When the people have lost all hope and the world turns to black
A hero will appear from out of the gloom to bring Eliantar back.
He will travel across the land through desert, water, and fire
And crush the Tyrant’s plan; destroying his funeral pyre.
He will unite the lords of realms, for only through them will there be
A way to stop the coming doom and set their peoples free.
When this hero is set to come, no one knows what the future brings.
The spell is this: Eyes on the clock, for when the pendulum swings.
“I don’t understand. What does it mean?” Ara asked, walking back down to Vale and Forr.
Forr answered, “A long time ago, when the world was brand new there was a seer, just like me, who advised the very first King of Eliantar. Her name was Lileena.
“No one knows much about her, other than that she was highly respected in her position and took it upon herself to study all brands of magic. Near the end of her life she was regarded as a full-fledged witch and it is believed that she’s the one who started the coven of witches, which many years later would become corrupt and call themselves Skars Shadows.”
“I always thought that magic was illegal,” Ara commented. We’d always learned through school that the gods didn’t approve of us studying magic because they’d already given us special gifts to use. Prior to Scurus Subo, I’d assumed witches and the Skars Shadows were just an allegory for how magic corrupts people and makes them evil.”
“Well,” sighed Vale. “Forr probably should’ve started by saying that this is just a story and no one knows how much truth their actually is to it.”
“In any case,” Forr went on. “The story goes that at that time studying magic was highly common and this prophet was highly skilled at it.
“Towards the end of her life she went into hiding, probably because she was ill and about to die. But, before she ran away the King asked her for one final prophecy and she spoke the words that appear on that podium today. She asked the King, as her final request, to build the Chronometer Cathedral, and told him that when Eliantar was ready to fall into despair, a hero would appear from out of nowhere and burst out from those doors.”
“What’s in there?” Ara asked, still in amazement. “How does one get inside to look?”
“No one knows. No one has ever been in there. Every time an attempt was made to break the locks, they couldn’t be destroyed. Lileena must have sealed it with her magic. Gods only know.”
“The clock doesn’t work,” Ara pointed out. “It’s a bit strange that it’s so impressive looking and has this miraculous story about how it’s the starting point for some great hero, but it doesn’t even function.”
“Historians and story tellers agree that it has never worked,” Forr explained. “They believe that were it to work, it would move just as all other clocks do. If you look up there, you can see it has thirty hours marked and a hand for each sun, and of course the third hand for the season. Those that believe say that there is a gigantic pendulum that hangs down the spire and rests somewhere just above this large first floor. What’s in the first floor, neither the historians or story tellers know. But, they both believe that when this tower was constructed, it was made not to work and that it would only come to life when Eliantar was at its darkest and the hero was about to arrive.”
“So, you’re saying that the clock counts down Eliantar’s redemption and not Eliantar’s destruction?”
“Ah that’s the question, isn’t it?” Forr said with a twinkle in his eye. I’m glad to see you’re finally interested in one of my stories.”
“Well is it just a story or do you think there may be truth to it?” Ara couldn’t keep his eyes off the macabre-looking structure as he asked. “Do many people really believe the legend?”
“Surprisingly, there are many that do, including Forr,” Vale answered before Forr could. “Every morning, there is a large group of Elites who gather right where we are on their knees and pray silently. They just sit here, staring up at the metal hands waiting for them to move. In my travels I’ve occasionally been by here, and I’ve seen more people kneeling here than in any of the gods’ churches. I always thought it was a beautiful story and I think it’s wonderful that there are some people who think it’s real. Some people need stories like that, you know? More than likely though it is just an exaggerated tale passed down to give people hope and keep them positive when their times are rough.”
“You don’t believe it then?” Ara asked, noticing how disappointed Forr looked.
“No, I guess I don’t. Vale said his eyes full of strain. “As I said it’s a beautiful story, but I am sure there have been many hard times where people have surely felt that this tower must be ticking away. Obviously, it hasn’t.”
“Well, it seems as though it already works, even if it doesn’t tick,” Ara wisely observed.
“How do you mean?” Vale asked.
“Because it’s brought the people hope. If there are crowds outside that are praying here every day, then obviously if nothing else, it is a monument of optimism for the people of Eliantar.”
As Forr and Vale began preparing to camp for the night, Ara continued to observe the dark tower. It was completely eerie, yet beautiful. He imagined that it was quite a spectacle during the day, but at night it looked more like a mausoleum and a reminder of death rather than a symbol of the preservation of life. He assumed this was probably some kind of statement about the darkness that the witch saw to come. He imagined that whoever built this designed the outside to reflect the gloomy state of Eliantar from Lileena’s visions, but the inside was probably brilliant shades of white and gold.
“You’ve been staring at that building for almost an hour,” Vale called over to Ara. “You’re becoming like everyone else who comes here. Just biding your time and waiting for a dead clock to come to life.”
“I can’t help but think,” Ara ignored Vale’s skepticism. “Maybe the time has come. Your mother has died a terrible death and then the Crown Prince was nearly murdered. Maybe this is the darkness that the witch foresaw and the Chronometer Cathedral is just seconds away from springing to life.”
Vale walked over Forr’s sleeping form to Ara and held his hand. He squeezed it gently. When Ara looked over at the Prince, he saw pity in his eyes. Prince Vale felt sorry for him which suddenly made him feel very small.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Vale said with a hint of patronization. “There are Elites who spend their whole lives waiting for the world to change, staring at this building. They live their life, they die, and nothing has changed. I’m begging you Ara, I used to be very idealistic myself. I hated Opo for how blunt and uncaring he could be. He would come across so negative about the world and the people in it. But, I’ve realized over the past few weeks that in our professions we don’t have the luxury to be idealistic. We have to be realistic and make changes ourselves rather than wait for heroes and gods to make fixes for us.”
“It doesn’t hurt to have faith in things outside of our control,” Ara said quietly, eyes still on the Chronometer Cathedral. “Do you think it is so wrong to hope for change in a broken world?”
“Believe in yourself,” Vale stated. “Change is possible and I truly believe that if you work at it, good can conquer evil. However, sitting around and waiting for some 2,000-year-old magic spell to revive itself is foolish. The world will rot and die before magic ever takes the place of direct action.”
They laid down a few moments later. Vale was asleep in moments after the long day. Ara tossed and turned for hours before he was finally able to drift off. Symbols of grandeur rarely amused him, so why could he not stop staring the Cathedral? Why did he feel so drawn to it? He’d close his eyes and then quickly open them to stare at the clock face. No matter how many times he did this, the clock did not move. He stared up at the cracked, green glass that shone in the
starlight and waited and waited until at last, like Vale, he could wait for hope no longer and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
There was no magic in Eliantar that night. Ara had begun to realize what Vale had been trying to tell him. There was no magic for the people, no matter how much they wished for it. There was no magic for Forr, no matter how much he believed in it. And there was no magic for Eliantar, even though, unbeknownst to the world, it was nearing its end.
The Woodland Tombs of Eliantar Page 14