The Hands of Ruin: Book One

by Peters, Dylan Lee

  “Good afternoon,” Gildwyn began. “My name is Gildwyn Nye, and I am an envoy to Whiteclaw tribe chief Fordrick Redcroft. I was wondering whether a message had been left for me here at the temple. I’m expecting communication directly from the tribe chief concerning business I must attend to while I am in Ferrenglyn.”

  The young temple worker raised his eyes from the paper he was poring over. “Nye, you said your name was?”

  “That’s correct,” Gildwyn answered.

  The temple worker stood and turned to the wall behind him, which was lined with dark wooden shelves. The shelves were filled with books, papers, packages, and an assortment of other odds and ends. Gildwyn briefly wondered what he and Endemall would do if there was no message from the Whiteclaw tribe chief. It would be one thing for him to commission a zul master without full approval of all the tribe chiefs, but it was another to do so without prompting from even his own tribal leader. Gildwyn wouldn’t even know how to begin the process of selecting a zul master. He had no idea who would be best suited for this specific task.

  As Gildwyn’s worries threatened to carry him into paranoia, the young temple worker plucked a note off of a shelf to his right and spun back toward Gildwyn and Endemall.

  “Here it is,” the young man said. “Has your name right on the front of the letter.”

  The worker handed Gildwyn a piece of parchment, trifolded and with the appropriate seal on the front. However, it immediately struck the envoy that his father’s stopper was not present.

  “Uhh,” Gildwyn uttered, “was this all of it? I thought there might be something accompanying the message. A small wooden bottle stopper maybe.”

  The temple worker turned back toward the shelves and looked where the letter had been sitting. He moved a few trinkets around and then moved a folded shirt bound in twine. “Ah. Here it is.”

  He extended the stopper toward Gildwyn, and the envoy snatched it out of his hands with eagerness. Gildwyn recognized his rudeness and apologized.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Sentimental value.” Gildwyn held the stopper in his hand and ran his thumb over the carving his father had etched years ago. “Good man, Corbin,” he whispered. “Good man.”

  Gildwyn tucked the stopper into his breast pocket and nodded his thanks to the temple worker. With the letter in his hand, he walked back toward the fountain and the exit, with Endemall following obediently. However, after they passed the fountain, Endemall grabbed Gildwyn by the shoulder and spun him around.

  “Well?” Endemall said, wondering why Gildwyn hadn’t opened the letter.

  Gildwyn shook his head. “Sorry.” He looked around the large empty room as if scanning for eavesdroppers. “Don’t you think we should find a more private location?” Gildwyn asked, looking back to Endemall.

  The Zehnder tribesman threw his arms into the air. “You see anyone here other than us right now?”

  “What about him?” Gildwyn said nervously and nodded toward the temple worker who had handed him the letter.

  Endemall turned around to see the man, who was now twenty yards away and had returned to concentrating on his own work.

  “Come on, Nye.” Endemall was exasperated. “I’m hot, I’m thirsty, I’m hungry, and I haven’t got patience for this. Just read the damned letter.”

  Gildwyn nodded and reluctantly opened the letter, as Endemall circled behind so he could read over Gildwyn’s shoulder. However, when they scanned the letter, both men were surprised by what they saw. They each had expected to see a very formal letter, written in the delicate script of a noble tribal chief. The type of letter that might have been scrawled in expensive black ink, or quite possibly even blue, something befitting the stature of a person such as Fordrick Redcroft and in line with the rich parchment that had been sent. Both Gildwyn and Endemall had also anticipated something with a bit of length to it, something verbose. Gildwyn would have described it as loquacious. Endemall would have described it as yacking. It astounded them to see the letter contained only two words, a name, written in large thick lines of red. Gildwyn stared at the name in silence, wishing he had been given a letter that spoke with much more authority. Endemall, however, was not so comfortable with silence, nor was he accustomed to voicing his feelings with couth.

  “Who the fuck is Ah’Rhea Eneoh?”

  Gildwyn rolled his eyes, sighed, and privately wondered what in the world he had gotten himself into.

  • • •

  Ah’Rhea had pondered death before, too many times by any estimation. Each time such things entered her mind, it caused her stomach to turn a bit, and sometimes it would completely overwhelm her with dread. Thinking about death was not something she liked to do, and she avoided it at all costs. Yet at times, it was unavoidable. Now, as she sat with Sigrid Sif, the dying master, the thoughts were impossible to ignore.

  Ah’Rhea was having difficulty dismissing death as something everyone faced alike, though it was most obviously so. She felt that somehow she faced death more honestly and more bravely than most. Most Ferrenites believed death was merely a transition into another state of being. There were many religions and spiritual ideologies practiced in Ferren. However, Ah’Rhea did not adhere to a single one of them. She never allowed herself the comfort and promise of an afterlife. She never afforded herself the peace of mind available to someone who has a divine maker. Ah’Rhea Eneoh believed in no god.

  She wished, at times, she could believe in such things. She would welcome the warm blanket of salvation. Yet it is not such a simple thing to lie to oneself, no matter how much someone might want to. So death stood on the horizon for Ah’Rhea as the darkest cloud there could be. If she allowed herself to think on it too much, it would cause her body to become numb and weak. In this moment, as she sat by the bed of Sigrid, she was losing the fight against that fear.

  She stared at the sleeping woman, and she could feel herself in Sigrid’s place, coming to the end of her days. What could lie ahead when nothing was at the end of the road? In fact, was nothing even a possibility? Our very concept of nothing predicates acknowledgement from some consciousness. When there is no consciousness, when life has blinked out completely, then there is not even the presence of nothing. There is something beyond death the sentient mind cannot even fathom, and it will not matter that it cannot be fathomed, because there will be no mind there to lament that loss of understanding. What is less than nothing? Death is less than nothing.

  Ah’Rhea squirmed in her chair as she thought how insignificant this made her life, how insignificant it made the life of every living creature and every living thing. If every single instance of life were snuffed out in a moment, there would be no consciousness to mourn that loss, no memory to carry the story of the fallen forward, no stomach to twist in fear, no skin to prickle with discomfort, no eyes to see that darkness, no brain to ponder that abyss.

  And the expanse of whatever remained would continue. The thought was so cold Ah’Rhea felt it restricting her breathing. She stood up and walked out of the cave. She needed the sunlight and the breeze, and she needed…she needed the man she could never have again. Tears wet the corners of her eyes, and she yearned for strong wine to dull the acuity of thinking. It had been a solid week of watching Sigrid Sif creep ever closer to death, and it was hard to ignore that the burden was breaking her.

  Ah’Rhea’s blurred eyes caught something moving in her periphery. She turned to her right, wiped her eyes, and saw two men walking along the cliffside path, coming closer to Sigrid’s cave. They were dressed as two men who lived in Ferrenglyn would be: light boots, brown pants, and cream-colored tunics with hoods to protect them from the sun. One of the men was large and wore goggles and a long moustache. The other man was smaller and had a head of curly blond hair. They continued to approach Ah’Rhea, and she frowned as they did.

  “Are you zul master Ah’Rhea Eneoh?” the blond man asked. “We were told she could be found here.”

  “No one has requested my audience,” Ah’Rhea said
, annoyed at the presence of the two men. “You should have not come here without first sending a formal request.”

  “I know, Zul Master,” the blond man relented. “I am dreadfully sorry for this breach in etiquette, but we are on very urgent business. There are lives at stake. My name is Gildwyn Nye, and I am an envoy to Whiteclaw tribe chief Fordrick Redcroft.” Gildwyn then pointed to the man with the abnormally long moustache. “This is—”

  “Endemall,” Endemall said. “I’m an envoy also. To Nygaard. Katrien Nygaard. The tribe chief. You know her, I’m sure.”

  Gildwyn looked back at Endemall with a stern gaze, intent on silencing him. “We are here because a strange presence has afflicted a village in Whiteclaw tribe. The village of Brinvarda.”

  “This same presence is also in the tunnels underneath the palace of Zehnder tribe,” Endemall added.

  “Yes,” Gildwyn said and turned back to Ah’Rhea. “Again, Zul Master, we are desperately sorry for the informality of this visit.”

  “You said Brinvarda?” Ah’Rhea asked.

  “Yes, Zul Master,” the envoy answered.

  “Are you telling me the tribe chiefs have elected me to deal with what happened to that girl?” Ah’Rhea thought back to her eavesdropping while at the Serendipity.

  Gildwyn was taken aback. He hadn’t expected Ah’Rhea would already know of the situation. “I’m sorry, Zul Master, but how do you already know about the butterflies?”

  “Butterflies?” Now Ah’Rhea was confused. The men talking on the street hadn’t mentioned any butterflies, but then Ah’Rhea remembered Sigrid Sif speaking about her visions. She had mentioned butterflies. What is going on? Ah’Rhea thought. “I need to see your documents,” she blurted.

  “Excuse me?” Gildwyn said, not following Ah’Rhea’s line of thinking.

  “Your documents,” the zul master repeated. “You say I’ve been elected by the tribe chiefs to address an issue. I want to see the proof. Where are the votes? I have the right to see the votes.”

  Gildwyn had dreaded this moment and hoped the tribe chiefs had never previously commissioned Ah’Rhea. He was about to lie to her and tell her the tribe chiefs had met and sent their collective vote in one letter. It would help his lie if she didn’t know this was not the traditional process. Though he was afraid to lie to a zul master and knew she could pull the truth from him if she chose, he felt he didn’t have a choice. He and Endemall had crossed a line, and there would be no going back. They were desperate. Gildwyn handed Ah’Rhea the letter and held his breath while she looked it over.

  “There should be four of these,” Ah’Rhea complained.

  “They met to discuss the issue and, because they were together, sent only one letter,” Gildwyn lied.

  “That’s why they sent both of us,” Endemall chimed in. “Why else would a Whiteclaw envoy and a Zehnder envoy travel together?”

  Ah’Rhea looked up at Endemall with scrutiny, and Gildwyn immediately felt he was going to be sick. The zul master was annoyed. She turned and looked out over the cliff, down to the chasm, and let the scent of vanilla fill her nose. Ah’Rhea didn’t want to leave the warm sun and the blue sky. She didn’t want to leave the red rock of her home. Why did it have to be she that was chosen? Wasn’t there someone better suited to handle this?

  Again, she remembered Sigrid’s visions, the butterflies, and the selection of zul masters as tribal leaders, and slowly the tendrils of belief made their way into Ah’Rhea’s mind. Angrily, she shook them off and then looked into the sky to see Minas, Sigrid’s jawhar, flying high over the chasm in the valley floor.

  I already have a task before me, Ah’Rhea thought.

  “I can’t do it,” she said, turning back to Gildwyn and Endemall. “They’ll have to choose someone else.”

  “N-n-no,” Gildwyn stuttered. “It has to be you. There is no time to choose anyone else. Zul Master, please, we are desperate for your help.”

  “I could throw in some pink leaf,” Endemall muttered.

  “What did he say?” Ah’Rhea asked.

  “Nothing,” Gildwyn said and slapped at the idiot behind him. “Master Ah’Rhea, you have been chosen. It has to be you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ah’Rhea protested. “I’m needed here. Right now you are standing outside the cave of the great Sigrid Sif. The poor woman is dying inside and has asked that I watch over her. She has no one else. I won’t abandon her. If you recognize the name, then you know I cannot leave.”

  “Recognize it?” Endemall asked in awe.

  Gildwyn rolled his eyes, sighed, and privately wondered what in the world he had gotten himself into.

  “Sigrid Sif stopped the howling-lion attacks that were plaguing Zehnder tribe when my father was a boy,” Endemall gushed. “He used to talk about her all the time. You mean she’s right inside this cave?” Without invitation, Endemall walked right past Ah’Rhea and entered the cave of Sigrid Sif.

  Both Ah’Rhea and Gildwyn looked as if they were going to scream, and Ah’Rhea had finally been pushed past her limit. She followed Endemall as he walked into Sigrid’s cave, and plunged her hand into the brown satchel at her side. Quickly she retrieved a handful of zulis, and now Gildwyn rushed in behind the woman nervously.

  “M-master Ah’Rhea, please,” Gildwyn said. “That really isn’t necessary.”

  However, it was far too late to stop Ah’Rhea now. She flung her zul at Endemall, and before he could blink, he was suspended upside down just inside the entryway of the cave. Gildwyn stopped dead in his tracks, and Ah’Rhea bent low, close to Endemall’s head. She reached out and plucked the goggles off of his face.

  “If you and your friend don’t leave this cave immediately,” Ah’Rhea threatened, “I will skin you both alive and hang you out over the chasm for the lizards and birds to pick at. Do you understand?”

  Endemall nodded as well as he could while hanging upside down. Blood was rushing to his head and turning his already-pink complexion a deep red. Then suddenly a booming voice came from within the cave and caused everyone to turn in astonishment.

  “Ah’Rhea, release that man now!”

  Ah’Rhea’s eyes widened as she looked at Sigrid Sif standing on her bed, clenching her fists, with anger in her eyes and authority in her voice. How the old woman was mustering the energy Ah’Rhea did not know.

  “But, Master,” Ah’Rhea complained, “they are uninvited.”

  “I say who is or is not uninvited here,” Sigrid said. “I may be on the edge of death, but I can still hear the voices that speak directly outside of my cave. Now release that man and come sit around my bed. Enough of this foolishness.”

  No sooner had Sigrid uttered those words than Ah’Rhea had released her hold on Endemall and the man crashed to the floor. He grunted, and Gildwyn walked forward sheepishly, looking over Endemall to see he was all right. Endemall rubbed his head but signaled he was fine.

  Now Ah’Rhea ignored the men she saw as intruders. She obeyed Sigrid’s order and took the chair next to the bed. The old woman calmed herself and sat cross-legged on the mattress, waving for everyone to come closer.

  “I have things I need to tell you,” Sigrid said as Minas came gliding through the cave’s entrance. The jawhar knocked Gildwyn forward and then came to perch on the footboard of the bed. “All of you,” Sigrid continued. “Please gather around. That outburst of mine will cost energy, and I can feel it taxing me already.”

  Sigrid again seemed incredibly frail, and Ah’Rhea helped the woman back under her blanket so she could recline and relax. The old woman coughed, and Ah’Rhea noted a fleck of blood that was left on her lip after she did so. Gildwyn and Endemall came to stand directly behind Ah’Rhea’s chair, and Gildwyn apologized for their intrusion. Endemall pulled his goggles back on and remained silent.

  “You do not need to apologize,” Sigrid said, and she coughed again. “It is I that should be giving the apologies. I heard you speaking outside, and as soon as you spoke of butterflies, I knew. I said to mys
elf, ‘Sigrid, you old fool, you’ve held your secret too long.’ I only hope there is still time to stop the butterflies. If there is some afterlife that awaits me, I couldn’t bear the burden of knowing I could have said something and did not.”

  Ah’Rhea’s head was swimming in all that was happening, and she didn’t know what she should say, do, or feel in this moment. She hated feeling as if she had no control, yet that was exactly where she was. She stayed silent and wished she were back in her cave.

  “Has it gotten colder in here?” Sigrid asked absently. No one answered her, but she hadn’t been looking for an answer. The old woman’s eyes slowly widened, and then a tear trickled down her cheek. She slowly nodded, and her lips drew tight. “My time is coming to an end. I need to tell you all that I know what the butterflies truly are. I’ve known ever since I first saw them in my visions.”

  Ah’Rhea remained silent, but she reached her hand forward and placed it on Sigrid’s arm to comfort the woman. Sigrid turned her green eyes to Ah’Rhea. “This is the reason I asked you to come here, child. We are separated by many years, but we have much in common. We are both strong, both quick to anger, and both haunted by the love of hollow men.”

  Ah’Rhea pulled her hand away from Sigrid as a chill ran the length of her spine, but the old woman did not stop speaking.

  “Yes, I know of the man you shared your cave and your heart with, Ah’Rhea. I know of Orman Eil Dragaredd, and I know of the darkness that ran through his veins. Anyone who truly saw that man could see it.”

  Ah’Rhea was mortified to hear her love of Orman spoken of so plainly, and in front of perfect strangers. Her stomach twisted, and she tried to speak in defense of herself, but Sigrid stopped her before her words came forth.

  “You do not need to speak,” Sigrid said. “This is not an inquisition. My purpose is not to reveal your secrets frivolously or shame you with them but merely to use them in order to explain my own and pray you understand. You heard me speak of the Exiled One, Gokul Malhotra, as if he was someone unfamiliar to me.” The old woman closed her eyes as more tears streamed down her cheeks. “That is not so. Many years have passed since I shared my love and my life with that man and helped him hide the darkness that lived within him. This secret is not easy for me to reveal, and I’m not sure I could do it if I didn’t know you shared the same past.”