by P D Ceanneir
She took her eyes from the storm and lifted her head up to look around. Early morning light streamed in through tall narrow windows with clear, but thick glass. Set into tall curved niches in the walls were a collection of about a dozen man-sized statues made from a polished yellow marble. They were obviously soldiers; each dressed in ancient clothing of carapace and leather skirts showing bare legs and sandals. Only the steel helm, spear and shield were real. She peered closer towards the nearest statue and noted it had a hole in its chest where a small brown sphere, about the size of a clenched fist, sat.
I know what that is. I think. At least, I should know what that is.
She sat up and noticed that she lay on an ochre-coloured stone floor, the slabs neatly cut into squares and level. The entrance to a staircase sat to her right, the handrail jutted out of the floor. Is that a way out? Where am I?
She stood up unsteadily and saw the strange contraption at the centre of the room. It was a single piece of blue granite carved into a squat cylindrical table and highly polished. About six feet in diameter and four in height, it’s top cut away at a slight angle to form a partition at the back. The partition depicted numerous diagrams, some of which were familiar to Tia, though she could not place them. In the centre of this table sat a large glass stone. The stone was obviously man made, cut into the shape of a diamond with the point balancing perfectly inside a small brass cup. All around the stone, on the surface of the granite table, were large Skrol symbols rendered in silver and glowing with an inner light. The etched Skrol lay inside a three-banded dial, which in turn lay flush with the table. The stone’s brass cup sat in the centre band and those depicting numbers and mathematical symbols while the two outer rings had Skrol. Obviously, turning the dials meant a different sequence of a complex code. The glass stone also gave off light of its own and hues of colour; green, brown, blue and red collided together, but never merged enough to mix into new colours. They formed ethereal clouds and abstract patterns each flashed with electrical burst; this had the effect of soft silver pulses emitting from the top of the stone at various angles through the surface’s many facets and brightening the room with every intermittent flash, like a heartbeat of light.
Tia, captivated by the strange stone, barely registered the other half of the contraption until she moved around to the other side. It stood directly in front of the table and looked, to all intents and purposes, like an oversized sarcophagus made of polished brass, decorated with ancient knot-work and whorls. It was as wide as three men side by side and twice as tall. It sat at an angle leaning up against a raised plinth, lidless and lined with purple velvet with cotton cushions of red satin. It actually looked rather inviting to Tia, but only if the current occupant was not still in it.
The man, Tia guessed at the gender, was obviously dead. He was so old and wizened that he seemed mummified by the years. His arms and legs had contorted into a macabre parody of the human form, so twisted and stick thin that they resembled tree branches, bleached and petrified by sun and countless winters. His clothes were grey and tattered, strips of a once heavy woollen robe hung from his thin bony shoulders. His shrunken face and parchment thin skin was tinged yellow with age. Tia could see the tiny network of blue veins under the skin and brown liver spots of the scalp. His eyelids were so deeply sunken in the sockets that they formed dark pits. His mouth hung open in an eternal scream. The blue tongue was shrivelled and decaying in his mouth.
Disturbing as the body was, Tia felt a strange curiosity. Did she know this man? Some things about the design of the sarcophagus looked familiar. Why?
The storm? She looked up at the shifting clouds high up in the roof rafters. It took me, but I cannot remember where I was before.
Something, out of the corner of her eye, drew her mind back to the corpse. There appeared to be a shimmering yellow halo around the sarcophagus. Subtle, almost invisible, but if one stared at it long enough and concentrated, it revealed itself to me millions of golden dust motes all hanging around in mid-air. The motes formed into a long membrane connecting the sarcophagus to the granite table, specifically the strange glass stone. Tia moved closer to the dancing dust of gold and passed her hand through the link. The motes moved around her hand of their own accord and she felt her fingers tingle.
Fear instinctively made her pull her hand back. She felt a strong sense of danger and an inner voice screamed at her to get out.
She turned back towards the corpse and the man stared back at her with wide, glazed eyes.
9
Sir Velnour took point and led at a fair pace as the horses cantered through the knee-high grassland. In the distance the tower on the ridge loomed closer. Velnour guided his mount to the right and followed a natural track through the tall stalks until he came to the edge of the woods.
Sir Hexor and his twin brother, Sir Foxe, met him there.
‘Some old farmsteads to the east,’ informed Foxe. Like his brother he was slim, though shorter and with a fine mop of blonde hair, while Hexor liked to grow his brown hair longer. Twins in nature, but not in looks, yet each had the tell-tale spread of freckles over the bridge of their noses and cheeks. ‘All empty’, added Hexor, who had a habit of finishing his brother’s sentences.
Velnour grunted, ‘that’s not very sociable of them’. The one-eyed captain of the princes Raider Heavy Cavalry usually came across as a gruff and moody man. He certainly looked mean, with has trademark dark scowl and a green patch over his bad eye (lost during a drunken duel), but he was the most amiable and well educated of the entire Paladin. His great-grandfather had been a noble of a minor Dutresi family.
‘Foxe thinks they saw us coming and hid’, said Hexor as he squinted over the vast expanse of grassland at the huge bulk of the Cybeleion hovering far in the distance, ‘can’t think why’.
Velnour chuckled. Behind him the others trotted into the clearing just before the treeline began and Hexor relayed their scouting report to the others.
Lord Ness, Powyss, Furran, Little Kith, Gunach, Whyteman and Linth peered through the trees trying to see into the gloom beyond.
Gunach pointed over to his left, ‘looks like a dirt track over here, probably made by goats or deer’.
At a word from Lord Ness they entered the woods and trotted in single file because of the narrowness of the bolls. Maple, alder and birch closed in on all sides, with some open areas the deeper they went, filled with tall sycamore and ash. There was hardly a sound from the undergrowth of ferns and brambles. No birds twittered or wood pigeons cooed.
‘This wood does not want us here’, remarked the dwarf, who rode a small, dappled pony with ease even though dwarves were not noted for their equestrian skills.
‘A strange comment’, said the Ri in answer, ‘but very accurate. It feels more oppressive as we head deeper; there is something dark and sinister about this place’.
‘Dark, sinister and oppressive, three words I don’t like to hear in one sentence’, remarked Furran in a deadbeat tone.
‘You need to lighten up!’ growled Kith, who was not a natural rider, and even though he rode the largest of the trained warhorses, he certainly showed it.
‘I’ll lighten up when you stop gripping the flanks of that poor animal so tightly! Relax, and let the beast breath’.
‘I don’t need riding lessons from a man who put his saddle on back-to-front at the last Histilude Tournament’.
Behind them, Linth sniggered, ‘is that true Furran?’
Furran looked back, ‘in my defence, I was a little bit drunk…and wondering why the horse was going backwards’.
Velnour, who still took point, held up his hand to halt the group, cutting their joint laughter short. In front of them was an arched gateway made from white stone. A low wall of the same material spread out from either side of it, though sections were missing or collapsed due to tree roots undermining their foundation. The ivy covered gateway seemed intact but weather-worn. Beyond it, the dirt track widened into a weed-strewn flagstone ro
ad, which snaked its way up a slope and out of the woods. The tower could be seen more clearly now. Its white walls shone brightly in the mid-morning sunshine.
‘How old do you think it is?’ Powyss asked Lord Ness.
‘Oh, well over four thousand years at least,’ answered the Ri, ‘these things were built to last.’
‘Built as a spying tower?’
Lord Ness nodded, ‘yes, during the Elemental War about seven of these were built on the outskirts of the Assassi territory on the command of the Eldi to watch over the kingdom for outward attacks or inward rebellions.’
Velnour trotted under the arch followed by the others in single file. They cantered up the slope until the land levelled slightly. At this height a cold wind blew. Apart from the Ri, who wore his usual attire of white woollen robe buttoned at the front and flaring at the waist, and Gunach in leathers and furs, the Paladins wore their dark green armour.
‘If only seven were built,’ asked Velnour, ‘and the Assassi Kingdom is so vast. How they were able “watch” anything beats me? I mean, the territory interior would be over a thousand miles away, correct? How would anyone be able to see that far?’
‘Damn good question,’ remarked Powyss.
‘They used Phemoral Stones,’ answered Lord Ness.
‘Eh?’ said Velnour.
‘Large glass stones filled with elemental energy. The design of the stones was such that each of the angled facets were cut to a specific mathematical equation in order to contain the energy matrix within them,’ explained the Ri, ‘get the cut wrong and the stone was useless. The Ri of the past used them to enhance their power for a short time. They could use them to move their senses through the energy matrix that infuses and enshrouds all elements, mainly energy that emanates from the Dragon Lanes beneath us. They did not actually see great distances, you understand, but felt or detected certain fluctuations in the energy field that were out of the ordinary and the stone shaped them into visions.’
Each of the Paladin was staring at the Ri with confused looks. Powyss grinned.
‘You could have explained that in a more simplistic way,’ he said.
‘I did.’
‘So,’ said Velnour, ‘they were a kind of manmade Orrinn, yes?’
‘Sort of,’ said Powyss with a frown, ‘if I remember rightly. A Phemoral could not hold elemental energy for long. They needed a constant link to a Rawn or Ri.’
‘They are not Orrinns in any shape or form,’ added Lord Ness, ‘but Powyss is right, without a Rawn or Ri to fill them with power they were just lumps of glass.’
‘The question is,’ said Gunach from the rear of the group, ‘who is controlling this one?’
Powyss glanced at Lord Ness beside him. The Ri wore a dark frown as he looked up at the tower.
‘I think we are about to find out,’ he said.
10
‘Hellllp…..me.’ The voice was a dry whisper, like desiccated leaves kicked up by a cold autumnal breeze.
‘Pleeeezzzze!’
Tia tried to take a step back from the talking corpse, but it seemed her feet were rooted to the spot.
‘Who…who are you?’ she said, noting the fear in her own voice.
‘It…it is finished with me….finished with this body…long…so long…how long? It matters not…the mergence is all that matters.’ His eyes, glazed and yellowing, may seem deep set in their sockets, but they were staring at her imploringly.
‘Who are you…how did you come to be here, what is finished with you?’ she asked. Around her, the golden motes shifted to dance above her head. She barely noticed their movement, because she watched in disgust, as the man’s dark blue tongue liked his dry lips.
‘Cullen…my name is Cullen,’ he said.
Something within the mix of her slowly returning memories registered familiarity with that name, but the moment she tried to grasp its meaning, then it was gone.
‘Why are you here?’
‘It…it chose…me.’
‘What did?’
‘The…Phemoral.’
Again, something rose to the surface of her mind. A warning? A caution? An urge to run? She was not sure. Her curiosity was overcoming her rising fear, but only just.
‘It…needs energy…the Phemoral…is not self-sustaining…I am dying.’
Tia waved a hand in front of her, ‘alright. Please keep calm, I am going to help you.’ She had no idea why she said that, she only felt it was the right thing to say.
The shrivelled up old man shook his head, ‘too late for me…my soul belongs…to the Phemoral…’ he looked up. The rattle of the dry joints in his neck clicked loudly. ‘Already…the Vortex comes to make room for my replacement.’
Tia looked up also. She had no idea when it had moved; little sound issued from it apart from the occasional soft bang of electricity that echoed around the room. The miniature storm now hung directly above the sarcophagus. As she stared, the boiling clouds spiralled and opened to reveal a black hole, an eye in the storm.
‘The sacrifice has been given,’ hissed Cullen, ‘the…choice…has been…made.’ His eyes fluttered shut and the shallowness of his breathing stopped.
‘What sacrifice?’ Tia yelled. ‘What choice?’ she took a step forward and realised that she could not move. It was then she noticed the abundance of the golden motes around her. Fear instantly hit her as she struggled to pull herself free from their grip, and at the same time wondering why such flimsy particles could hold her so firmly.
‘What is going on?’
Something emanated from the dry husk that was the body of Cullen. It was a white ethereal wisp moving like a silken cloth in a warm breeze. It tentatively reached outwards hesitantly and then it streamed towards the glass stone, which now glowed fiercely to receive it. For a moment Tia could just make out the young and healthy face of Cullen smiling at her from the thin white substance and then the Phemoral absorbed it completely.
The instant the soul of Cullen entered the stone the raging Porthole expanded and sucked up the withered remains from the sarcophagus. The brittle bones of the corpse snapped and curled inwards as it entered the opening. A loud bang shook the walls of the room and nearly deafened Tia. Then the storm disappeared.
Tia screamed as the floating moats lifted her into the air and turned her around to face the Phemoral. A strong unseen hand pushed her down into the opening of the sarcophagus.
The sacrifice has been given. The choice has been made.
Cullen’s last words echoed in her mind. Their significance horrified her.
Her scream was primal and deafening.
11
‘It’s in very good shape for a four thousand year old building,’ remarked Whyteman as he dismounted his horse and slung his quiver onto his back. The others had to agree with the tall archer. Earlier, the group had entered into what can only be described as a garden at the top of the slope. The walls of which were dilapidated and fauna had grown over the paved road; shrubs, bushy and unkempt, blocked their route to the tower, so Kith and Gunach hacked their way through them with their large axes. This was all in stark contrast to the crisp neatness of the Oculus, which looked as new as the day of its completion, with its bright, whitewashed walls showing no cracks in the under-plaster and no part of its surface bearing any signs of being weatherworn at all. Startlingly, the overgrowth ended about twenty-feet from the main entrance. Lord Ness was willing to bet that the clear space encompassed the whole base of the tower.
‘Now, that’s just weird,’ mumbled Furran. In front of them was level ground, untilled dark soil, and plenty of dead and twisted branches that cracked underfoot.
Lord Ness ordered them all to stay back while he moved into the dead ground. He breathed in deeply and looked around him.
‘This area has been clear for a long time,’ he said, ‘it’s safe to move across.’
As one, they moved over the clearing, at a slightly quicker pace than usual it seemed to Lord Ness. Powyss reached the entrance
first. It was made up of two huge iron doors set into the base, held on their frame by four massive hinges. He tapped it with an armoured gauntlet. ‘Not a spot of rust,’ he informed the others. ‘Needs two keys to open it,’ he said, pointing to the oversized mortis locks on each of the doors below the steel handles. He passed his hand over the lock on his right and closed his eyes.
‘Intricate, it is a large mechanism with five…no, six locks,’ he said as his brow furrowed in concentration.’
‘Can you open it?’ asked Linth, who got a dig in the ribs from Hexor and a sigh from Foxe.
‘What?’
‘He is a Rawn Master; of course he can open it!’ snapped Foxe.
‘Yes,’ answered Powyss, ‘but it’s not easy.’ There was a loud nose as something clattered inside the door and several clicks as the commander used the Rawn Arts to turn parts of the locking bolts into dust. Suddenly, the door opened with ominous silence.
‘That’s disappointing,’ said Furran, ‘the hinges did not even squeak.’
‘Do you always look for the worst outcome in every situation?’ Kith asked.
‘I do. It keeps me alive. That’s good advice, my bulging friend.’
Powyss and Ness Ri entered first. The entrance hall was wide, with one opening into the main foyer flanked by two lifelike statues of spear-wilding guards. Everywhere they looked, the yellow flagstone floor, the statues, the stone benches in the cloistered corners were pristine and free from dust.
‘Nice,’ said Gunach, ‘too nice.’
Lord Ness halted by one of the statues as the others filed by into the foyer behind Powyss. The statue, made form a high quality white marble, looked exquisitely carved; the figures proportions were perfect, even the facial features on each effigy were different, as if they represented actual people from the past. They looked so lifelike that the Ri could even make out veins on the arms and necks and nails at a slightly different colour than the rest of the stone. Yet the eyes, the eyes were the most remarkable of all. Never had he seen a statue with eyes so immaculately carved that he could make out the subtle flecks of marble tones within the irises.