Shadow of the Ancients

by Pierre Grimbert

  From we ten, only seven would return from our strange voyage. King Arkane would lose an arm. All of us would end up losing money, titles, land, and the respect of our peers. Our vows of silence made us pariahs, even, as we thought, we protected humanity.

  But I’m getting ahead of the story. That day, as dusk approached, we could think only of Nol and his mysteries. Of the coming revelations that he had hinted would be overwhelming. So, as night fell, we followed him through the labyrinth of rocks without hesitation. Without hesitation, but with plenty of surprise. Hadn’t he promised to bring us somewhere else?

  Nol led us deep into the island. I think he intentionally followed a few false trails to discourage any shadowing from any of our nations. We emissaries, impassioned by such mystery, joked in quiet voices. I spoke with the wise Moboq, only too happy to demonstrate my knowledge of the Arque language.

  After a time, though, only our destination filled our minds, and, following Nol’s mute lead, we walked in complete silence, drinking in every aspect of the landscape.

  The strange man soon brought us into a grotto, and we followed him down into the dark, with a rising fear. What if this were all just an elaborate kidnapping, as many had predicted? Were we headed straight for a trap?

  I noticed with relief that there was no one and nothing in the grotto, and my mind turned to wondering why Nol would have brought us here. Was he expecting us to negotiate something, by lantern light, seated on the sand?

  But Nol didn’t stop, and he walked deeper into the cavern before turning down a narrow, natural hall hidden in a recess. We walked down this new, gently sloping passage to arrive at the edge of an underground lake more than one hundred yards wide.

  It was dead quiet. We already knew that our escorts would have trouble finding us if anything went wrong, and Nol wanted to take us even deeper underground. The adventure was taking a fantastic turn, so extraordinary and bizarre that we all felt a heaviness in the air. And we hadn’t even seen anything unnatural or supernatural. Not yet.

  Nol guided us along a ledge that circled the lake on the left and ended at a fissured wall. He checked that we were all still there, and then he confidently walked through the narrow fissure.

  I followed, between Moboq and Rafa de Griteh, wondering if there really was an exit to this cave. A gallery opening in front of me was my answer, and I filed into the new room with the others. It was a large space, though smaller than the one with the lake, and its ceiling reached high above us.

  With a sign, Nol signaled to us to wait while he crossed the cavern alone, wetting his feet in a small freshwater pond. By the distant sound of waves and salty odors, I realized that the ocean wasn’t far: probably at the bottom of the chasm over which our guide was leaning.

  I decided to see for myself and joined Nol cautiously, accompanied by Moboq and Vanamel. Nol seemed somewhat vexed by our presence; not angry, but worried. Enough so that he broke his habitual silence and spoke:

  “What happens next, do not fear, do not cry out, and do not flee. Do not intervene; you are in no danger.”

  Rather than reassure me, his warning did the opposite. I leaned out over the edge to try to see the bottom, in vain. I was tempted to drop my lantern to get a better look, but I needed its reassuring light.

  All the emissaries soon joined us, and Nol motioned for us to step back and to wait along the rocky walls. Then he spoke, though his words weren’t meant for us. From his mouth came an unknown language, and he spoke it directly to the void. Again and again he repeated the same sounds as he looked into the darkness. It seemed as if he were calling someone, or something.

  And something responded.

  Something alive climbed up to the ledge. We heard it well before we saw it. The noises were so dreadful and powerful that I thought I wouldn’t have the courage to wait for its arrival. It sounded like an immense body pulling itself out of the water, followed by the din of crashing waves and a swirling sound, like the pulling up of a large anchor. Then came a loud breathing, ten times louder than a wild bull. Then the scratching, scurrying sounds of giant claws climbing the cliff walls, intermingling with the sounds of panting, growling, and the crashing waves.

  Despite the warning, Ssa-Vez of Jezeba pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow. Nol saw and signaled for him to put down the weapon, advice the Jez, nearly in a full state of panic, didn’t follow. Nol’s gaze turned to the bow, which suddenly snapped in half. Ssa-Vez fell back onto the wall and didn’t move, his terror rendering him mute and immobile.

  My nerves were shaken too, and as I scanned the faces of my companions, I could see that none of them had much courage for what we were about to face. We stood stock-still, afraid to breathe, ready to run. We stared into the obscurity and waited for the monster to arrive.

  First we saw an enormous hand, or something more like a paw, grab the edge of the floor. It had scaly, leathery, dark-blue skin that shimmered in our lantern light. It had four fingers that ended in claws like ice axes. Then came the rest of the arm, as tall as a man and as thick as an oak trunk. Finally, the creature’s head appeared.

  No one breathed. No one moved. The monster stared at each of us, its eyes as big as fists, and growled. Hostilely, I thought.

  Nol spoke, and the creature quieted, though it didn’t stop staring at us with its contorted face, even as the Strange calmed it with his soft voice.

  What we could see of its body resembled a human’s, in a general way, except for the head, which was as wide as a barrel and as deformed as ozün fruit. It had no eyelids and no nose. Its neck was swollen with strange gills that regularly flared out. Its mouth was enormous, and had several rows of pointy teeth, like so many bear traps. The creature from the abyss stared at us hatefully.

  It started to move again, and Nol stopped talking. I hoped that it was a sign of victory, and not of failure. I wanted to look for Nol’s reaction, but my eyes couldn’t stop watching the monster finish its climb.

  The rest of its body looked nothing like a human. Apart from its hips, the creature had all the parts of a gigantic crustacean. Eight legs with many joints protected by a thick carapace, of which four legs had impressive claws folded underneath. The monster was three times taller than any of us, and at its full height it loomed above our heads like something born out of our worst nightmares.

  It walked past us slowly, with an unreadable expression. The sharp clicking of its claws and the hissing of its gills echoed off the walls, strangling us with dread.

  “But . . . what is this thing?” Moboq found the courage to ask.

  “One of the Eternal Guardians,” Nol responded. “One of your oldest gods. He is called Reexyyl, one of the last Leviathans.”

  “One of our gods? What do you mean?”

  Nol ignored the question. Later, we would have all the answers we desired and more, but right then we couldn’t keep our eyes off of the monster as it approached the cavern’s center.

  A light buzzing began to fill the room, growing louder and louder. Soon it became a jarring whistle, and my eyes searched for its origin in vain. The terrible sound seemed to come from everywhere, though it soon quieted, with a kind of hiccup.

  In the center of the room, where the Leviathan had stopped, the shadows were strangely agitated. They faded as a light appeared. The light was small at first, just a pinprick among the shadows, or a distant and dying star, but soon it began to grow, reaching high into the air, bathing the cavern in a pale glow.

  It was then that I finally saw the symbols carved into the walls and ceiling of the cavern, even as something else pulled my attention away. The light diminished slowly, leaving behind a blurry view, as if something was hidden behind a slowly lifting fog. As it lifted, I saw a landscape. Not the cavern in front of us, but a beautiful valley with a promising dawn rising.

  The creature seemed to completely ignore the phenomenon; it simply turned toward us, or more toward Nol, seemingly waiting for something.

  “What is . . . What is this place that
we can see, against all logic?” Vanamel asked.

  “It’s the gardens of Dara,” Nol responded gently. “Our destination.”

  Everyone, me included, was eager to get closer and look into the beautiful valley, but the creature’s proximity froze our heated desires.

  “Just how well can you control this Leviathan?” I asked nervously. “By Eurydis, he doesn’t seem to appreciate our presence! Is there any risk he will attack in a sudden rage?”

  “Not Reexyyl,” Nol assured us, after reflecting. “Not as long as I am with you.”

  Later we learned that Nol had sometimes lost control of certain Eternal Guardians, the last having been the Wyvern of Oo. If he had told us then, I don’t think we would have walked through the portal.

  However, at the time, that’s exactly what we did, guided by the Strange right up to the extraordinary portal to the gardens of Dara. Nol walked through first, then came back to show us that it wasn’t dangerous. He touched each one of us, mysteriously, then encouraged us to try it for ourselves. The spirited Vanamel was our scout.

  “It’s very strange!” he said, thrilled. “I can see you in the cavern, and I am here on the other side! Can’t you see how beautiful it is here? It almost feels like we are in some sort of spell.”

  Forgetting all caution, Vanamel ran down into the valley, amazed by every flower, rock, tree, or bird he came across. His counselor, Saat the Treasurer, hurried to join him, and everyone else followed, one by one, crossing the narrow window between the two worlds with palpable excitement.

  I was the last. Eurydis’s teachings can prepare a man for many things, but not that. Although the experience was exciting, I felt something grave in it. What happened next proved my point.

  “How is this possible?” I asked our guide. “What is the magic in this portal?”

  Nol smiled and looked up, into the eyes of the Leviathan, anxious to return to its marine abyss.

  “For the most part, the magic comes from the Guardian,” he explained gently. “His presence alone opens the portal, and to enter, you must dare to approach, and have been touched by a divine being.”

  What Nol was saying then already shook my convictions, and I was speechless. The Strange had to take my hand to bring me into Dara. In his . . .

  “Why did you stop there?” Léti shouted, after a few moments of heavy silence. “Maz, continue, I beg you!”

  “That’s all there is,” Lana revealed sadly. “From there on, the text is illegible, except for the last ten pages. I haven’t yet transcribed those. First I wanted to share this.”

  The heirs couldn’t hide their disappointment. They had learned so many things in so few pages that losing three-quarters of the journal was truly a disaster.

  What if their last chance had just disappeared for good?

  Though Lana had woken them up in the middle of the night, the heirs couldn’t fall back to sleep. Lana’s reading had been lively, and Achem’s tale astonishing.

  “The description is exactly what we saw in Ji’s cavern,” Corenn commented. “The portal, the pond, Jal’dara, there’s no way it’s a hoax.”

  “It’s the first time we have heard of this Leviathan,” Grigán noted, not trying to contradict Corenn. “After all those years our ancestors spent searching for clues about Ji?”

  “The poem names the Eternal Guardians,” Lana reminded him. “Promised day when gods will hear the voices, open the portals, bind the guardians, they are the same thing.”

  “But how can you explain that we have never seen this monster, nor our parents or their parents?” asked the warrior.

  “I don’t know,” the Maz conceded.

  “Perhaps you have to call it forth,” Rey proposed, “as Nol did from the top of the chasm. Or maybe the Leviathan only comes forth in certain conditions?”

  “Like?” Léti asked.

  “A certain date, the color of the sky, the moon’s period, what do I know! Or maybe it’s just dead.”

  “That would surprise me,” the warrior mumbled.

  No one disagreed. Even if the Leviathan weren’t a god, it was difficult to imagine something capable of killing it.

  “That’s why we couldn’t walk through the portal,” Yan said. “Its Guardian was never there.”

  “Yet we saw Jal’dara,” Léti responded. “Aunt Corenn, Grigán, you saw it every time! At every reunion!”

  “Perhaps the Leviathan wasn’t far,” Corenn suggested seriously. “Waiting for our call.”

  They all could see a terrifying image of the monster climbing the cavern’s walls, watching their movements. What if they had done something the Leviathan found . . . punishable? Something like destroying the symbols on the portal? Or trying to walk through it without the Guardian’s approval? They had no idea if that was even possible.

  “I think the creature is dead,” Bowbaq announced, more to convince himself than really argue. “Surely they can die. The Sohonne Arch is also a portal to Jal’dara, but we have never seen it function, because there is no monster in the area.”

  “No? And the Undulating Drake?” Grigán retorted, as the idea crossed his mind. “He would suit the role perfectly!”

  Bowbaq looked at the warrior and grew pale, distraught.

  “Have you seen this Drake?” Léti asked. “You yourself?”

  “No, and neither has Bowbaq, actually. It’s an Arque legend that they bring out anytime there is an unexplained death. Even a lion like Mir couldn’t cut up a body like the Drake does, and the legend stems from the Sohonne tribes!” Grigán concluded triumphantly.

  The normally tacit warrior’s excitement spread to the rest of the group. How could they not revel when they finally had some evidence that stacked up, where the facts seemed coherent, and even logical? The secret of Ji, the core mystery in their lives and those of their ancestors, was revealing itself little by little.

  “It’s a shame that the journal is damaged,” Léti complained. “We could have learned so much more. Achem must have written the emissaries’ entire story.”

  Yan consoled her by saying, “There’s still the last pages. They may be informative.”

  Everyone turned to Lana, but Corenn saw her tired eyes and cut them off.

  “It can wait until tomorrow,” the Mother said. “Don’t you think we’ve covered enough for tonight?”

  “Corenn, I could—” Lana started to say.

  “I forbid you,” Corenn declared, falsely scolding. “Lana, it’s your ancestor’s journal. Take the time to learn from him.”

  The Maz agreed, relieved at the turn of events. They had all already slept a few decidays, while she had worked all night. She didn’t have the energy to transcribe any more pages of Achem’s manuscript.

  Thankfully, no one was rude enough to offer their services. While it represented their best hope, the journal was Lana’s, and they all knew the oath the Maz had made to her father at his deathbed. She had to destroy it. Reading it before she destroyed it was already a small betrayal; they did not want to add to her burden. She would be the first to read it.

  “I suggest you return to your rooms,” Corenn announced. “Try to get some sleep. Tomorrow, we will be in the Eastian Kingdoms, and we will need all our strength.”

  They separated with promises of sweet dreams, but few dreamed at all. A collection of dark thoughts prevented them: the portals, the Guardians, Jal’dara, the Züu, Saat and the demons of Jal’karu, the journal’s secrets, and the voyage to the other side of the Curtain.

  They left early the next morning, after buying replacement provisions and equipment from the innkeeper, who also managed a supply store. They didn’t know when they would next come across advanced civilization, and as they left the Goranese inn, the heirs felt like they were leaving the Upper Kingdoms for good.

  They headed for the trail through the Warrior’s Vale at a brisk pace. Grigán hoped to make it through as quickly as possible; if there was going to be a battle, it was more likely to happen after breakfast. At dawn, p
roviding they had not kept guard all night, men still loved life. Wars were won in the fading light of dusk, almost never at dawn.

  The trail was in a piteous state, trampled by the footmen, horses, cattle, and chariots of the recent Goranese campaigns. Yan knew that Grigán had chosen this path thinking it might be less trampled than others, and the trail through the Vale itself must be even worse than this one.

  A fine rain started to fall, angering everyone except the warrior, who saw it as a possibility that they might pass through the Vale without a battle. The misty rain intensified quickly, soaking them after only a few miles, only to fade and completely disappear once they had descended from the Curtain Mountains’ heights.

  “Thallos is over there,” Rey announced, pointing to the east. “Why are we still heading north?”

  “We can’t take any chances, crossing blind into a region I don’t know,” Grigán said. “I think if we follow this trail, we will stumble over one of the Goranese camps; they can point out the enemy’s position.”

  The warrior’s uncertainty bothered his companions. They knew he didn’t know the eastern territories well, but to see it so obviously . . . They were used to him being an all-knowing guide, and without his assurance they felt lost. What would it be like in the middle of the Thalite Kingdom, where they didn’t even know the language?

  They continued north, paying more attention to the landscape since, for once, they couldn’t depend solely on Grigán.

  The region was mostly deserted; over the centuries, the barbarians’ proximity and their frequent raids had forced most of the inhabitants to flee. They could see only a few poor cottages built from mud and grass, and the fields outside these homes were ravaged by the passing troops. No smoke rose from their hearths, and the heirs concluded that their owners must have fled after the more recent combat. The ambiance added to the feeling of desolation that had inspired ancient poets to name the valley Warrior’s Vale.