, he thought.

  So close, he was but a couple of feet from her. Fighting against the crowd, he pushed people out of his way to reach her. Suddenly, he lost his footing and tripped before he could get to her. A flame, hurled from the sky, licked the surface of the earth, taking the child and all that was with it. He saw it flash before his eyes, but could do nothing.

  MaZak’s hand reached out. The tips of his fingers began to bubble into blisters, while his anger kindled, his heart melted, and his eyes watered with emotion. He was too late. No, he wanted to scream. Disheartened, it momentarily killed his motivation. He knew there was no time to ponder, but still it was taken. He was hurt, both physically and emotionally, but it would not hinder him from moving to help the rest of the souls from the attack.

  “MaZak,” screamed Dartego, running to help up his friend. “The Gottlos are too many and you know the Ubils are causing most of this hysteria. We’ve got to fall back and try to regroup with the other Sealed and the militias. I’m not sure how many soldiers Xima really has, but we need to find them too!”

  MaZak turned to face Dartego with strained redness in his eyes. “The Dragon has come. You must hurry to tell our families in Nesal, and warn the other villages on the way. I fear we are not prepared. Call to the Sealed in every village. Make sure Ciafus knows of this first. Tell him to prepare for the Ekleipsis. Rubicund has surfaced!”

  “I will not leave you here. This is too much for the both of us,” argued Dartego. “Let me find the others and…”

  Dartego was cut off, as MaZak grabbed his shoulder tightly.

  “You will go now Dartego!” screamed MaZak.

  Dartego was shaken for a moment, as everything except MaZak’s voice went silent. “The whole realm including our village is in danger – you must warn them!” exclaimed MaZak.

  Speechless, Dartego looked, knowing he must leave to warn the others, yet felt as though he was turning his back on his most beloved friend. The look in MaZak’s eyes, a look of concern and fear, Dartego had not seen in many years.

  “I shall see you on the other side. May God grant you speed and safety,” MaZak claimed, as he turned and ran toward the Gottlos, baring his sword in his wounded hand.

  Rubicund, the Ekleipsis, echoed in Dartego’s head. Fear tried to overtake him, but he would not allow it. Running around the outside of the booths, he made his way toward the stables.

  What is that? A sand sto
rm, he stopped. His mouth dropped in awe. He had never seen a swirling of sand so great in all his years.

  Far in the distance, from the south, a dark cloud of sand swirled in the form of a large storm, approaching the city of Palvolin with enormous speed and force. Moving with remarkable momentum, Dartego could see no escape for anyone in Palvolin. The people were closed in with the Gottlos to their rear and the storm approaching their front. And, it appeared, the people would rather weather the storm; for they continued to run head long into it.

  This is indeed a dark day. May God help us, Dartego thought.

  From the storm came an unusual flame, along with the hint of dark wings on either side. From amidst the dust, Dartego could almost see a disturbing face with deep green eyes, large smoking nostrils, and massive jaws of fierce teeth. Moving at a tremendous speed, its wings almost touching the ground, powering them up and down against gravity, the beast was coming, projecting himself as an arrow toward Palvolin. It was Rubicund!

  Enormous would be too small of a word to describe him, while majestic not worthy enough to be used. He was a dark, red beast having the countenance of a reptilian devil, with wings extending past both sides of the market, and a tail swinging left to right as he soared closer. If not so horrid, he would have been a most breathless sight to watch.

  His massive jaws held razor sharp teeth, spewing forth fire from his gut. Covered in thick plates, he flinched not at the spears and arrows being thrown his way. A chilling sound came forth from his vocal chords between balls of inferno. Flames evaporated everything in his path. The force of the wind that followed his swooping upward, threw even those the fire had not touched forcibly to the ground, almost putting out the burning flames with the twist of air.